Page 82 of His to Own

“I know. I know you haven’t hurt me, Maxim. I’m not worried about that.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

The problem is that my father has broken me down so many times that I don’t know how to receive Maxim’s kindness. I don’t know how to believe his words when he compliments me. I was told to be quiet by my father over and over again and now Maxim wants me to speak up and I just don’t know how to do it. My tongue is burning to get out of me but I just can’t speak.

And it pains me.

When I don’t give Maxim an answer, he huffs and runs his hand down his face. “You confuse me, Elena.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can say.

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” he snaps. “I want you to tell me what’s on your mind. I want you to fight for the things you want in life.”

Always fighting. It’s the one thing I struggle with.

“How?” I ask. “I don’t know what you want me to fight for.”

“For us,” he says, waving a hand between our bodies. “I want you to try. I married you because you fascinated me. And now…”

“Am I not what you wanted? How is that my fault?”

He flinches. “It’s not. It’s…”

“You wanted power. Your marriage to me granted you that. I’m sorry I’m not the perfect woman you thought me to be.”

“I don’t want perfection. I just want you to open up with me. That’s all.”

There’s still so much my father has done to me that Maxim doesn’t know about. The way he would hit me on occasion. The way he would ignore me whenever I did try to speak. My mind goes back to what my mother said. How I’m suffering the consequences of someone else’s sins. I still don’t know what she meant by that.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m glad you’re not hurt. That is the truth.” I hurry out of the library before Maxim can say anything more. My throat is burning as I walk away.

The park bench again. I need to breathe in the crisp air. Maxim’s back at work doing… who knows what. I shudder.

“Elena,” Alisa says, approaching the bench. Finding me once again. “How are you doing?”

I stare at her for a moment. Maxim told me that she had ulterior motives but I have no idea what those could be. “Hi,” I finally say.

“Can I sit?” Before I can say anything, she sits down next to me. “How have things been?”

“Fine,” I lie.

“My husband told me you went to the club like I suggested. What happened?”

“Maxim isn’t cheating on me.”

“Oh.” I can’t tell if I’m seeing things or not but I sense a disappointment within her. “Well, that’s good. I’m glad for you that he’s not. I know my husband likes to dabble in things. In other women, I should say.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugs. “I married him for his money and status. Not for his body. I don’t even like his body.” Her eyes slant to mine. “So was that all? Maxim wasn’t cheating?”

“No. He made that very clear.” The image of him torturing that man hits me but I push it down. “Everything is fine.”

“You don’t sound like everything is fine.”

That’s because it’s not. “My husband is a mafia man. It’s a lot to handle sometimes.”

“I understand that feeling. Us mafia wives have a lot to handle. Our husbands are criminals.”