Page 78 of Wicked Villain

“Me too. My dad is doing his Dungeons and Dragons craft boxes. Those did pretty well last year. I expect this year to be the same.”

I nod. Then he looks over at the postcards.

“I still can’t believe you did all these. If I had this talent, I wouldn’t be selling them here.”

“I have to agree with Jeremy.” Anushka raises her hands. “These are gallery worthy.”

“You’re too kind.” I grin sheepishly, though I really appreciate the compliment.

“And you made so many.” Jeremy looks up and down the display unit.

“I thought it would be nice to have more variety this year.”

He wouldn’t like to know the inspiration behind why I created that many. There are a hundred postcards, each with an original design. I drew all of them over the last three days. Normally, I make around twenty or so.

It doesn’t usually take me long to sketch, especially when I choose basic landscapes, but these are so much more than my usual. They’re a mixture of landscapes and buildings, ornaments, people, and animals.

What can I say? My husband brings out the rage in me, and I take that rage and turn it into something good.

“They’ll sell for a pretty penny,” Jeremy continues and looks back at me with admiration. “Please tell me you raised your prices. Last year, you practically gave your work away.”

I wave a hand. “No. I’m keeping the same prices. Like last year, the originals will cost more, but the copies will be a little cheaper. I want people to buy and enjoy them.”

“You’re a better person than me.”

“And me,” Anushka pipes behind me.

“Anything you need help with?” Jeremy asks, unsurprisingly. He’s always either offering his help or to take me to lunch.

“No.” The same answer as always. I look for something else to do that will phase out our conversation and get rid of him. I spot the uneven decorations above my head and decide to fix those. “These just need a little tweak, then everything is done.”

“Okay.”

I pull out the stepladder I was using earlier and climb it.

The embroidery hoops with the trailing ribbons just need to be spaced out. Just as I adjust the nearest hoop, my gaze lands on Lev walking across the hall.

My heart speeds up, then trips over itself so badly my knees weaken. My foot slips off the rung, and suddenly, I’m falling. But I don’t hit the floor. Someone catches me.

Jeremy.

“God, are you okay?” His arms tighten around me. And he doesn’t let me go.

“Yes. I’m fine. Clumsy me.” I try to laugh it off, but all humor just went out the door.

Anushka rushes to my side, her lips parted in surprise. “Are you okay, Gabrielle?”

“I’m fine, honestly.”

“You can put my wife down now,” that deep, rusty voice booms. The voice that haunts me asleep and awake. Lev’s Russian accent is thicker, scarier, more controlled, and laced with dominance.

Jeremy goes pale at the sight of him and sets me down straightaway. “Of course, I was just...”

“You were leaving,” Lev finishes for him.

“I...” Jeremy stutters, glancing at me. Despite being aware of my marriage, I doubt he expected my husband to be a six-foot-four Russian mafia boss with the patience of a rock and the temper of a dragon. One look at Lev, and Jeremy knows my husband is not the kind of man to question or provoke.

“You were leaving,” Lev repeats, enunciating every syllable. “And next time you see my wife, remember she’s my wife. So, don’t get too friendly. Now, move.”