Ruthless Saint

XXXV

MISCHA MALIKOV

        The mansion was dim as I walked up the stairs.

        It was late probably something close to two in the moment and I knew Mika was probably asleep or worse watching a fucking telenovela.

        Roxy was standing guard by the door, and I shook my head. A fucking ribbon.

        My dog was wearing a fucking ribbon around her neck. Hot pink. And somehow that was the least of my concern.

        I knew it could only be the work of my wife and her signature ribbons. I'd burned them in a daze of pettiness and anger when I found out she went out to meet Alessio.

        It was stupid and I regretted it the minute I did it.

        I knew how much she loved them, but I wasn't thinking in the moment.

        I bought them all back the minute I did it, but I hadn't gotten the chance to give it to her and instead she'd been walking around with her dark hair falling in soft waves over her shoulder.

        Roxy trotted away the minute she saw me and disappeared.

        In the beginning I commanded her to protect Mika and watch over her but over time, she did it without any command. Almost instinctively.

        I slipped into the guest room and quickly changed out of my clothes.

        There was some telenovela playing on the television and I slipped into bed, throwing a hand around my hip and pressing her to my chest.

        She was wearing one of my dress shirts and smelled like my shampoo.

        I ran a hand down her back and bruised my lips against her hairline.

        She stirred in my arms, murmuring my name in her sleep and my heart ached.

        I hated how she made me feel. It was a cocktail of emotions colliding, Desire. Anger. Lust. Jealousy. And something more, it was darker, gritty and dangerously raw—love.

        I played with the wavy locks around her nape with a slow shake of my head.

        It happened.

        It fucking happened and now it was too late to do anything about it. 

        Christ, I loved this woman. I didn't know when it happened or how, but I knew I would rather die than see her with another man.

        It was bad, I knew it. I wanted to punish her that night by not letting her come and I'd succeeded but then I took a glance towards the stairs and everything in my body willed me towards her.

        I couldn't be mad at her for even a fucking second. It was the main reason I'd avoided her so much and kept myself from kissing her.

        And then she cooked for me. The band aid around her finger and my heart fucking pulled on the strings, commanding me like a puppet.

        She was bad for business because with being around her felt like I was tainting something pure and couldn't help but want to be saint. It was maddening really almost ruthless.

        Her phone dinged beside me, buried somewhere underneath the duvet. I thought about it for a second—it was a risky idea—then decided against it.

I needed to trust her. Even if she'd lied to me twice, I wanted this woman to trust me not to fucking lie to me.

        And so I closed my eyes and allowed sleep to wash over me at least for a few hours. Like clockwork, I woke up quarter past eight.