Chapter 42
1222words
Is it too reckless to burn a whole city to the ground?
That's what I'm wondering as I flip through my piles of paperwork in the library. My eyes scrape over the notes I've kept for the last few months. Plans upon plans exist in my esoteric scribbles. Some are in code, others meaningless drivel to the untrained eye.
But for people like me—a man neck-deep in a bloody war—it's an instruction manual. Except it didn't work, I remind myself furiously. Meticulous planning, yet nothing has come to fucking fruition! None of my men have reported movement by Yannick in the last week. Other than sending someone to shoot up the studio, he seems to have vanished from the face of this earth.
I have to dig him out of his hole. My fingertips crimp the edges of my notes. I imagine the paper is his throat and start crushing it into a ball. It's not like I need these documents anymore. They haven't done me any good.
There's a light knock on the frame of the library door. My head jerks up. Camila is standing there, dressed in the flowing green dress that shows off her bare shoulders. She's curvy to begin with, and in time, those curves will become rounder with new life—a new life that we made together. The reminder that she's pregnant drives a different-shaped stake into my heart. This is a new kind of stress, and it isn't detached from the war. I wish it was.
'Asher," she says, her voice lilting up, like she's preparing to sing a song. I sit up straighter. I know when someone is about to ask me for a favor. 'I want to talk to you about something."
Setting my pen on top of my paperwork, I stare at her from behind the table. I'm reminded of when we were here before. I spilled my drink that day. There's a stain forever marring the surface of the wood. On impulse, I scrub my fingertip over it. The warped wood feels like a raised scar.
'What is it?" I ask warily.
Camila sways from side to side. Her hands form a tangle at her lower back. 'Layla creates the loveliest rose bouquets. I'd like to try my hand at them."
'I'll have her bring you some freshly cut flowers."
Her jaw tightens. 'I'd prefer to do the hard work myself. I've seen your gardens, but only from the window. I'm sure they're overwhelming in person. The scent of the blooming flowers, the fresh green buds … even though winter is coming. I think the window for enjoying them to their fullest is shrinking."
I know where this is going.
Rising to my feet, I move in front of her. 'Don't dance around it. Just ask me."
Chewing her lip, she eyes me with burgeoning hope. It's a shame I'm going to have to snuff it out. 'I'd like to be able to go outside. Not far. Still within your fence, of course, but?—"
'No." It's a simple word that cuts her off. It also wipes all the serenity from her pretty features.
Crinkling her nose, Camila storms over to a nearby shelf of books. 'I guess you'd rather I stay inside until I turn pale as a ghost. Should I spend my hours in here like you?" She pretends to read the spines of my collection, foot tapping all the while. Her moment of quietly sulking doesn't last. Hurrying back to me, she throws her arms in the air. 'I don't understand why you won't let me leave!"
'Because it's not safe," I say flatly.
'You let my mother do it! Is her safety not important?" she presses me. 'Or is this about something else? You like controlling me. That's it, isn't it?"
'Camila, you're talking nonsense."
Her eyes widen as a flash of anger arcs across them like lightning in a storm. 'So now I'm crazy for wanting fresh air."
'That's not what I?—"
'I'm crazy for telling you how I feel?"
'Camila—"
'I guess I should just shut up like a good little prisoner and let you continue to dictate everything I do because you're the damn pakhan!"
'Yes!" I roar, rounding on her, causing her to back into the shelf. She makes contact; a few books topple to the floor from the impact. 'That's exactly what you should be doing!"
Camila's chest rises and falls from her fast breathing. We're close together, the way we'd stand if we were about to kiss. But this moment isn't something as sweet as that. Shutting her mouth in a snap of teeth, she glares at me with clear disgust.
'Then I guess the matter is settled," she seethes.
Bending down, she picks up the books. With her back to me, she replaces them on the shelf, paying careful attention to position them the way they were before. That small action brings me back to my senses. What the hell am I doing?
She's pregnant. Of course her emotions are going to be all over the place. And like a thoughtless fool, I carelessly trampled over them.
'I'm sorry," I say, but I can tell from how she doesn't react that the damage is done.
Ignoring me, she walks stiffly out of the room. I watch her go, longing for her to turn around, to return and give me a chance to mend things. Your inner demons escaped, I scold myself. All this turmoil about the war and you let it get to you. I feel like an immature child. No man worth his salt should lash out at his wife.
His pregnant wife, I remind myself soberly.
I understand that Camila wants the freedom to explore outside my mansion, but it isn't possible. Leaving would put not just her at risk, but our child. Yannick's actions are too much of a mystery to me. If I could understand what he was after, I could plan around it. That was the point of the damn wedding! I was sure he'd make a move during the ceremony.
My confidence is cracking. All my perfect moves, my scheming, have proved pointless. All I've gained from them is a surprise baby.
Even if this baby is real ...
Our marriage isn't.
Yet Camila talks to me like we're actually married. She demands freedom, special treatment, and continues to test my rules. On the outside, we've fooled everyone. I should take pride in our acting skills. Instead, I feel a sourness over our performance.
Playing imaginary house … it's pathetic. No one should be satisfied with such a thing. But what other choice is there?
Ever so slowly, like sap down a tree, an idea drips into me. An idea so damn tempting that I feel my pulse quicken. The marriage can become real. My delight is crushed just as fast as it gets started. What will my brigadiers think? They'll never approve. They expect a proper Bratva princess, not an ordinary woman like Camila. But … marrying for love isn't the craziest idea. It's been done before.
Somewhere down the hall, I hear a door slam.
I know Camila is angry; she has every right to be.
I also know what I can do to show my remorse.
I just have to convince my brigadiers.
