Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN

MARAT

The first few days back in New York, things were good. Every day I woke up with Destiny naked and warm, curled up beside me, my arms wrapped around her sweet body.

I never did that. I never stayed the whole night with a woman, and I certainly never stayed more than that.

But even though there were other rooms in the penthouse, I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her side after sex. And that we had every night as well. More than once.

My mind raced with memories of what we’d done that morning, and I couldn’t breathe for the tightness I felt tied around my chest. Like a fucking vise.

“What are you smiling at, Wife?”

“Just admiring my gorgeous husband. You look like a dark prince in the moonlight,” she whispered to me in our bed, her blue eyes sparkling.

Fuck. She was pretty. But her words bothered me.

“This isn't a fairytale, Wife. I'm no prince. I’m not going to give you poetry or flowers.”

“No? What are you going to give me?” she asked, so fucking trusting.