chapter 21

DMITRI

I’m halfway down the stairs when I hear footsteps behind me. My instinct sharpens, and for a moment, I slow, thinking it’s Ana. The thought makes my mind wander, unbidden, back to last night.

Thank you for bringing Yelena home safely.

The words still echo in my head. They weren’t what I intended to say. Hell, they felt wrong even as I said them. But there was something in Ana’s expression, that defiant tilt of her chin, like she was waiting for me to tear into her, waiting for the usual criticism. And in that split second, I saw it—how I was missing the bigger picture. She brought Yelena home in one piece. Yelena, who doesn’t stop until she’s blind drunk, was safe because of Ana.

I don’t know how the thanks slipped out of my mouth, but they did. And somehow, it felt okay. Almost natural. The look of shock on her face was unexpected, but the real surprise was how light I felt afterward, like I’d broken some unspoken rule between us by not turning it into an argument.

Lately, everything with Ana feels new. Too new. It’s unsettling.

I’m drawn to her, more than I’d like to admit. The way she carries herself, her beauty—hell, even the stupid necklace that rests on her collarbone makes me envious. I want her. And I hate that I do. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I married her for revenge. And yet, the desire is there. Growing.

I need to get a grip.

“Don’t tell me you’re leaving without breakfast?” Yelena’s voice jolts me from my thoughts.

I glance over my shoulder at her standing at the top of the stairs, looking far too chipper for someone who drank enough to drown a sailor last night.

“How’s your head?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Never been better.” She grins. “I took the liberty of making you and Ana breakfast. Mostly for her, since she saved my life last night, but I made extra for you.”

“I don’t have time,” I say, my fingers itching toward my buzzing phone. “I’ve got a meeting.”

She blocks my path, spreading her arms wide, her smile too innocent to be genuine. “You’re the boss, Dmitri. You can take ten minutes to eat breakfast with your wife.”

I sigh. “Dinner. We’ll do dinner.”

Her smile vanishes, replaced with a disappointed frown. “Studies show that couples who eat together grow closer over time. It reduces divorce rates and?—”

“Divorce?” I raise a brow, cutting her off. “Since when did you become a marriage counselor?”

Yelena tuts. “Since I’ve had to force you to sit in the same room as Ana. It’s like you’re allergic to her. You’re sending the message that you can’t stand to spend time with your own wife. Do you even care about her, Dmitri?”

I stiffen at the question. “I never said I didn’t.”

“You don’t have to say it. Your actions are doing all the talking,” she shoots back. “Ana’s warm, kind, and loving. If Iwere you, I’d be doing everything in my power to keep her by my side instead of pretending I don’t need anyone.”

Warm. Kind. Loving.

The words twist in my gut. I’ve seen her interact with others—she’s all of those things to them. But not to me. To me, Ana is a storm, fierce and unyielding. Still, Yelena’s right about one thing—I’ve never given her the chance to be anything else with me.

Maybe I pushed her away the moment we married. I left her outside the church that day, told her Janet would show her to her room, and disappeared into my own world. I made sure she knew there would be no affection between us. She is Nikolai Petrov’s daughter, and that was all I needed to know.

Would things have been different if I hadn’t built that wall so high?

Yelena breaks into my thoughts again, her voice softer this time. “Don’t worry. Ana and I can eat without you. You’re practically invisible anyway.”

Something about her words digs at me. Invisible? Is that really how I’ve been?

Before I can stop myself, I say, “I’ll eat. I haven’t had bacon and eggs in a while.”

Yelena’s face lights up, and I silently curse myself for giving in. But maybe breakfast won’t kill me.

We walk into the kitchen, and there’s Ana, already seated at the table, her eyes flickering up when she hears us. She looks as surprised as I feel.

I catch her gaze for a brief moment, and something stirs inside me—something I don’t want to acknowledge. I take a seat across from her, the tension between us almost tangible, and Yelena slides two plates of food in front of us with a grin, oblivious to the charged atmosphere.

“See? This isn’t hard,” she chirps, settling into her own seat with satisfaction.

Ana doesn’t say anything. Neither do I.