Page 23 of Always Meant To Be
I love him—I do—and I love how he knows my body so well, but I can’t stay with someone who wants someone else.
Romeo groans, his hips going faster as he moves his left hand, going to my thigh. He picks it up, maneuvering it to the left a little, causing him to reach deeper inside, and my belly tightens.
“Fuck, you’re so responsive to me, El, so fucking responsive,” he grunts against my ear, gently nipping it as his hips move quicker.
I let myself be lost in the pleasure, closing my eyes, knowing that when I finally leave, no man will ever compare to my husband, who belongs to someone else.
He spends the rest of the night inside me, only allowing me a few hours of sleep before he wakes me at six in the morning, for the first time, with his mouth on my body, his member inside me, confusing me.
It doesn’t matter, though, because my mind is made up; I’m still leaving, even if it means changing my identity.
He doesn’t belong to me; he belongs to my sister. He always has.
Six
Romeo – Two Months Later
I tapmy pen on the glass conference table as Peter, our project manager, goes over the numbers for the restaurants we own, all on the legal side.
Antonio, Leonardo, and Mario see to our illegal businesses. We all sat down an hour ago, confirming profit is doubling with the new shipment of cocaine.
“As you can see here,” Peter states, pointing at the graph near him on the opposite side of the large glass oval table, members of the board all listening as he continues, “Our family-based restaurants are up by 15%, and our elite restaurants for the wealthy are up by 20%.”
I nod and ask, "And our clubs?” causing eyes to come my way, the snobby men and women nod, wanting to know.
Peter quickly changes the charts and points again, “Are up by 12% since last month.”
I nod again, and he continues going through the revenues and what we can do to improve the percentages, but as usual, my mind wanders back to my wife.
For two months, I’ve made sure to be home when she wakes to have breakfast with her. I’ve tried to be more attentive in public, but nothing seems to make her happy. I’ve been failing miserably, especially after the event we went to last week.
Liliya threw herself at me when I left the men's room, and my wife walked around the corner to see her sister’s body pressed against mine, her arms around my neck, but instead of getting upset, she fucking walked past us, ignoring me for the rest of the evening while her sister stuck close by like a bad smell.
Fuck, even her mother told her to get a grip on herself and have some class, instead of throwing herself at a married man.
I don’t know who she shocked more, me or Mikhail.
My wife, however, ignored us all.
“Alright, let’s try some of the ideas you’ve come up with, Peter. Build up a team in marketing, and send us the reports next month. Meeting dismissed,” Antonio says loudly from beside me, snapping me out of my head as chairs scrape on the hardwood floors, everyone leaving.
As soon as the last person walks out and shuts the door, Antonio turns to me and asks, “El still not talking to you, huh?”
I huff. “She’s talking to me, just not about her day-to-day activities as she used to, she’s more fucking formal.” I run a frustrated hand through my hair, and admit, “I’ve gone from having a wife who wants to communicate and talk about our days, to her being withdrawn. Even at events, where I’m showing my affection to her, she’ll find her way back to the wall or the corner, flinching at my fucking touch.”
He sighs, leaning back in his chair, and asks, “Does she know about Saturday?”
I scoff. “What, that her sister is having an early birthday party, and she has to be there?” He nods, and I shake my head. “Not yet, and things are going to be fucking shit.”
He sighs. “Surely Renata won’t go through with her threat.”
I give him a brow raise, and he winces as I state, “Liliya sent her videos of her and Miguel fucking when he was high from years ago, hoping to piss her own father off. She’s made it clear she doesn’t want Maxim taking over. She knows he’ll cut her off completely, and she’ll either have to marry for the organization like her sister did but to someone lower in rank because of her track record, or get a job. Renata is on the warpath, and Miguel is trying to do damage control, especially after he realized he loved his fucking wife.”
He groans. “I don’t get Liliya’s fucking mind with all this shit. All she’s doing is putting her life in danger, which means putting your life in danger, because you are contracted to fucking protect her personally.”
I hum and say, “For what it’s worth, I believe Anastasia is regretting her actions with the contract now.”
He scoffs. “Why? Because you found out about your wife’s fucking scars on her back, and Mikhail has been slowly torturing her by taking everything she loves over the past four years, or because she’s seen how bad her eldest is.”