Page 24 of His Prince
“It’s done,” I say, and I hear the sounds of crunching and chewing on the other end of the line.
“Good. I’ll mark that off. Good work.”
“Fuck off.”
He chuckles, and I hang up, leaning my head back against the leather headrest and closing my eyes. A headache is butting up behind my eyes, and I breathe deeply through my nose.
I just want to be someone else for a little while.
Just for a moment.
5
ANGEL
The house is alive, full of color and people. It’s been almost a week since Mikhail left, and I’ve stopped worrying about what he’ll do when he arrives back home. I don’t care anymore.
I give zero fucks.
It seems I have my breaking point, and that point is my husband.
The last few nights, I’ve stopped tossing and turning, letting my low-simmering rage lull me to sleep.
And every morning, I wake up, do a few calming yoga poses, and then head down to make breakfast. I’ve gotten creative with it as well, loving how much the bodyguards are enjoying the Russian dishes I’ve learned to make. At least someone appreciates me.
When everyone is fed, I send them outside to smoke while I dole out tasks for them to complete. They all comply, teasing me in the way they do, but happily completing the jobs I’ve given them.
The house is almost done as well, with just a few rooms left to paint, and so now my focus is going to be the garden. I’ve even putout an ad for a gardener, with Nina’s approval. She scowled at me when I suggested it, but she let me go through with it after I batted my eyelashes at her. I have seven applications to look through. Seven. That’s six more than I was hoping for.
“You do know he will be very angry,” Nina says as I survey the silver and gold wallpaper that’s currently being placed on the kitchen wall by Titus. Apparently, he grew up doing this for his aunt and offered to take care of it when I suggested a nice print on the wall adjacent to the island.
No more dull grays and whites.
“I really don’t care,” I reply, and Nina tuts. It’s a favorite pastime of hers. Always clucking her tongue at me.
“If he gets angry, he’ll have to go through me,” Casey replies, appearing at my side, his hand landing on my shoulder and squeezing.
I sigh and roll my eyes. “Casey, I’ll be fine. No one is going through anyone.”
He huffs in frustration and stuffs his hands in his pockets.
“Your dad sent me here to protect you.”
“And you are. But I can handle my husband on my own.”
“Our little husband can handle his own,” a voice says, and I turn to see Ivan leaning against the doorframe, a snickerdoodle in his hand. I’ve won him over with these. When I had made them initially, he sniffed them and then took a tentative bite.
His lashes fluttered behind his glasses and he nodded his approval.
“These are passable.”
I took that as the highest compliment. And when he started calling me little husband I knew I was in with him.
He takes a bite of the cookie, the crumbs hanging on his shirt before falling to the floor. I don’t know how he manages to be such a chaotic mess, but it intrigues me.
This entire crew is fascinating.
They’ve definitely helped to keep my mind off thefact my husband is missing and has yet to contact me, my messages read but still unanswered.