He poured a glass of water and placed it in front of her. “I taught my brothers how to cook, you know,” he said, initiating conversation for some reason. “It’d be a shame not to cook for my wife.”
Maeve slammed her fork down on the table. “Stop it.”
Fedya stared. “Stop what?”
“Calling me that.”
“I think we’ve established, time without number, that you—”
“Yes.” Her smile was poisonous. “That doesn’t mean you should rub it in my face. Marrying me may be your biggest achievement for all I care, but it’s a tragedy for me. It’s the worst fucking thing to ever happen to me, so I’d appreciate it if you stopped referring to me as your wife every two fucking seconds.”
“No.”
That was it. No argument. Nothing. Just a single word of rebuttal.
Maeve shut her eyes for a moment, wondering why in hell she even bothered in the first place. Fedya Nikolai looked like the type of man to do exactly what he liked.
And helovedcalling her his wife.
She wasn’t sure she could spend another minute in his presence, so even though she was barely full, she stood up from the table abruptly, pushing her half-empty plate away. She could feel his eyes on her, dragging across her body like heat. She hated how aware she was of it, of him.
“You’ve barely touched your food. Where are you going?” he asked without looking up from his plate, cutting into his chicken calmly.
“To try not to kill myself.”
“Are you wearing a bra?”
Maeve’s eye twitched, her spine straightening with disbelief. “What the hell did you just say to me?”
He finally looked up, his eyes cold and unbothered like he had just asked her what the time was. “I asked if you’re wearing a bra. I need your size.”
She blinked, lips parting. “Excuse me?”
“I’m picking up a few things for you,” he said, sipping from his glass of water like it was wine. “You didn’t exactly pack a suitcase here.”
Heat flared up her neck. “You don’t need to know my bra size.”
“I disagree.” He wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. “I can guess your panties just fine—small, probably a size four—but bras are trickier. I’d rather not guess and get it wrong. I assume you’d be more annoyed if I brought home something that didn’t fit.”
“The fact that you’re talking to me right now is annoying the fuck out of me already.”
“You’re in my house now,” he said, dropping the napkin. “Eating my food. If I want to buy you something to wear, I will.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“Do you prefer lace or cotton?”
“I prefer you to leave me the fuck alone.”
“Alright then.” He nodded, standing to his feet. His gaze unabashedly darted to her chest, and Maeve wanted to shield herself from him. “I’ll figure it out myself. Shouldn’t be too hard. And you will accept what I give you because you belong to me now.”
“I belong to no one,” she sneered. “Get that into your skull, Fedya. I belong to no one.”
“Your father didn’t think so,” he said, voice dipping lower. “He sold you to me like scrap metal.”
“Don’t you dare—”
“Why not? He’s the reason you’re sitting at this table, the reason you were wearing a ring before you tossed it out. The reason you’re eating the foodImade, in a houseIcontrol. You should hate him more than you hate me.”
