Wild Billionaire Romance - Chapter 53: Chapter 53

DESTINY
Lunch at the in-laws was not something I looked forward to. But Marat asked me to go with him, and he’d been so sweet the past week, I couldn’t refuse.
He’d come home early from the office every day. Well, early for him, but what I imagined was a normal time for most people, six o’clock or around then. We ate dinner together every night. Watched TV. Listened to music. And we always made love.
Shit. I had to stop thinking about the sex we shared as making love. It confused things, and I was already too emotionally involved as it was.
Marat was an unexpected foodie, and he took me to the best hole in the wall eateries Manhattan offered. He loved it all. And so did I.
“I can’t believe of all the places we’ve been so far hot dogs are your favorite,” he said, tsking and grinning at me as we drove to his brother’s house.
“I just love a good hot dog. There’s nothing like New York onions and spicy brown mustard on a dirty water dog. Besides, I have wonderful memories of that place. Bear used to bring me hot dogs and a papaya drink from there whenever he went to the city,” I replied with a shrug.
Marat made a humming sound deep in his throat, and I squeezed my thighs together. I loved the sounds he made. Loved that he was just as noisy as I was in bed, always growling and purring like a great, big beast.
Nerves assailed me and I took several deep, cleansing breaths before climbing into the car. We didn’t often drive places, but when we did, it was usually in an SUV driven by someone from Marat’s vast security team.
But not today.
Marat had insisted on driving the sleek, metallic blue convertible himself, warning me the top would be down when he saw my hair loose. I’d quickly braided it, donning a silk scarf around my head like some movie star from the fifties.
“Did I already tell you how gorgeous you look today?” he asked while we were stopped at a traffic light.
“Maybe, but I could always hear it again.”
“You look good enough to eat, Dumplin’,” he growled, tipping his glasses down and giving me a once over.
I was wearing a sky blue dress with a low scoop neck and flutter sleeves. It was so damn soft and light, and it made me feel deliciously feminine.
The dress was cinched at the waist, not my usual preference with my body type, but the way the skirt flared out was flattering. It landed mid-calf, my favorite length for dresses.
I completed the outfit with a pair of ballet flats. I had to admit I loved that most of the shoes Marat bought me in Las Vegas were low-heeled.
He was tall, and I imagined women often wore stilettos to try to match his height. It would be pointless to try, though. I mean, I could stand on a stepladder, and I would still be shorter than him.
Heels would make no difference. But I would wear them if he wanted me to.
“What are you thinking over there so intently?”
Remember the ground rules, I reminded myself.
“I was thinking about shoes,” I said, clearly shocking him.
“Shoes? What about them?”
“I was wondering if you don’t like high heels.”
“Well, the truth is, Dumplin’, I don’t think I could walk in them,” he said, and I barked out a surprised laugh picturing my gorgeous husband in a pair of ice pick heels.
“No, you idiot. I meant because all the shoes you bought me are low or flat.”
“Oh, well,” he said, and I could see him collecting his thoughts. “The night we met at Lux, you mentioned not liking the heels that jerkoff made you wear. I just figured you preferred them low. But if you want something else⁠—”
My heart pounded so hard at his words, I thought it might beat me to death.
“No! I mean, yes, I do prefer low heels or none at all. That was sweet of you to remember. Thank you.”
He glanced at me and dipped his chin, acknowledging my thanks but not speaking further. That was alright. I appreciated the time to get my emotions back under control.
The rest of the drive passed in comfortable silence, and it was minutes later that we pulled into the driveway. I started to get unbuckled, removing the scarf and running my fingers through my hair.
“Wait for me,” he said.
There were several cars there, and a uniformed guard came over to take his keys. I worried my lip. I’d dressed for a small lunch with his family. Not a large gathering. Before I could stress any further, Marat opened my door.
“Marat? Is this a party or something?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. It was on my calendar as lunch,” he replied with a careless shrug. “Why? What’s the difference?”
“Marat,” I scolded him gently, annoyed with his nonchalance. “If I knew there was a party, I would have dressed more carefully. I don’t want to embarrass you.”
“Embarrass me? Dumplin’, I already told you how beautiful you look today. In fact, you look too good. Maybe you should wear my jacket,” he growled, and started undoing his buttons.
“What? Oh my god, no. Keep your jacket on,” I said, shaking my head.
It was one thing for him to show up as he was. My husband always looked incredible. Even amongst good looking, powerful men like his brother and Josef, Marat stood apart.
Like a noble white stag. Beautiful, yet masculine. So damn handsome, he was otherworldly.
“Is my tie crooked?” he asked, trying to look down.
“No. But you have something here,” I said, stepping closer, and pretending to wipe a spot of lint from his linen jacket.
“Mmm. You know you're the only woman I know who’s ever pointed out a flaw in my appearance,” he said, and I could tell by the tilt of his lips he was amused.
“Is that so? Well, honesty, remember? It’s our number one ground rule,” I told him, allowing him to pull me close.
“Honesty, right? Well, then I should tell you, you look utterly fuckable, Mrs. Volkov.”
“I like when you call me that,” I admitted, and I sounded breathless.
“Good. When you introduce yourself, make sure you use it. I want everyone here to know who you belong to.”
His words were completely overbearing and borderline psychotic. They shouldn’t have turned me on. But I clenched my thighs together, hoping to keep my arousal from dripping down my legs.
“I never met anyone like you,” I whispered.
“No? Good. You know, I think you have something here,” he said, repeating what I’d said to him as he bent his head, kissing me on the lips.
Our eyes remained open, focused on one another for the duration. Even though our mouths were closed, it was the single most intimate kiss of my life. I felt it down to my toes.
“There, that’s better,” he murmured.
“Better? I must look a mess now that you smeared my lip gloss.”
“Not a mess in sight, Dumplin’. You look perfect now. Claimed. You look like mine.”
Holy. Fuck.
Did women still swoon? Because I was about to. If Marat wasn’t still holding onto me, I might have melted into a puddle at his Italian loafer clad feet.
After another long moment, he stepped away from me. His expression was far too serious as he held out his arm. I swallowed my nervousness and placed my hand in the crook of his elbow.
I walked up the stairs to his brother’s house on my husband’s arm and tried for a calm I wasn’t really sure I was capable of.
Music and the sounds of people chatting led us around the porch to the back of the house where at least thirty people were gathered for an outdoor luncheon. I didn’t know anyone except Adrik and Sofia and a couple of the guards.
“Guess it is a party,” Marat whispered, and I glared at him.
The fucker.
He just shrugged. Sure, it was no big deal for him. He was used to mingling with people like that. But I sure as fuck wasn’t.
What insights could I offer people whose conversations revolved around their millions? Just a couple of weeks ago, I was living in a shitty apartment, working as a waitress, for fuck’s sake.
“You okay?” Marat asked, frowning at me.
“No,” I said, pasting a fake smile on my face as the first group of strangers approached.
“Marat, darling!”
I jumped at the shrill voice of the older woman as she came barreling towards us. She was dressed in neon pink and gold silk from head to toe, her scarves fluttering in the breeze as she grabbed Marat’s right hand and tugged him down.
He indulged her with an air kiss, but kept his other arm entwined with mine. My nerves were going berserk, but I stood beside him and allowed him to make the introductions.
“Mrs. Dartmouth, allow me to introduce my wife, Destiny.”
“Destiny, darling, how did you catch the heart of our dear Marat? You’ll have to share your secrets, my dear. He’s the catch of a lifetime. Everyone is so jealous of you.”
“Oh, it was just dumb luck,” I replied, grinning at the older woman.
I didn’t like that she called him a catch, like he was some prize and not a flesh and blood man. But she was harmless, so I let it go. Feeling protective of Marat was a gateway to deeper feelings I didn’t want to acknowledge just then.
“I see, well, treasure her, Marat. I think maybe she is the real catch. Yes, I am sure of it,” she replied, eyes twinkling with mischief.
“You’re right about that, Mrs. Dartmouth. My wife is one in a million. Excuse us, please. We must go say hello to Adrik. He’s glaring at me.”
“Oh my, yes, please go. No one wants to draw the wrath of the Dark Wolf,” Mrs. Dartmouth whispered conspiratorially.
“Dark Wolf?” I asked Marat, but he just shook his head.
“Later,” he whispered, as we wove our way through the crowd.
My head was spinning with names and faces by the time we reached Adrik and Sofia. My brother-in-law spared me a nod and turned his attention to Marat, speaking in what I thought was Russian.
“How many languages do the two of you speak?” I blurted.
Marat blinked at me slowly, like maybe he did not realize he was speaking another language. It was Sofia who finally answered me.
“Don’t bother asking,” she said.
“They’ll say they only speak three or four languages, but it’s more like a dozen. Adrik and Marat are both terrible snobs when it comes to that sort of thing. They don’t consider it speaking another language unless they’re able to read and write in it,” Sofia explained, rolling her eyes at her husband before handing him their baby.
“Hello, Princess,” I cooed to the baby, before Sofia grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the boys.