“No,” I tell her. “Though as pakhan, much responsibility falls on my shoulders. I don’t like when I give an instruction and it isn’t obeyed. I expect those who are under my authority to do what they’re told.”
“Clearly,” she mutters.
“Clearly,” I repeat. “When that doesn’t happen, I do get angry. But that isn’t a constant.”
“Good to know,” she mutters, pursing her lips and looking away.
“When we get back to Boston, you’ll have duties as wife to the pakhan. To begin, you’ll see someone who will help prepare you for the day,” I tell her. “As my wife, you must be presentable at all times.”
She purses her lips but doesn’t say anything.
“My men are trained to obey, and each of them demands obedience from his partner. They will expect that you have learned to obey me. Do you understand that?”
“Yeah,” she says, but a sharp look makes her amend herself. “Yes, of course.”
Perhaps we’ll join them for breakfast after all. It will be what they call an “educational opportunity.”
“So we begin today,” I tell her, rising to my feet. “Take my hand and join me for breakfast.”
We go to the door and she actually giggles to herself.
“What?” I ask her. “Something amusing?”
But she shakes her head and won’t tell me, trying to sober, but the corners of her lips tug upward.
“Caroline,” I prod. “Tell me.”
“Fine,” she says with a sigh. “You’re just like the beast,” she says. “Join me for dinner, rawr.”
The beast? Who the fuck is the beast? Her comparison annoys me, even if I am secretly pleased that she’s amused.
“Did the beast whip his pretty little wife’s ass?” I ask pleasantly, and she quickly sobers then sighs.
“That I don’t know,” she mutters.
We walk in silence to the dining room, her little hand tucked into mine. When we arrive, Marissa and Nicolai are sitting at a small, circular table nearby. He nods, and Marissa stands to greet us.
Caroline flushes when Marissa gives her a quick hug and a probing look, as if to see if I’ve abused my new wife. Nicolai clears his throat and pulls Marissa’s hand to make her sit.
The waitstaff brings us bacon, eggs, and toast. I allow Caroline to take her own place, and she quietly eats.
“Hungry?” I ask curiously as she polishes her plate off.
“Starving,” she says, leaning back in her chair with a sigh. “And that was delicious.”
“Did they not feed you well in your home?” I ask, finishing my own breakfast.
The question brings a fire to her eyes once more. “Clearly, I’m not underfed.”
Oh, no, we won’t go there.
“I only meant were you hungry before you came?” My tone is hard, commanding, reminding her not to get snappy with me and I hate when she makes deprecating remarks about her body.
She merely shrugs. “It wasn’t that,” she says. “But I preferred being in the kitchen than out of it. And there were people I didn’t want to see, so I—” Then it’s like someone flicks a switch. Her eyes shudder and her lips clamp shut. I look at her in surprise. What caused such a drastic response from her? “I preferred being in the kitchen,” she repeats.
I nod, lift my hand, and order more food. “Do you?” I ask. “Do you know how to cook?”
She snorts out loud. “Know how to cook? Yes, certainly, though my brother hated if I spent time in the kitchen. Still, I learned from the best.” For the very first time, her eyes light up and she clasps her hands beneath her chin. “I was passionate about it,” she explains. She doesn’t need to tell me. I can tell just from the light in her eyes.
“I see,” I tell her with a nod. “Perhaps you can work with our chefs back in Boston.”
She’s holding the crust of a piece of toast when she freezes, the food halfway to her mouth. She swallows hard.
“You’d let me do that?”
Some choose to train with a stick, others with a carrot. I choose both.
“If you learn to behave, there are many things I’d allow you to do.”
If she knows she can pursue what she calls her “passion,” perhaps training her will go easier on the both of us with one contingency: she needs to prove she’ll do as I say.
Marissa watches us keenly from where she sits, pretending she isn’t listening to every word we say, so it comes as no surprise that when we rise, she leans over to talk to Nicolai and says something. He’s staring at his phone frowning and nods absentmindedly for her to go. I watch her curiously as I take Caroline’s hand and lead her out of the dining room. I’d bet money that she’s up to no good.
Nicolai stands and gestures for me to wait. “I’ll see you off,” he says. “I need to take a call. You good, brother?”