Chapter 3 - The Cold War Under Silk Sheets
The master bedroom on the third floor of the east wing was larger than Elena's entire two-bedroom apartment on Colfax.
It was outfitted in muted slate grays, heavy velvet drapes, and a king-sized four-poster bed draped in charcoal Egyptian cotton that looked comfortable enough to induce a coma. A massive gas fireplace roared along the far wall, casting flickering orange shadows across bookshelves lined with first-edition military histories, antique pistols in velvet-lined shadowboxes, and an enormous mahogany armoire that had been cleared of half its tailored suits to make room for Elena’s oversized flannel shirts and faded jeans.
“The sofa doesn't pull out,” Nicholas said, unbuttoning his vest and tossing it onto a leather wingback chair. “And before you ask, my father’s head of household staff, Mrs. Gable, inspects the linens every morning at seven. If she finds evidence that you slept on the floor or in the dressing room, Dante will know before breakfast that our marriage is an unconsummated theater production.”
Elena crossed her arms, shivering despite the warmth radiating from the fireplace. “I’m not sleeping in that bed with you.”
“You are,” Nicholas countered calmly, unfastening his cuffs and rolling his sleeves up over forearms corded with muscle and crisscrossed by two thin, white scars near the wrists. “You will sleep on the right side. I will sleep on the left. There is a bolster pillow running down the center line. If you cross it, I will wake you. If I cross it, you have my permission to use the brass fire poker beside the hearth.”
Elena glared at the bed. “You’ve thought this through.”
“I think everything through. It is why I am currently alive while three of my cousins are buried beneath concrete footings in Commerce City.” Nicholas pulled a pair of dark cotton lounge pants from a drawer and walked toward the en-suite master bath. He paused at the doorway, looking back. “Lock the bedroom door from the inside before you change. Lev is outside in the corridor, but Sofia has a habit of bribing groundskeepers for access.”
“She hates me,” Elena muttered.
“She wants you skinned and made into a handbag,” Nicholas corrected with complete seriousness. “There is a distinction. Get some sleep, Elena. Tomorrow night is the Autumn Gala at the Denver Country Club. Roberto Moretti will be there. He will bring his entire security contingent. It will not be a pleasant evening.”
When Nicholas emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, Elena was already curled under the heavy down duvet on the far right edge of the mattress, wrapped tightly in an oversized college sweatshirt, facing the wall. She lay as rigid as an iron bar, listening to every sound in the cavernous room: the hiss of the gas flames, the rustle of sheets as Nicholas slid into the left side of the bed, the sudden, heavy presence of another human body radiating heat across the narrow divide of the bolster pillow.
“You’re breathing like you’re waiting for a firing squad,” Nicholas’s deep voice cut through the dark.
“I am in a bed with a mobster while a vengeful heiress plots my murder down the hall,” Elena whispered into her pillow. “Excuse me if I haven’t slipped into a peaceful slumber.”
Nicholas shifted. The mattress groaned slightly under his weight. “I will not let anything happen to you, Elena. You have my word.”
“Your word? We’ve known each other for seventy-two hours!”
“In seventy-two hours, you haven't cried, you haven't begged for your life, and you told my father his empire was flimsy to his face,” Nicholas said, his voice unusually quiet. “In my world, loyalty is bought with millions, and it rots the moment a better bid comes along. Courage cannot be bought. You possess it. That makes you valuable.”
Elena bit her lip, staring into the shadows against the wallpaper. “I’m not brave, Nicholas. I just really, really wanted to buy that driving school.”
May you like
“A worthy ambition,” he murmured. “Now close your eyes. The war starts tomorrow night.”
For the first time in three days, the tension knotting Elena’s spine eased slightly. She closed her eyes, letting the rhythmic, steady sound of Nicholas’s breathing pull her into a dreamless sleep.
