Page 56 of Baby for the Bratva King

Chandeliers hang from the high arched ceilings, the floor sparkling with tiny diamond specs. Even the place smells expensive. Reed diffusers sit on the front desk, emitting a rich, floral scent I feel like I should pay to smell.

I loiter behind Felix as he greets the employees, shaking their hands.

“Just this way, Mr. Pozharsky,” says the concierge, guiding us to the elevator.

“No need.” Felix grabs the suitcases. “I’ll take it from here.”

A white flash grabs my attention. Looking over my shoulder, I see paparazzi lined up outside, huge cameras covering their faces, the lenses pointed right our way.

“Felix,” I murmur, grabbing his attention.

He turns around, looking through the glass with a peculiar expression.

“We should go.”

“No.” Felix tugs my hand, and we stand together as the cameras flash, snapping photos of us.

His strength is incomparable. Even if I wanted to run, I would never stand a fighting chance. I sink into his embrace, allowing myself to be seen in the face of power.

My heart beats out of my chest. I have been photographed with many men over the last few years, all of them the same. I elevate their status, but Felix already has the status.

There’s something comforting about the way he holds me. His grip is firm, supportive, like he’s sending me the message, I’ve got you.

The doormen intervene, moving the crowds on. Felix and I share a look as we head into the elevators.

He turns to me. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I say, rather surprised with myself—I’m actually answering that question with conviction for once.

“I won’t let them call you a whore.”

“What will you let them call me?”

“Something that establishes boundaries, so people know their place when it comes to you.”

It wouldn’t be a Pozharsky hotel without a luxury dining experience.

After dropping off our bags in the ridiculous hotel room, we changed and came down here.

Jet lag is doing a number, my body confused as to why I’m drinking wine at 2 p.m.

Felix sits opposite me wearing a black and white tux, flashing me a dirty look across the table.

“Emerald green suits you.”

“Thanks,” I say, clenching my thighs under the table. “It was from my local thrift store. Seven bucks. Ever come across gold like that before?”

“I don’t thrift,” says Felix, taking a sip of wine. “But I have stumbled upon something special.”

I feel his words in my heart, and it terrifies the shit out of me.

“Have you always struggled for money?” He cocks his head to the side.

“I never said I did.”

“It’s heavily implied,” says Felix, watching me closely.

Chandelier light spills from above, making him look even more expensive. His jaw is the sharpest right angle I’ve ever seen, his starburst eyes catching the light like diamonds.