Shotgun Wedding: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (14 page)

Kat nods and presses the ice to her face, then glances back at the desk and dusty filing cabinets behind it.

She catches me watching her, then startles. "Shoot! I think I dropped my purse in the kitchen—"

"You just stay here, rest, and don't leave this room, okay? I'll get it. I'll take care of everything."

Kat smiles tentatively, though I don't like the sadness I see behind her eyes.

"Thanks, Gray. And trust me: I won't leave this room. There's nowhere else in this bar I'd rather be."

I
t turns out
, the big scary Mafia dude makes an excellent nurse.

A bit bossy, but I'm getting used to it.

"It's been three days," I whine. I know I'm whining, but I'm
so bored
. "I think I can make my own breakfast."

"What? I'm not taking good care of you?" Gray grins and spoon-feeds me another bite of oatmeal, covered in heavy cream, brown sugar and pecans. He's wearing pajamas pants and nothing else, which should be a crime. He hasn't touched me in three days, at least, not sexually.

And I never would have thought it, but him
not
bringing up sex somehow means I think about it all the damn time.

"You take wonderful care of me. Though you could, you know, take care of me in other ways…" I pretend to pout. Okay, I'm actually pouting.

Gray laughs, his eyes shining in the morning light. He didn't come home last night until almost 5 a.m., but he's still more chipper—and more gorgeous—than anybody.

"
Katya,
you experienced trauma. You need to heal."

I wrap my arms around his warm, naked chest. "It wasn't that bad. You saved me. Now take your pants off."

"Yoohoo!" Elle's voice sounds from the hallways.

"Saved by the Elle." Gray grins.

I roll my eyes, but call her name.

Ever since Markov attacked me, Gray has had me with my feet up in his bed, waiting on me hand and foot. He bought me the girly versions of his expensive body washes and lotions. A mountain of cooking books. The softest, most comfortable pajamas I've ever owned.

Okay, after that shopping trip he also came home with a ridiculous, hot-pink lace teddy and matching thong. He says it's for when I feel better. I say it's for never, ever, ever.

He even bought me a laptop, so I can read and watch movies in bed.

And this time, when he begged to put a bodyguard outside when he couldn't be here, I agreed.

The memory of Markov, straddling me…

He could put a hundred men outside. As long as Elle could come
in
.

"Oh!" Elle stops short in the bedroom doorway, her eyes taking in Gray, Gray's massive chest, and the rumpled bed sheets. "Am I interrupting you guys?"

"Not at all. It's entirely innocent," I grumble. Gray grins and places the oatmeal on the bedside table.

"Ladies, I actually have a meeting."

"Already?" My voice sounds so petulant. But I'm worried about him. "You worked all night and have barely slept! Do you really need to leave right now?"

"Ah, Katya, you worry about your husband." Gray runs his hand softly over the top of my head. "I'm strong like bull. I'll sleep when I'm dead."

I shake my head, but he just kisses my forehead and walks toward the closet, then turns suddenly and comes back to the bed. He folds his arms, scowling, and my gut clenches.

"What's wrong?" I gasp.

Gray just shakes his head sadly, then turns to Elle. "You care about your friend,
da
?"

Elle just stares at him, wide-eyed. Though I'm not sure if it's his question—or his massive, naked chest—that has her bug-eyed.

"Of course I do," she finally says.

Then she turns to me and mouths "oh my God."

It's the chest.

And probably the abs, too.

"Well, we have a problem," Gray says. "She has barely any clothes. So I buy some for her, and all she wears are the grandma-pajamas."

Elle starts to giggle.

"You crazy bastard." I try not to laugh. "You scared me. And that pink lacy atrocity does not qualify as 'clothes.'"

Gray walks over, grabs my purse, and rifles through it. My heart clenches. Oh God, what if he—

"Here," Gray says, handing Elle the black AmEx he ordered with my name on it. Well, with
Katherine Petrokov
on it, the smug bastard. "I give her this gift, and she never uses it. Once she heals fully, you could take her shopping, yes? Help her buy some clothes that would make both her and me happy?"

Elle beams and takes the AmEx from him. "Oh, certainly. It would be my
honor
." She places her hand over her heart, then laughs.

Gray nods and smiles, then turns to me—and his smile changes. Softens.

Goddammit.

I'm surprised my heart doesn't just melt.

"Take care of yourself,
Katya
," Gray says. "I'll try to be back early tonight. If you feel up to it, I have someplace special I want to take you to dinner."

I nod at him, suddenly shy. Elle and I are self-consciously quiet as he dresses, hidden in the walk-in closet. It's only after he leaves the room, and then we hear the front apartment door close and lock, that Elle throws herself onto the bed next to me and screams.

"Oh my God! That
body
!"

"Shut up!" I pretend to try and suffocate her with a pillow—but as I'm doing it, I think of Markov and drop the pillow, my eyes filling with tears and my heart pounding.

"Oh, honey," Elle says. She's come over every day, worried beyond measure ever since I told her what happened. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine." I wave her off. "I really don't want to talk about it anymore. And it's not like anything horrible
happened
."

"Kat, something horrible did happen."

"Yes, but many women the world over have worse things happen to them, on a daily basis. Gray saved me." I pause and fidget with the comforter. "I think what's freaking me out today is, that's his world. I can't accept Gray without accepting that, too."

Elle sighs and holds my hand. "I wish I knew what to say. Or do."

I shrug, then give her a wan smile. "You've done enough. You've done
everything
. Thank you."

The day after the attack, Elle had snuck in all the passport paperwork. I filled it out and signed it, and she'd mailed everything for me. I'd also given her my ATM card and passcode, and had her withdraw the daily max amount each of the last two days.

"I can't believe he was looking in your purse!" Elle moans. "Do you think it's still a safe place?"

I nod, picking it up and stuffing the AmEx back in the wallet he'd bought me.

"He never looks in here, that was a fluke. Besides, there's nowhere else to hide the money. This is
his
place. I don't have a safe place to stash anything."

"Are you sure you really want to go through with this?" Elle says.

"I'm not going through with anything yet. I'm just ensuring I have a backup plan."

Elle hands me the travel sewing hit she brought, then grimaces as I rip out the lining from the bottom of the purse.

"I can't believe you're doing that to a Bottega Veneta. I think I might cry."

I shake my head as I carefully pull the lining apart, revealing a small square place at the bottom of the bag. Perfect for hiding the passport, once it arrives at Elle's apartment, and a couple thousand dollars. I slide the money under the bag's soft, black interior lining, then pause.

"Do you think I should stitch it up now? Or wait until I get more cash from the bank?"

Elle sighs. "Babes, how much more do you have?"

"Not much."

"Stitch it now. Gray won't think it's strange if you have a couple more thousand in your wallet. Hell, he basically tried to throw that much at you before, didn't he?"

I shake my head as I carefully thread the needle. "It's insane. If you would've seen us years ago, we were so poor. And now this." I gesture at the room.

Elle lays back on the bed and whistles. "Damn, this bed. It's like sleeping on a cloud. This is reason enough to stay! And to think, you get to share it with that hot body…and Kat: he likes you."

I nod, carefully sewing the hole in the lining closed.

Elle reaches out and touches my arm. "No, I mean, I see how he looks at you. His face, when he's watching you? It's, like,
soft
. Maybe the only soft thing about that man."

"I get it, Elle. You want to jump his bones." My voice comes out sounding more annoyed than I intended.

"No, you don't get it," Elle says sadly. "But maybe someday you will."

My head hurts, my jaw hurts, and I don't feel like fighting with my best friend. So I just ignore her. She's a born romantic, but I can't afford to be that way.

Right now, more than ever, I have to be logical. Rational. Cold-hearted.

It's the only way to stay alive.

So why, when I think about leaving Gray, do I feel so dead inside?

* * *

A
fter Elle leaves
—promising to drag me out of the house tomorrow, go shopping, and find out if a black AmEx truly has no limits—I sleep.

And sleep. And sleep.

When I wake up, it's after four in the afternoon and it hits me: I haven't been having my usual nightmares.

I soak in the tub and dress carefully. I don't really have any fancy clothes, so I hope Gray wouldn't take me to a really nice restaurant. But I put on a simple green sundress that, while not that stylish, compliments my green eyes.

Okay, and makes my chest look pretty great, too.

Not that I care what Gray thinks, I tell myself. But still, I groan when I see the bruise on my cheek. At least it isn't a deep purple anymore; now it's more like a green-tinged eggplant.

Not exactly sexy.

I rifle through my makeup bag, wishing for once I paid more attention to things like cover up. I do the best I can with what I've got, then put on some shiny pink lip gloss and straighten my hair until it falls like a dark waterfall down my back.

I look up, and Gray's standing in the doorway.

"For a big guy, you're pretty sneaky." I meet his eyes in the mirror.

He smiles and walks in, stopping behind me and hugging me. We both watch our bodies in the mirror.

"You're just deaf," he teases, kissing my neck. Shivers race down my spine.

"Gray," I whisper, turning around. Somehow, when he's next to me, all my doubts and fears disappear. Does he know how he affects me?

We kiss, but he's the first one to pull back.

"Come on." He takes my hand, pulling me toward the door. "I have a surprise for you."

"
D
o
I
have
to wear the blindfold?"

I can tell we're on a sidewalk. The sounds of people and cars and just general New York mayhem surround us. "Is this a kinky sex thing?"

"You wish." Gray's voice comes from my left, and he's got his arm around me, leading me effortlessly through the crowd.

And then suddenly we're walking indoors, somewhere quiet. My heels click on the floor. A woman's voice with a smooth French accent greets us; "Mr. and Mrs. Petrokov, right this way."

"You wish," I whisper back at him.

We walk for maybe five minutes, the air cool. It feels like we're in a museum; the room feels large and as the woman directs us, her voice echoes just slightly.

"Stop here," Gray says, his hands on my hips. I feel him untying the scarf he'd wrapped around my eyes. The darkness falls away and—

I'm staring at a small dinner table, set in a comically large room. The entire space is empty except for our table, complete with a white linen tablecloth, champagne on ice, and beautiful flowers.

"Where are we?" My voice dies as Gray turns me slowly. We're not in a ballroom, which is what I thought the room was at first. We're not in a museum.

We're in a kitchen.

"What?" I say, taking in an elevated stage with a long, stainless-steel countertop. There's an eight-range stovetop, sinks, another range—and above it all, a mirror hanging from the ceiling, tilted so that anyone in the large room could have a bird's-eye view of exactly what the chef would be doing with his hands.

"Welcome to the New York Cooking Institute," the same voice who had greeted us at the door says. I turn and see an attractive woman in her fifties, very chic, very French. She's smiles and leads me to the table, where she pulls out a chair for me.

I sit slowly, giving Gray a look. "What's going on?" I mouth.

He just grins as he sits across from me, then says, "Let's wait for the menu."

The woman returns. "I am Juliette, and I will be serving you this evening. We have a chef's tasting menu for you to enjoy."

She hands me the menu first, a large, flat page on heavy card stock.

She smiles at Gray, and I feel a momentary flare of jealousy—but then I realize, she isn't flirting. It’s more like they're sharing a secret. What is going on?

"I will return in a moment, to take your wine selections."

Gray smiles and holds up his champagne glass. "We never had a wedding reception. Cheers to my lovely bride."

I'm sure I'm blushing. I toast him back, then sip the champagne. It's cold and bubbly and delicious.

The first few items make my mouth water.

"Oh my God, Gray. Royal Kaluga caviar? In a 'Maine lobster fondue'? What does that even mean?"

Gray laughs. "I have no idea. I usually eat burgers for dinner."

I take another sip of champagne. "Aren't you Russian? Don't you all love caviar?"

"Yeah," Gray shakes his head. "You know I grew up eating caviar every night."

We're both quiet for a minute.

"Well," I finally say. "Look at how far you've come."

Juliette returns and takes our wine orders, though Gray basically tells her to bring whatever she would pair with each course. After the first caviar dish, she brings us white sturgeon caviar and oysters on the half shell from a local inlet.

Each dish is more complex than the last. The "clam chowder" is actually a large white bowl with a small fillet of halibut in the middle, surrounded by a delicately placed necklace of Manila clams. The fish is balanced on a potato confit—and I have to ask what the other elements are: celery branch salad and a "chowder" sauce.

"This is
amazing
," I tell Gray. "I can't tell if I like this better than the Alaskan king crab; making a 'porridge' out of cracked rice and white corn? And those Chanterelle mushrooms, my God! And I've never eaten daylilies before!"

Gray shoots me a smile and swirls a piece of bread over the remains of sauce on his plate. "They're all delicious. They're all
small
."

I giggle. It's true. Each course has been absolutely exquisite, but also incredibly tiny. I've tried to take my time and savor each individual component, and then how they all blend perfectly together.

Gray is pretty much done with each course in two bites.

"I think I'll need a burger after this." He winks.

Gray is a surprisingly wonderful conversationalist. We talk about the bar, and what I've been doing for the past seven years, Elle and her teaching, what Derek and Smalls have been teaching me in the kitchens. About O'Malley's itself, and how it's actually more profitable than anyone would have guessed. With all the hipsters and Manhattan residents looking for cheaper housing, Williamsburg is overrun and becoming a destination in and of itself.

The old-world charm of O'Malley's is a huge draw.

"We've been raking in cash, hand-over-foot," he says. "I hate to say this, but if your father hadn't been such a—" He trails off, obviously trying not to offend me.

"An addict?" I say.

He nods. "And an idiot. If he had managed the money better, sweetheart, you could've been going to chef school all this time."

I rub my temple. "That bastard. Where is he?"

Gray shakes his head. "I sent him to rehab."

I gasp. "You did? That's wonderful! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise. But I didn't want you to get your hopes up, in case he didn't make it."

At my questioning look, Gray says, "He checked himself out after two days. He's on his own now, babes. I'm sorry. I tried."

I nod, the food suddenly tasteless in my mouth. "Of course my dad would do that. You hand him a great opportunity, and he squanders it."

"It's the story of his life, Kat. He had the bar and he ruined it. But more than that, he was given the most wonderful woman in the world as his daughter. And it's just a testament to your strength, but he didn't ruin
you
."

My eyes fill with tears. "Gray, I don't know what to say."

Gray smiles, then gestures to someone behind me. "You don't have to say anything. I want to focus on the future."

Juliette appears and hands me another menu.

"Well," I joke, "dessert is in my immediate future, and I always like to focus on that!"

Then I look at what I'm holding in my hands.

It's not a dessert menu.

It's a class schedule?

I stare up at Gray, then at Juliette, then back at Gray. "What?"

"Babes, this isn't just a fancy-ass French restaurant," Gray says.

Juliette flinches at his language, but keeps a smile on her face.

"It's an internationally renowned French cooking school. And you are its newest student."

* * *

I
walk
backwards into Gray's apartment, my arms around his neck, his hands around my waist. He held my hand the entire time we toured the cooking school.

He had his hand on my thigh the entire car ride home.

Then he attacked me when we were finally alone in the elevator.

Or, maybe I attacked him.

Gray lifts me suddenly, wrapping my legs around his waist and holding my ass in his strong hands. I twine myself around his neck, kissing him the entire time. I can't get enough. I moan and encircle his broad shoulders with my arms.

Gray pulls back, his body tense, his eyes on fire. "I'm making you mine, tonight."

I look up at him, his chest heaving, his hair messed. I lean my forehead against his. "I've always been yours."