Corrupt - Lana Sky Page 0,12
Magda?”
“I have no legal claim to her as it stands,” he says. “To give her the best life possible, I need to go through the proper channels and jump through whatever hoops the government insists I may. My resources can achieve many things, but, in this case, I cannot rely on them. And while I know that she is biologically mine, for obvious reasons, I cannot claim as much without proof and documentation. For both her sake and mine, this is the easiest way.”
“Is that why you wanted a fake wife?”
A lazy smile shapes his mouth for a fleeting moment. “I was interviewing mainly childcare workers,” he admits. “Entirely for Magda’s sake and not my personal enjoyment. It seems I settled on a candidate the complete opposite to what I initially thought.”
“I do have childcare experience,” I grudgingly point out.
“I lucked out then,” Vadim says, still running his fingers through my hair. “If you will stay, that is. I apologize for not being upfront before.”
“It’s not like you didn’t try,” I admit as I parse through my memories of the past few days. There were a handful of moments where he definitely tried to confess something important—and I had obliviously shrugged him off. “But if we are to do this, then no more secrets...”
Even if admitting them out loud stings like hell. Facing him, I force a serious note into my voice. “I need you to understand right now that I’m not sure if I’m really ready for a serious relationship with a child involved. No, actually, I know that I’m not—not that you are either. Magda is your main concern now.”
I nod along with my own logic. Laying out such boundaries now makes sense. Exposing myself to a man whose emotions run hot and cold is one thing. Opening myself up to a child, in the same way, isn’t fair to either of us.
“I understand,” he admits, but when I crane my neck back to observe his face, he’s frowning, as surly as ever even with his eyes half-closed.
“But we can still have sex,” I add, feeling no shame in making that demand. “At least until Magda is placed with you permanently. After that, we’re done. That is what is best for everyone.”
Mainly myself, and the struggle of reconciling my newfound lust with my own internal promises. My list. My rules. My creed.
He doesn’t mention whether he agrees or not with that assessment. He’s silent for so long that it isn’t until I look back at him that I realize why—the poor man fell asleep.
Chapter Four
I wake up just as the sky is setting beneath the waterfront below. It’s evening already, though I still feel exhausted beneath a level of sex-drunk energy. Yawning, I disentangle myself from Vadim, and I have to pinch myself just to keep from watching him for hours. His two-day exile from bed resulted in poor sleep, apparently. He’s unconscious, his chest rising and falling in a slow, easy rhythm that shatters the guarded persona he so regularly presents to the world.
He’s mine like this—a dangerous thought I can’t seem to shake. Hoarding his beauty to myself, I take my time lightly stroking the panes of his chest, my mind racing ahead to all the dirty ways I could explore him further.
Eventually, his welfare takes precedence as my own stomach growls in hunger. Sighing, I leave the bed and tiptoe into the closet to steal one of his shirts, opting for more coverage than my lingerie in case I find Ena lurking downstairs. Then, I enter the kitchen to find it empty, and I fix up one of the freezer meals, dividing it among two plates. When I return upstairs, I’m juggling a bottle of orange juice for him and wine for me.
I move cautiously, only to trip over the threshold, and I wind up dropping my wine. It lands with a thud that could wake up the devil himself. Crestfallen, I look at the bed, and sure enough, Vadim is stirring, a lazy hum rumbling in his throat.
“Breakfast?” he wonders, sounding so darn husky my toes curl. His eyes are surprisingly mistrustful, suspicious even. Might I have laced his juice with poison, I imagine him thinking. Do I truly forgive him so easily?
I smirk to feed his paranoia, and a lazy grin shapes his mouth in response, his jaw softening.
“Dinner,” I correct, inching forward to set our plates on the bed. I lift a fork from his and stab at a piece of steaming