Ivan 2 (Her Russian Protector #9) - Roxie Rivera Page 0,37

on the floorboard. Feeling like a serious asshole, he picked it up and moved it to a cup holder. He had left without a word and had unknowingly taken her phone, cutting of the easiest way for her to contact him. He hastily buckled his belt and reversed out of his spot, all the while wondering how mad she was going to be when he returned. Even walking into the house with tacos in hand might not be enough to soothe her. If he didn’t end up with a cup of hot chocolate dumped on his head, he would consider it a win.

He pulled into the garage and didn’t waste any time grabbing the food, drinks, and her phone. Ready to face his wife and apologize, he entered the house through the mudroom and made his way to the kitchen. He stopped in the arched doorway at the sight of a red-eyed and sniffling Erin standing at the marble island and eating handfuls of sugary cereal straight from the box. She stuffed her hand back into the box and then froze, finally noticing him in the doorway.

Lamely, he lifted the paper bag and drink carrier. “I went for tacos and hot chocolate.”

Her lower lip wobbled as she set aside the box. “You left without saying anything.”

“I know. Fuck. I’m sorry.” He crossed the space between them and placed the bag and drink holder on the countertop. He slid his arms around her and tugged her in for a hug. Pressing his lips to the top of her head and then her cheek, he repeated, “I’m sorry. I felt so stupid for fucking up, and I wanted to do something that would make it even a little better. I thought breakfast would help.”

“It does,” she sniffled against his chest. “But I’m still mad about the way you acted in the parking lot!”

“I know. I deserve it.” He closed his eyes and breathed in the familiar scent of her shampoo. “I don’t know why I acted like that. I’ve been worrying about who hurt you for days, and she was sitting back there, acting as if she had no idea what you had been through, and I lost it.”

“You have to try harder, Ivan,” she urged, leaning back to stare up at him. Her beautiful eyes silently pleaded with him. “You have to try not to antagonize her. She knows how to push your buttons. Until she realizes we aren’t trying to control or lie or betray her, she’s going to be difficult. You’re an adult. You can control your own behavior.”

Duly chastised, he nodded. “I know. I’ll try. I will.” As he released Erin, he said, “I’ll go apologize to your sister.”

“She may not answer the door. She was...,” Erin paused as if searching for the correct word, “testy earlier.”

He had a feeling there was much more to that story. Guilt gripped him at the idea of Erin being here alone while her sister lashed her with whatever spiteful nonsense she decided to spew at that moment. He plucked two of the burritos and the second hot chocolate from the bag and carrier. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. You should eat some real food.” He eyed the box of carb-heavy cereal with disdain. “That shit is going to give you diabetes.”

“And these tacos are going to clog my arteries with all the delightfully fat goodness wrapped up in them,” she replied before snatching up her drink and the bag of tacos and retreating to the breakfast nook.

As he climbed the stairs, he considered that not so long ago, he didn’t even know what the hell a breakfast nook was. Or a gallery wall, he thought as his gaze moved to the artfully arranged photos and paintings on either side of the wide staircase. He hadn’t ever given much thought to color palettes or things like modern farmhouse or industrial chic until Erin had moved in and started showing him things she had pinned on Pinterest or screenshotted on Instagram. She had lured him into watching shows like Fixer Upper and convinced him to take her to Round Top where he happily followed her around while she plucked furniture and décor from vendor stalls. He hadn’t even minded the small fortune he had spent in shipping for the things that wouldn’t fit in the SUV.

He liked the way she had transformed his house into an actual home. He didn’t much care about the colors on the walls or the pillows

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