Dangerous Husbands, Broken Wives [18+]

FORTY ONE: BONE TIRED

[ANASTASIA]

For the next few days, I hardly bump into Ivan. Even if I do catch a glimpse of him, it's only in passing.

I try not to be bothered by it. I mean, why should I? I should be happy and content that he is minding his own business instead of making my life harder. I'm happy with my kids, and that's all that matters.

But, stupidly enough, I can't help but steal glances at him. I tell myself that it's only for my own sanity and because I would hate to be surprised if he tried to approach me suddenly. But more often than not, I can tell it's a lie that I can't even sell to myself.

I hate myself for it. I really do. But it bothers me irrationally that he's beating himself up for what happened—the abduction attempt, that is. I can tell because it happened before, and his reaction back then was exactly the same.

I still remember the night when he brought me home after rescuing me from the warehouse where I was held captive. hey demanded Ivan surrender and come alone if he wanted me alive. To my absolute horror, Ivan showed up right on time. However, he refused to drop his weapons until he saw me alive. The two men dragged me out of a dark room and tossed me on the floor. One of them even yanked at my hair to piss Ivan off.

They thought they finally had the Pakhan under their thumb.

They were wrong.

I can still hear the gunfire and explosions, smell the smoke and death. Ivan and I were the only ones who made it out alive. None of those abductors survived.

I still remember the way I broke down when he put me in the bathtub and cleaned the blood and ashes from my body. I still remember the way he held me and refused to leave me alone even for a second. He kept apologizing, saying that it would never ever happen again. That the incident was an eye-opener, and now he wouldn't stop until he became the most powerful in the entire continent.

Once I started to feel a little better, Ivan began disappearing into the night. He wouldn't come home until morning, and every time I saw him, his clothes would be doused in blood. Here, day by day, I was feeling myself again, and there, Ivan was losing himself and becoming a nightmare for anyone who stood against him.

A month later, when he finally found the time to sit at the dining table and share a meal with me, I couldn't even recognize him. Something had snapped in him, I could tell. He had changed. He wasn't the same Ivan I had loved. He was a stranger with whom I was sharing a home.

It's probably for the sake of Junior and Tati, but I can't let that happen again. I can't see Ivan pushing himself to the extent he would lose a piece of himself yet again. Right now, my kids are happy to have him around; they feel safe. However, if Ivan changed and turned into that same stranger who gave me nightmares back then, they would be terrified. And I can't let that happen. I won't let my kids deal with his anger and mood swings. I just can't.

Perhaps that's why, after Ivan Jr. and Tati go to sleep, I come downstairs and decide to wait for Ivan. At first, I think of calling him and letting him know of my plans, but then I lose courage and end up texting him instead.

"We need to talk. It's important," I type, and for some reason, I feel my heart pounding a little harder against my ribs. Why the hell am I even nervous? It's not like I haven't texted him before, or that he would scold me for disturbing him somehow. Ivan had never discouraged me from contacting him. In fact, he encouraged that quite a lot. He specifically told me to never close the line of conversation between us, even if either of us was too mad to talk.

His response doesn't come right away, so I busy my hands and brew a coffee for myself. It's a cold night like any other in the past few days, and it doesn't help that it's only going to get colder according to the weather forecast.

I move to the couch once the coffee is ready and put the mug on the table. I'm halfway through the newspaper when I hear a car pull up outside. I haven't even seen the car, but I already know it's him.

Something tightens deep in my stomach, and I scold myself for being ridiculous. I just need to talk to him. That's it. There's simply no other reason I can think of for wanting to wait for him to come home.

But if that's true, then how should I explain the relief that gushes through me when I lift my gaze to see him walking inside and find no blood on his clothes? It's like a weight has been lifted, and I realize that, deep down, I was afraid of what I might find. The knots in my stomach begin to loosen, and I stand up, suddenly unsure of how to begin the conversation.

Ivan looks at me, his expression unreadable. However, I still manage to read the obvious question through his dark eyes. It's as if I'm fluent in the language those eyes of his speak.

"I texted you," I say, and he tips his head to the side, slowly coming to a halt at the other end of the couch where I have been sitting. His right-hand slips into the pocket of his pants and returns with his phone. He checks the screen and eventually nods.

A heavy sigh slips through his lips. "I see."

He sounds tired, and even though I shouldn't, I feel a twinge of guilt for preventing him from getting some rest.

"We need to talk." I square my shoulders and decide it's now or never. He had pulled through the entire day; a few more minutes wouldn't kill him.

He looks at me, his eyes searching mine for something.

Finally, he nods again, probably acknowledging the need for a conversation and the fact I wasn't about to let him off so easily.

"Alright," he says, his voice gravelly. "Come to my room. We can talk there."

He starts to leave, heading for the stairs, not noticing the way his words had sent a jolt through me.

I blurt out, "Why not here? Why not your office?" There was no way I was going to his room again. It could be another trap. I still have nightmares about the last time—the way he lured me into his bedroom only to corner me with his smug face and naked body.

Ivan stops, his hand on the bannister. He sighs, his heavy shoulders dropping with obvious exhaustion.

He turns back to face me and for a second my chest hurts to see that hard expression on his face. He's not trying to be charming right now, or planning something nefarious. He seems serious, He seems serious, like when he talks business with his men.

"Ana, baby, I'm bone tired. You want to talk, and I'm ready to listen. But for that to happen, we both have to give something up. I'm willing to do my part. If you are too, I'll see you in my room."

He doesn't linger once those words escape his lips.

He turns and heads straight for his room, leaving me to decide whether I'm ready to take this chance or let go.

A/N: Should Ana take the chance? :P