Shrugging on a coat so the weapon behind my back isn't visible, I chuckle while walking out of the bedroom. "I have to go and deal with my wife."
There's a burst of laughter in my ear. "Good luck."
We end the call, and I tuck the device into my pocket as I reach the guestroom I found Mariya in earlier. It pissed me off that she even dared to climb into another bed.
Opening the door, I'm met with a shriek. "Do you freaking mind?"
"Not at all." I stroll inside as Mariya turns her back to me
and quickly fastens the buttons on her silk blouse.
"Well, I do," she snaps. Once she's dressed, she swings around to face me with a scathing glare. "Just because there's a piece of paper saying we're married doesn't mean you can come and go as you please."
I tilt my head to the side, my gaze lazily sweeping over her body. I love the way she dresses, always looking like the queen she is.
Fuck, you can fit a diamond in the gap between her thighs. "You better get used to it," I lift my eyes to hers, "mia moglie."
A flash of anger tightens her features, and it has me noticing she's not wearing any makeup. I was too tired to notice earlier.
Staring at her, I take in how vulnerable she looks without the warpaint covering her face.