Gilded Cage: A Russian Mafia Romance (Kovalyov Bratva Book 1) by Nicole Fox (best books for 20 year olds .txt) 📕

nook eating eggs on toast. She’s wearing a pair of denim cut-offs and a bright pink bikini top underneath a sheer white t-shirt.

“You’re up early,” I say, sitting opposite her as I help myself to hot coffee from the pot.

“You’re up late,” she counters without really looking at me.

I grind my teeth together as my patience wears thin. She’s already on her bullshit today.

I can’t handle that right now. I need to get out a little, feel the wind and the sun on my face. I need open ocean.

“I’m going sailing,” I tell her, getting up from my seat abruptly. “If you want to join me, be by the boat dock in fifteen minutes. Otherwise, I’ll see you when I see you.”

Exactly fourteen and a half minutes later, she steps onto the boat dock with a small tote bag slung over her shoulder. She’s got sunglasses on, but when she approaches the sailboat I’m on, she removes them and squints up at me.

“I was expecting a smaller boat,” she remarks.

I smirk. “Then you don’t know me very well.”

“Go big or go home, huh? Am I supposed to be impressed?”

I lean in and offer her my hand. She hesitates for only a moment before she takes it and lets me guide her on board.

The boat has a lower deck equipped with a bedroom, bathroom, a small storage compartment, and a refrigerator that’s been fully stocked.

I don’t bother with a tour, though. I figure she’s been on boats like this plenty in her life. After all, she was the daughter of a don.

I cast off and get us moving. The wind picks up, and soon, we’re sailing away from the dock towards open ocean.

She moves gingerly once we really get to cruising. That’s all it takes for me to realize that she doesn’t have much experience with boats.

“You’re not going to throw up, are you?” I ask.

“I just… need to get used to this,” she replies, sitting near the gunwale beside me.

Her hair whips chaotically around her face but she makes no move to tie it up. Instead, she closes her eyes and keeps them closed for several long minutes.

When she finally opens them, she’s smiling.

“Okay, I’m used to it. This is amazing.”

Her soft grin is genuine, glowing. And I find myself smiling back in exactly the same way.

Fuck me.

The woman has a strange, hypnotic hold on me—that is, when she isn’t trying to fight me at every turn.

We cruise along peacefully for almost an hour. I strip my shirt off and work on the sails. The simple physical labor is relaxing. Like meditation.

Pull this.

Tighten that.

Everything does what’s expected of it.

Unlike my new wife.

I catch Esme checking me out a couple of times. She tries to pretend like she isn’t, but the blush on her cheeks betrays her every time.

I take my time with the sails for her benefit, flexing my muscles and moving closer to her than I need to.

It’s payback for the stunt she pulled yesterday.

Two can play at that game.

We don’t talk much at all, but for some reason it doesn’t seem to matter. The silence is comfortable.

When we circle back around, the island comes back into view, but I stop the boat again within swimming distance.

“Why are you stopping?” Esme asks.

“I want to take in the sun here.”

She frowns. “I’ve had enough. I want to go back.”

I stare at her. So much for this dreamy summertime world where my wife doesn’t fight me every chance she gets.

We’re back to harsh reality now.

“It’s not time yet. We’ll go back when I say so.”

She narrows her eyes. I see that familiar fire flare again. I’m ready for her to start arguing.

Instead, she turns from me and clambers onto the boat’s bow.

“What the fuck are you—”

Before I can finish my sentence, she’s diving right into the ocean.

“Goddammit,” I curse.

I rush to the edge, ready to jump in after her when I see her resurface.

She doesn’t look troubled in the least. Her hair floats behind her in the water as she glides seamlessly along the gentle wavetops in a smooth breaststroke.

She doesn’t look back. Not even once.

I’m left on the boat, staring at her and shaking my head in a mixture of awe and frustration.

Nothing is easy with this girl. Can’t even take a fucking boat trip without a blow-up.

30

Esme

The swim back to the island leaves me feeling both exhilarated and exhausted.

On one hand, fuck Artem. It felt good to turn my back on him and dive into the water.

He’s so hellbent on controlling me. On keeping me where he wants me, when he wants me there.

I’ve spent a lifetime doing that with Papa. Now that my father is dead, I won’t ever let myself be chained down like that again.

But in the bigger scheme of things, I don’t have much of a choice. Like it or not, Artem is a mob boss. There’s no place I can go that he can’t come find me and drag me back kicking and screaming.

So for now, running isn’t an option.

I have to find smaller rebellions.

I had planned on going straight up to the house when I got to land, but my legs and arms complain, so I sit on the beach near the boat dock and stare out into the horizon.

Several little rays of sunlight have managed to break through the riot of clouds above. It’s as picturesque as I’ve ever seen. True paradise.

And yet my eyes keep darting back to the sailboat bobbing just out in the harbor.

Even from here, I can make out his silhouette.

Even from a distance, it’s impressive.

It had taken all my willpower not to gawk at him open-mouthed when he’d been moving around the ship, adjusting the sails.

Everything from his tattooed chest to his washboard abs screamed of strength and power. Everything he did forced me to squeeze my legs together against the rush of desire.

I was trying to be subtle, but I’m pretty sure he caught me staring at him a few times.

It’s the strangest