It was a long time before I turned to look at the flowers.
It made my heart ache in a way that immediately choked me with tears. She must have told him that sunflowers were my favorite flower. Why did he send them to me? Was it a threat, that perhaps I could also end up like Anna? Or was he just plain dumb?
I wanted to pick up the phone to call him, to vent my fury, but all the raw emotion made my chest feel tight and constricted, so I focused on breathing evenly. Ever since he came into my life again my insides were constantly boiling.
I stared at them, at how ugly they had become simply because he had sent them. How dare he? Viciously, I swung my hand out and it hit the tall glass vase. It flew from the table and crashed to the floor, shattering into sharp shards, water rushing out, and the flowers scattering on the plain gray floor.
A few seconds later there was hurried footsteps and Tracy burst into the room.
I turned to meet her eyes, first filled with concern, then confusion, as she looked from the chaos of shattered glass and strewn flowers at my feet, to the dead look in my eyes.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” I replied. “Please get someone to clean it up and take it away. I hate sunflowers.”
Then I lay down on my bed, drew the covers over me, and shut my eyes to find peace.
Chapter Twelve
Maxim
“She destroyed the flowers?” Levan repeated.
Otari nodded. He was afraid to meet my eyes, so it was a relief to keep them on my brother.
“Why?” Levan asked.
“I don’t know, Sir.”
“Leave,” I said, and Otari immediately exited the office.
Levan turned to me. “Do you know why she would do that?”
“Apart from the fact that she hates me, you mean?”
I returned back to the Belarus factory acquisition report I’d been studying before Otari came in, but the words on the page could have as well not been there. Nothing registered beyond what Otari had told us. I shouldn’t be surprised, but did she truly hate me that much? Not that it put me off. In fact, the opposite was true. Her intense hate invigorated and intrigued me. The idea of conquest always did that to me. Making her mine was going to be an extremely enjoyable task.
“Why did you send her sunflowers?”
I could feel his gaze burning through me as he waited for an answer to my question. I shrugged. “I was told they are her favorite flowers.”
He looked at me speculatively. “Ahh, so you do have a thing for her.”
I shrugged. “You are wandering into territories you shouldn’t little brother.”
“Hmm … so who told you about the flowers?” he asked, refusing to drop the topic.
“Anna Petrovska.”
“Anna Petrovska? Wow! I almost forgot about her.”
There was a very long silence that followed as both of us revisited memories from the very skinny, blonde girl. When Levan spoke again his voice was small with grave concern.
“Do you really want to marry Freya? You might end up being miserable. I mean I know you’re not particularly looking to marry for love, but there is a certain satisfaction you can get from being with someone you can at least be civil with. Freya is like a wild…” he searched for the right word.
“Horse?” I supplied.
“Yes, like a wild horse. She will not let anyone tame her enough for her to be ridden on.”
“I think I can ride,” I said with a grin.
Levan sucked in a breath. “You know, I actually think she would be perfect for you if she didn’t hate you so much. Having said that hate is the other side of the coin. If you play your cards right she would come to love just as fiercely as she hates you now. Come to think of it, she almost reminds me of Bianca in that way, but Bianca only goes after trouble when it comes looking for her. Freya seems the kind to stir up storms even while she’s aslee—”
“Don’t you have work to do?”
His eyes sparkled with amusement at my irritation. “My flight to Macau is in an hour.”
“Well then get going. The airport is not exactly next door.”
His grin grew even wider as he rose to his feet. “I’m excited,” he said. “Very excited to see how it goes down with you and the wild mustang. You never lose and she doesn’t seem like one who gives in easily either.”
An idea occurred to me. “Perhaps your fiancée could pay her a visit?”
Levan frowned. “Why?”
I shrugged. “To drop off your wedding invitation.”
“Maybe, but I don’t want her to go alone. We’ll go together when I get back to town.”
“I don’t want you there. You’ll just remind her of me,” I said.
“We don’t look that much alike so I very much doubt Freya will mistake me for you.”
My gaze turned hard, but my brother was his own man and he didn’t budge.
“I’ve never been enemies with Freya and we’ve all known each other for a long time. Bianca is a stranger to her, and I don’t see Freya as someone who will open up to a stranger just because they’re both women.”
I said nothing even though I agreed with him on his assessment of Freya.
“Besides, no way in hell am I letting Bianca go alone to meet Fedorov’s daughter. One wrong word from Bianca and she could have a gun at her head. I’m not taking any chances.”
“Forget I asked then.”
“Too late,” he replied coolly and walked out of my office.
Chapter Thirteen
Freya
“Who was it?” I asked looking up from the vintage earring drawings we had been studying on the kitchen counter before the doorbell rang and Britney went to hang her head out of the window to see who it was.
“Some Russian panty-melter called Levan.” She pulled a face. “He’s with a woman though. Why are all the good-looking ones always taken, and why do they keep coming to find you recently?”
“He’s Maxim’s younger brother,” I replied shortly.
Her eyebrows shot up. “Ah … the plot thickens. Do you want to see him?”
“I’ve never had any problems with him.”
“What about the woman? Is she with him?” she asks hopefully.
“I have no idea who she is, but there are no females in their family.”
“Then perhaps I have a shot then? Let’s let him in.”
The sudden shrill ring of my phone made me jump. There was no caller ID, which gave me a pretty good idea as to whom it was. These mafia folks were all so damn intrusive. I was never one to cower, and from what I knew of Levan neither was he so I might as well face this head-on. I picked up the phone and answered the call.
“Yes,” I barked frostily.
It was not Levan who answered. It was a woman. “Hey,’ she said in a friendly tone. “I’m Bianca Russet … Levan’s fiancée. We heard about what happened to you and decided to come visit you. Levan says he’s known you from when you were both children, and we’d love to see you, and we also brought our wedding invitation and some homemade cake. Actually, I made it myself. It’s a new recipe so you must tell me if you like it.”