Rough Exile

Chapter Twenty

Eventually,whenthedrinking had gone on long enough, Ilya excused us from the salon where we had moved to after supper. We made our way back to our suite, trailed by Bron.

As soon as the door closed behind the three of us, I rounded on them both.

“What the hell is going on?” I whispered, the anger and betrayal I’d felt all evening welling up in my throat.

“Calm down, woman,” Bron grumbled. “It isn’t the end of the world. You could do worse than the boy. Besides, people get divorced all the time. If you can hold your peace and stay married for a year or so, then quietly file for divorce, you will be a rich woman.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you divorce, you’ll get a settlement of some sort. Be patient.”

I rounded on Ilya. “This is the kind of bullshit I would have expected from Bron, but from you? Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were bringing me here to marry me?”

“I wasn’t sure if you would agree, and it needed to happen as soon as possible.”

“Why? Did I get you pregnant?”

Bron snorted, but Ilya didn’t seem to find it as funny.

“Your contract with me is finished soon. I didn’t have time to convince you.”

“If I march right back to that dining room and tell the priest I didn’t know what was going on, he would rip up those papers.”

“Considering he’s one of my father’s closest friends, you may be mistaken, but I assumed we meant enough to each other that you would do me one small favor.”

“A small favor is lending you gas money or picking you up from the airport. Marrying you to prove a point to your father is not a small favor.”

“I’m sorry you’re angry, but I won’t lie and say I’m sorry we’re married.” His grin and shining eyes took the wind out of my wrath-filled sails.

“I just—” I shrugged irritably. “I never imagined being in the position where I wouldn’t know I was getting married until halfway through the ceremony. Call me old-fashioned.”

“I love you,” Ilya said, approaching me slowly, as though I might bite.

The idea of biting him wasn’t off the table.

“If you love me, why would you do something like this? Why wouldn’t you tell me what was going on ahead of time and trust that I would cooperate?”

“It’s a piece of paper. It’s no big deal.” Bron made a dismissive gesture. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those women who has fantasized about her wedding since she was a little girl.”

I glared at him. “No, but don’t tell me this meant nothing to you. I could tell how upset you were.”

“I’m not upset. Your delusions about how I feel are cute, but you are mistaken.”

“I’m not mistaken at all, but I guess your feelings on the matter don’t really factor into this. The two of you decided what the best course of action was and didn’t even bother letting me in on the plan.”

Bron sighed and scooped me into his arms even as I struggled and tried to get him to put me down. Unfortunately, when the man got an idea in his head, there wasn’t much I could do about it.

“You’d better be quiet,” he whispered. “This house has good soundproofing, but it’s not magic.”

“Put me down!” I whispered back, scowling.

“Nonsense. It’s our wedding night,” Ilya reminded me, his smile feral. “We need to consummate our union.”

“That would sound old-fashioned, except your bodyguard is here,” I pointed out, in case he’d failed to notice the man carrying me toward the bedroom. “If you think I’m having sex with either of you tonight, get ready to be disappointed.”

“Oh, we’re both ready, but not to be disappointed. Now we’ll make sure you’re ready too.”

I struggled in Bron’s arms, but his chest vibrated with something that sounded suspiciously like a cross between a chuckle and a growl.

“I can’t believe you would treat me this way, after everything the three of us have been through together over the past few months. I need time to process this, and I don’t think I’m ever going to forgive you.”

“What makes you think we care if you forgive us?” Bron handed me to Ilya.

“Ilya cares. I know he does.” I looked at my husband—my husband!—and frowned, wanting him to grovel and tell me how sorry he was for doing something so heartless to me. I never would have expected him to do something so underhanded.

“I’m supposed to be sorry for making you my wife? I told you I loved you. I’ve been calling you my wife for weeks, and you’ve hardly complained.”

“I thought it was a joke because of our fake engagement!”

“Americans have a strange sense of humor,” Ilya said to Bron, shaking his head.

“Marriage is supposed to be voluntary. You’re not supposed to ambush a woman with a wedding when she doesn’t even understand the language.”

“Different cultures have different customs,” Bron said with a shrug.

“You can’t tell me that Russian men always trick women into marrying them. I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Who said anything about Russians?” Ilya’s grin was completely evil. This time, it didn’t look anything like one of Bron’s expressions—it was something all his own. “Our island has its own culture, or hadn’t you noticed?”

“Toxic relationships aren’t a culture,” I snapped.

He threw me onto the bed and they both descended on me as I tried to fight them off. Their hands were everywhere, unzipping my dress, stealing my shoes, shucking me like an ear of corn. I was naked except for my panties, in about ten seconds flat.

Both men looked cocky, and sexy as hell.

“You can’t do this to me. If you try to have sex with me right now, I’ll scream bloody murder, and your brothers will either save me or call the police on you.”

Bron hooked his fingers under one side of my underwear and yanked a knife out of his pocket, slicing the fabric with a quick, lethal slash that made me gasp. He cut through the other side, too, then wadded up the fabric and stuffed it in my mouth. The satin, or whatever it was, immediately grew soggy, and I could taste myself on them.

“No problems, only solutions.”

I tried to shriek at him, but the fabric deadened the sound.