With This Ring

I took my seat next to Freya. I could feel the hostility and antagonism coming from her in waves. I turned to look at her and our eyes clashed. Suddenly, it was as if we were back in my father’s old estate. I was seventeen and she was fifteen, the air was warm, the sun was shining, and there was only us in the whole wide world.

Then her father said something.

I didn’t catch it, but I felt it disturb the air around me, and I turned to look into his ferocious eyes. I was no longer seventeen, she was not fifteen, the air was not warm, the sun was not shining, and there was no erection in my pants. I cleared my throat. I only had a few minutes here before I had to move on to the next engagement for the day.

There was business to be done and the sooner we got down to it the better.

“What’s going on?” Freya asked.

Totally ignoring his daughter, Igor addressed me. “It’s been almost five years since I last saw you, Maxim. How are things? I hear that you’ve taken over major parts of the country on behalf of your father.”

My response was simple. “I heard that you’ve been well too, Mr. Fedorov.” His chest bubbled with laughter at my elusiveness, but I could sense that the woman by our side was close to exploding.

She pushed her chair back and rose to her feet. “Since neither of you deem me important enough to receive a simple answer, I will excuse my meagre self from your highly-esteemed company.”

She grabbed her bag and stormed off, but she had only gone a few steps when her father called to her.

His voice was like the crack of a whip and she came to a halt mid-stride. I turned to watch her rigid back. Slowly, stiffly, she turned. She had on one of those ridiculously baggy pair of black pants that women who don’t want to be sexy wear. She had paired that with a loosely fitted white blouse. She wore no jewelry beyond a simple leather watch on her wrist, but I knew that it had originally belonged to her late mother.

“Sit,” he ordered in Russian.

She hesitated only for a second, then she returned, sour and begrudging. To be honest it was quite troubling to see that this was what I would be getting my hands involved with. But then again I did like a little spirit in my women. And spirit she apparently had in spades.

Just then a nervous waitress arrived with a pot of coffee. I nodded at her, and she quickly filled my cup. I took a sip of my coffee and listened as Igor addressed his recalcitrant daughter.

“I really would have thought that you’d have thoroughly matured by now. How are you still so impatient and childish?”

She scowled outright at her father and I almost choked on my beverage. The look she gave the deadly don was more than enough to put someone on his hit list. What a privilege she enjoyed.

Her father turned to me. “Maxim,” he said. “I have heard from your father, but not from you.”

“I have accepted the agreement,” I replied and turned to watch her at the same time that her eyes lifted to hold my gaze. She was waiting for an explanation for what I was referring to. I made it clear. “A Fedorov will be married into the Ivankov family.

All emotion disappeared from her face. Her father and I both waited for her response.

Neither of us expected her to burst into laughter. It was unbridled and humorless and loud. It made everyone in the room turn to look at us uncomfortably. Except me. I listened to the throaty sounds and felt my interest grow for the woman.

She turned to her father. “Is this why you’re here? To sell me off so you can have more power to shove up your ass?”

It happened so fast she didn’t see it coming.

The old bull lunged forward and struck a slap so hard across her face that she tumbled with the chair and fell to the ground. I heard gasps of shock and horror from around us as the other patrons reacted to the assault.

“She’s yours,” he said to me, as she lay sprawled on the ground. “Better get your home in order. The sooner the better.”

Her father stepped over her stunned body, and barked out rapid orders in Russian to his men. But before he could leave however, she grabbed his leg, and despite his anger he stopped.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” she apologized in Russian.

I felt him draw in a deep breath. He bent down and easily pulled her up to her feet. He brushed her hair away from her white face, and placed a soft kiss on the cheek he had struck. With that he took his leave. When he was gone it was as if the air had been sucked out of the room. Just as I had expected, Freya glared murderously at me. I lifted my coffee to my lips and took another sip. She grabbed her backpack, and stormed out of the room.