“What, no tux?” I ask when he meets me at the rear of the church. He ignores me, taking my elbow instead of offering his. “Where’s my headpiece? Seriously, I’m not getting married without a tiara. I thought I was your printsessa or whatever.”
Vlad’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t look at me. “You don’t need tiara, you already have shiny halo.” His accent’s grown thicker since we arrived in Russia.
I snort.
I can’t believe I’m walking down the aisle joking with my captor-slash-groom.
He stops in front of the priest, who waves the sign of the cross in front of us and chants in Russian.
There’s some talking. Some more talking.
Then, apparently the vows. The priest looks at me.
“Nyet,” I say firmly.
The priest ignores me and goes on with the ceremony. At least I think that’s what happens, but I can’t be sure since the whole thing is in Russian.
As I stand there, trembling beside the man who is apparently marrying me, it strikes me just how screwed I really am. Not speaking the language, being in a foreign country is a huge disadvantage. Especially considering how connected Vlad appears to be.
The priest says something else and Vlad cups the back of my head and pulls me in for a quick peck on the lips. It all happens so fast I don’t have a chance to fight it, and then it’s over.
Fuck.
I’m married.
I hiccup on a sob.
Vlad scoops me into his arms and carries me out of the church as I drag in stuttered breaths. No tears come. Just crazy, heaving, erratic sobs. The kind that sound like a drowning woman gasping for air.
Mika walks along beside us, throwing worried glances up at me. Vlad walks swiftly to the limo. One of his men opens the door for him. Instead of dropping me inside, he sits on the seat and pivots his legs in, keeping me in his arms.
Mika slides in across from us, his brows down, head low.
Vlad barks something in Russian to the driver and the limo leaves as I continue to struggle with my breath. My fake groom holds me on his lap and strokes my bare arms with a light, feathery touch. His brows are down, same as Mika’s, and he doesn’t look at me.
I stare out the window at the landscape flying by, hiccupping, feeling the last bit of my hope draining away.
Vlad
I want to comfort my bride, but there’s nothing to say. I’m the cause of her distress and what’s done is done.
Still, it bothers me more than I care to admit to feel her shaking in my arms. To see her come undone.
“Will you let her go?” Mika mutters in Russian so quietly I barely hear it. He doesn’t look at me when he asks.
“Yes. Eventually,” I tell him, also in Russian.
He flicks his wary gaze at me and gives a single nod before looking out the window.
“I won’t hurt her, and I won’t force sex.” It’s a fucking awkward conversation to have with a twelve-year-old, but I feel like I have to tell him. I don’t know what the kid’s seen. His mother was a whore. I don’t know how Aleksi or other johns treated her. Mika may be scarred from things that were done to her.
Worse, he might be deadened to the concept of consent, of how a woman should be treated. And I’m providing a shit example. So I need him to know this.
He doesn’t answer, which is fine. I look at him until he glances back up at me.
“Never force a woman to have sex, Mika. It’s wrong.”
Uncertainty and pain flash in his eyes, and I’m glad I persisted. He is scarred.
“Do you agree?” I press.
He nods quickly. “Da.”
“Good.” I release him from my gaze. I’m still stroking Alessia’s arms. She’s calmed down now, although I still detect a tremor in her limbs.
“You will like my place,” I say in English, to both of them. “It’s quite comfortable.”
Neither one of them answer.
The limo pulls up at my sprawling country home on the bank of the Volga river at sunset. Rosy-hued clouds make a stunning backdrop for the stately mansion.
It’s strange to be back. I’ve been away for thirteen months now. Banished to America because a conniving woman tricked me into her bed.
The servants know I’m coming. My housekeeper, Zoya—the servant who attended Alessia at the church—stands outside with her husband Yegor. My men line up outside to greet us, as well.
The driver opens my door and I lift Alessia out and onto her feet and follow her out. Mika climbs out and takes it all in, nothing showing on his expression.
“It’s nice,” Alessia concedes, her gaze traveling over my enormous mansion and the gated grounds surrounding it. She points in the direction of the thicket of trees. “Is that the river?”
“Da.” I smile. She could so easily be a bitch right now. Decide to hate everything, show me only her ire. But she doesn’t. Her first words are “it’s nice.”