“No, no. My mother is dead. I should feel sad but I didn’t know her,” he admitted. “I think Yana was married off to someone. She was an odd one—always with her head in the clouds.” He chuckled, smiling to himself. “She raised me, along with our nyanya. After our father took Oleg and Dmitry to live with him, it was only the three of us for a few years until Yana disappeared. They taught me to cook, garden, knit—those kinds of things. It made Vas angry when he found out, but what were they supposed to teach me? I needed to learn how to be useful. I followed the handyman around when he came, but there were no other men here.”
“After Yana was gone, he dismissed your nanny?”
He nodded. “Yes. The day I turned eighteen, the boat that came to take her away dropped off Bronislav to teach me to be a man.”
I shivered at the thought of him being left to Bron’s tender mercies at such a young age. At eighteen, I’d been through a lot, but it sounded like poor Ilya had been sheltered until that day. Then again, who knew how rough his older siblings had been on him? He rarely spoke of them except for Yana.
“What did you think of Bron when he got here?” I glanced casually at the man, who was now working on fixing a piece of equipment at the other end of the extensive garden.
“I was terrified of him and impressed, too. He was so big and angry when he came. He told me often that he didn’t want to play nanny to a boy-man.”
“Why was he sent here?”
“I’m not sure. Once, he said it was because he had laughed when he heard I liked to knit, so Vas sent him here to deal with me. I doubt that’s true. If he had stayed with Vas, though, he might already be dead—working security for my father is dangerous. You’ve seen his scars.”
“Why does he call you Ilyusha sometimes? Is that the long form of your name?”
His eyes widened and he sent a furtive glance Bron’s way. “No. It’s a...” He gave a half shrug. “It’s a cute nickname for my name. I don’t know why he calls me that sometimes. It’s not what men call other men—it’s too sweet. Too affectionate. Like a mother...or maybe a lover would say.” A blush reddened his cheeks. “He would never say it where someone might hear.”
He stood and stretched. Dirt streaked his skin, but that only made him sexier. He pushed back his hair and looked at me. He must have noticed the lust in my gaze because his automatic, friendly smile turned cocky. Yum.
“Do you want something from me, woman?” he asked, arching a dark brow suggestively.
I enjoyed the way he flirted—direct rather than manipulative. The only issue was Bron, who was likely to step in and start directing things. Why was he trying to stop us from fooling around without him? It had to be jealousy.
“When don’t I want something from you?”
“My little wife is so demanding.”
I grimaced at him. “I’m not your wife. I’m not going to be your wife.”
He pressed his lips together.
“You’ll have to pretend that’s where your relationship is heading,” Bron said, surprising me. I hadn’t heard him approaching. “At least until the end of your contract.”
“Pretending to be someone’s girlfriend is one thing, but pretending to be his fiancée is something else entirely. Is his family going to be content with a staged break-up?”
“There will have to be more proof than that.”
“Like what? A ring I can give back?”
Bron rubbed a forearm across his face, leaving a smear of dirt. “Maybe a wedding.”
“What?!” My involuntary shout was so loud that Verni squawked and launched herself into the air.
“Bron,” Ilya snapped. “It’s too soon.”
“We’re out of time for delicacy. We should have told her from the beginning.”
“I—I don’t understand. I thought you brought me here to make Ilya tougher, not to marry him!”
“It probably won’t be necessary, but if it is, you’ll marry Ilya, then you can go home as soon as his family is satisfied. We’ll pay extra for your trouble.”
“I can’t get married and go home like it’s no big deal. How do we get unmarried?”
“There’s this thing we have in Russia called divorce,” Bron said dryly. “There’s no need to have female hysterics. We’re not planning to keep you here against your will.”
“Good. Then send me home now.” I thought about all the time I’d already spent with the two of them. I couldn’t afford to walk away from the money they owed me, and I cared what happened to Ilya, but this was nonsensical.
“We should be able to send you home after we meet with my family,” Ilya promised, his dark gaze wide and reassuring. “There isn’t time for us to find another woman to pose as my fiancée—not one who would be convincing enough.”
“Convincing how?”
“You know me—know enough about me. You look at me as if…” he shrugged. “As if you might love me.”
What?
“I know it’s only because you’re kind,” he rushed on, “and because you’re being paid. But it’s convincing enough for my family. Most of my brothers are married to women who don’t even like them, but you?” He smiled, and the charming flash of white teeth weakened my resolve.
“Why do you need a fiancée to bring home, anyway?” I said, scowling.
“You’ll do it?” Ilya’s smile turned even more hopeful.
“I…it’s a lot to ask.”
“I know.”
“Maybe if you explain, I might have more of a reason to consider it.”
“I told you, if I don’t prove to my father that I’m a real man by the time I turn thirty, he will cut me off financially and send me away from here.”
“And pretending I’ll marry you will prove you’re a ‘real man’? That doesn’t make sense. I’m not going to marry you temporarily out of some misguided—”
Bron seized the back of my neck and squeezed, making me cringe.
“Ow!”
“You agreed to our terms when you came here, De-li-lah. It’s too late to wring your hands and wail for mercy. You trusted us enough to come here when we could have easily planned to skin and eat you. You’ll have to trust Ilya enough to divorce you and let you go if it comes to that.”
“I agreed to CNC—to rough sex with two sexy, scary rich guys—not to marrying one of them to…what? Impress his family? Grow up. No one makes their parents proud.”
“You thought I was scary?” Ilya crowded me from the front as Bron continued to hold the back of my neck.
“That was back on the Island. You never spoke, and you’re so tall—and there are the muscles—and the beard.”
“Ilya? Scary?” Bron guffawed rudely. “He didn’t know where to look when we were there. He hid in our room most of the time.”
“You didn’t sleep with any of the women there either.”
“We were there for you to learn. What help would it have been for me to womanize and leave you to sulk?”
“I didn’t sulk.”