Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“I don’t care what’s expected, asshole, and if you try to tell me how I can or cannot talk ever again, I’ll stab you right in the dick while you’re sleeping.”
He seems more amused than annoyed. “We will work on that attitude together.”
“Stop the car. I changed my mind.”
“Too late.”
We pull up out front of Valentin’s house. He steps out onto the sidewalk and holds the door for me. I glare at him from the comfort of the back seat while the absurd engagement ring glitters on my finger.
“Take me back home. I’m done with this already.”
“Then you can deal with the Armenians all by yourself. I’m sure that will go well.”
“You really want to blackmail your wife into marrying you?”
“I don’t consider this blackmail. We’re simply coming to terms on our arrangement.”
Motherfucker. This rat bastard. I can’t believe I got myself off on his freaking thigh ten minutes ago. He’s using me to get what he wants, and I have no idea what that even is right now, but it’s clear he’s got motives beyond just needing a wife for political reasons.
But what choice do I have?
I can still see Mama sitting in her bathroom, her face all messed up, blood crusted in her nose, eye black and blue, telling me the story of her monster brother and all the money she owes him.
My options are all terrible.
Go back home and try to handle the leader of the Armenian Brotherhood without any help. That will absolutely not work out.
Marry Valentin and hope he can help me. I’m pretty sure that will also be a total mess.
But at least with Valentin, there’s a chance Mama doesn’t get hurt again.
I should be so mad at her for taking out that loan in the first place, but I’m too tired to start placing blame.
My shoulders slump, and I slowly climb out of the back seat.
He puts a hand on my lower back and leans down to kiss my cheek. “Good girl,” he whispers.
True to his word, there’s a dress waiting for me in a side room. His housekeeper, Nikkita, helps me put it on. She tuts at my makeup and tries to do something with my hair. “So much of it,” she grumbles, tying back my unruly, messy curls. “And such a mess. He will not be pleased.”
But in the end, Nikkita does a passable job. The dress is incredible, like I knew it would be, no doubt expensive and designer. The skirt is poofy and white, and the bust is tight to my chest, both somehow sexy and conservative. The sort of dress I could never in a million years afford. I hate it with a passion. But at least Nikkita grudgingly admits that I look beautiful as she leads me through the house and toward my fate.
I don’t know how this is happening, but I’m drifting now, like I’m hanging in the air above myself and watching from a distance.
The ceremony goes fast. As promised, Valentin has a priest waiting in his backyard. Lights are strung up across a vine-covered pergola. Bushes of wildflowers and gorgeous local plants are like colorful explosions in the perfectly manicured beds. The priest seems uncomfortable the whole time, and the only other witnesses are Anton, Valentin’s friend and close advisor, and Nikkita.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
I start to turn away, thinking we aren’t actually going to do this, but Valentin puts a hand on my lower back and drags me into him. When his lips find mine, I’m transported again to the art studio, to the back seat of his town car, to my trashed living room, to all the moments where I hated him and wanted him in equal measure, where I feared him and needed him, just like right now. His mouth takes me, owns me, dominates me, and I don’t know how I’m going to survive being his wife if I can barely survive the wedding.
“Now you are truly mine,” he whispers in my ear. “And I am going to treat you the way a proper queen deserves to be treated.”
Except it doesn’t sound comforting.
No, not even a little bit.
Chapter 13
Karine
The wedding breaks up and Valentin drags me into the mansion. “What are we doing now?” I ask him but he doesn’t respond. Instead, we end up in the dining room as several bottles of very good vodka get carried in by Nikkita.
“Traditional Russian celebration,” Valentin explains as he pours me a glass. “To your health.”
He takes his own measure and throws it back. I watch him, stomach twisted into knots and core still tangled with the memory of his kiss. I sip the vodka, and it’s surprisingly not that bad—and it warms my belly when I toss it all the way down.
“Good girl,” Valentin says as he pours another.