Married Off To The Devil

KROSHKA.

BELLADORA.

I was being tugged at, plucked, shaped into what my mother and father saw as the perfect Italian girl for my future husband.

And all I could do was stand there, staring at myself in the full length mirror as servants bustled around me, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in my dress, making sure every curl, every hair was in its place.

My makeup had been done twenty minutes ago, a subtle, natural look that accentuated my beauty, or so my mother said.

They were murmuring and under their breath, a string words on how they wanted everything to be perfect “per Master Conti’s orders”.

And I just stood there like a doll that they could prep and primp, not feeling anything, not seeing anything.

There was a soft knock at my bedroom door and then my mother was coming in, speaking in Italian to the servants, ushering them out and coming to stand behind me, her delicate sized hands resting on my shoulders.

“Pavel and Alexei Ivanov have arrived and are downstairs in your father’s cigar room,” she said softly and I nodded once, licking my lips and continuing to stare at my reflection.

My mother had picked out the dress I was currently in, an emerald green full length one that she said complimented my olive complexion and dark hair beautifully.

It was long sleeved, with a scalloped collar that dipped right underneath my collarbone bones, an attribute my father always said hinted at femininity.

Although it was form fitting and showed the slight swells of my breasts, the dips of my hips, and the flare of my waist, it was still modest, the skirting fell to my ankles, keeping the majority of my skin covered so I seemed innocent.

“Mr. Ivanov will be stunned when he sees your beauty, Bella.” She moved her hands down my shoulders and gripped my upper arms gently.

“He’ll treat you well.” I could hear the hopeful tone in her voice. Was she trying to convince me or herself?

I said nothing, just nodding like a good Italian daughter who knew her place even if all she wanted to do was scream and curse and break everything.

“Come ptichka moya,”my mother said and gently placed her hand on the small of my back to lead me out of my room.

Once we made it to the top of the stairs I could hear deep voices filtering up from my father’s cigar room.

I reached out and gripped the banister, curling my fingers tightly around it, digging my nails into the wood.

My heart was thundering, my throat tightened and my mouth went dry.

My mother led the way, clicking her tongue for me to get going like I was a show horse. I guess I was to them, in a way. I realized we were standing in the opened doorway of my father’s cigar room before I realized I’d even moved.

And as if our silent presence was a heavy weight in the room, all conversation between the men ceased and their attention latched right onto me.

And my gaze was locked on one man specifically, as if we were two magnets and I was helpless to fight the pull.

His short dark hair was in a disarray around his head, brushing his forehead as if he’d been running his fingers through it.

His masculine square jaw was covered in a dark shadow of scruff, and no man should have lips that full.

His jaw clenched slightly, his nostrils flared suddenly. I saw a tightening of his fingers around the bourbon glass he held, and there was no mistaking the way he checked me out, his gaze roaming up and down my body.

Despite wearing a demure, modest dress, I felt completely naked at that moment as his gaze moved up and down my body.

“Bella,” my father said in a tone that he’d never used with me before. Gentle. He held his hand out and beckoned me.

I felt a nudge from behind, my mother gently pushing me further into the room. I took a couple steps forward and looked over my shoulder at her.

She stood in the doorway, hands clasped in front of her, her head down. The perfect submissive Italian wife for my father. It made me nauseous.

“Bella,” my father’s voice turned a little harder, a little sterner.

I knew my lack of obeying him right away angered him, and if the Ivanov’s weren’t here right now I’d have a red mark on my cheek in the shape and size of my father’s palm.

He gripped my upper arm harder than necessary and I couldn’t stop the wince. I noticed the subtle tightening of Alexei’s shoulders, the slight narrowing of his eyes as his gaze landed on where my father held onto me.

“Bella, I’d like to officially introduce you to your fiancé, Alexei Ivanov.” My father’s voice was even, slightly saccharine.

I wanted to ask when the wedding date was, and how soon we were talking, but I knew better than to open my mouth and voice that.

And during all of this Alexei and I held eye contact. Just a look from him made me feel unbalanced and nervous… bared so that I couldn’t hide anything from his knowing gaze.

“Don’t you want to know when our wedding is?” Alexei’s voice was a deep rumble.

Although he had an American accent, I did pick up on a slight Russian one, almost inaudible aside from when he pronounced certain words.

“She’ll go along with whatever date is set,” my father answered and I looked at him, seeing him staring down into his bourbon, a scowl on his face.

“I didn’t ask you,” Alexei said in a deep, dark tone.

I snapped my head in his direction, feeling my eyes widen. People didn’t speak to Vincenzo that way, least of all in his own home.

The room became deathly quiet with the only sound being that of the crackling fire. I let my gaze slip to Pavel and saw him smirk just as he brought his glass back to his mouth and finished off his liquor.

“I was talking to my future wife. My fiancé, Vincenzo.” I bit the inside of my cheek as Alexei used my father’s first name, something that would be deemed as disrespectful in his eyes.

But my father said nothing, and although I could feel the coldness blasting out of him, his anger tangible, his silence meant one thing.

He was afraid of Alexei, of what this man, his organization could do. The power they wielded.

“Well, go on girl. Answer him.” My father’s voice was clipped and I could feel his gaze on me although I didn’t look at him.

I twisted my fingers together in front of me, knowing I should probably take a submissive stance and lower my head in respect, break eye contact with Alexei, yet it was as if he were silently willing me to meet him head on, to not back down.

And that had a surge of sureness and my own power moving through me.

Show him I was stronger than people gave me credit for.

And so I straightened my spine and tipped my chin, holding Alexei’s gaze and seeing his expression clearly showing approval coupled with a little tilt at the corner of his mouth as he smirked.

“Don’t you want to know when we’re getting married, Bella?” He asked again and I suppressed a shiver at the sound of my name falling from his lips, his Russian accent seeming thicker now as he rolled those syllables around.

I licked my lips and found myself glancing at my father as if instinctively being pulled to garner his approval.

“Don’t look at him, kroska.” Although Alexei’s voice was stern and demanding like my father could be, it also held a different note in it.

I couldn’t place it, but I knew it made me feel a certain kind of way that had my thighs clenching together and my face heating even more.

And I did find myself obeying, staring once more at Alexei, feeling everything else fade away.

“Answer the question for me.” He took a step forward and although he was only a few feet away, I could smell the spicy, dark scent of whatever cologne he wore.

I inhaled deeply, not realizing I’d done the act, took in his scent, until I was barely able to stop the soft sound of… what? Neediness? Desperation? Arousal?

“When?” That one word was breathless from me, barely audible, but he gave me another one of those far too sexy corner mouth smiles.

“When, what, kroshka?” He took another step forward and I felt how tight my muscles were, as if I were anticipating… something.

I licked my lips and noticed his gaze dropped down to watch the act before he slowly, lewdly dragged his focus back up to my eyes.

“When is the wedding?” For a prolonged second after I asked the question Alexei didn’t speak, just continued to watch me. And then he smirked.

“A month from today,” Alexei finally said matter-of-factly.

The air left me so violently I stumbled back, my father’s desk stopping my fall.

“Next month?” My voice was strained.

“Get yourself under control, girl.” My father hissed.

“Stop being dramatic.” I felt like we were all silent for so long, only the sound of my racing heart filling my ears.

But then I blinked myself back into focus and heard my father speaking to Alexei, his tone sterner now.

I knew it was because Alexei had offended him with the way he spoke to my father, a disrespect Vincenzo probably would never get over.

“Because the date of the wedding has been pushed up, we’ll have to forgo an engagement party.” My father’s voice brought me back to focus and I looked at him.

I chanced a look at him to see his jaw clenched as he looked at the other men. Clearly this change of date and plans made my father upset.

“That’s all, Bella,” my father snapped and I straightened, not sure what he had said before that, but knowing a dismissive tone when I heard it.

I turned and started walking toward the door but didn’t realize how close Alexei was until I felt my shoulder brush against his hard chest.

I felt a jolt of electricity move through me but was pretty proud of myself for not letting it visibly affect me as much as I wanted it to.

I looked at him then, his gaze locked on me, his expression showing so much… promise.

I left my father’s office and closed the door softly.

I took a few steps away from the room and found myself leaning against the wall, my eyes closed, my palms flat behind me on the damask wallpaper, the texture cold and almost grounding me.

If I went right I’d go back toward the front doors, then take the stairs and lock myself in my room.

Instead I found myself taking a left, wanting to go outside, to get fresh air, to look at the sky and clear my head.

I’d only made it about ten feet before I heard a door behind me open and close, and then heard the heavy sound of footsteps coming up behind me.

I was just about to stop and look over my shoulder, assuming it was my father about to berate me for being too “dramatic” in front of Alexei and Pavel, but just as I was about to turn I felt a heavy body press against me and use their strength to move me until my back hit the wall.

I was now situated in a corner alcove, the light not penetrating the space so it was filled with shadows blocking the view of anyone who happened to pass by.

I gasped and craned my neck to look into a pair of bright blue eyes, Alexei’s expression hard, unreadable.

Although he used his body to corral me where he wanted, he wasn’t touching me any longer, now about a foot between us, his body heat slamming into me and making it hard to breathe.

“W—what are you doing?” My voice was barely audible, nothing but a breathless sound leaving my parted lips.

He tipped his head to the side as he looked down at me, the shadows wrapping around the sharp planes of his square-cut jaw.

I stared into his eyes, not able to breathe or think. It was when I felt his fingers gently stroking along my upper arm that I snapped my head down, not even realizing he’d moved his hand back down.

“Not breaking his hand for touching you was really hard, kroska.” His voice was low and deep, sinister in the way he said the words.

“Yes, that’s what you are, isn’t it?” It sounded like he spoke to himself, murmuring the words low and deep and so very heady.

“My little sunshine.” He looked at my mouth again. “Solynshka,” he murmured.

“Beauty.” I looked up but saw he was watching his hand on my arm, still felt his thumb brushing back and forth. He lifted his focus back to my face then and I held my breath.

“I showed more self-control in front of your father than I ever have in my life.” Still the brushing of his thumb back and forth.

“But my brother said I needed to be on my best behavior and all that.” Back and forth. Back and forth. He slowly grinned.

“First impressions and all that.” His accent seemed deeper, richer now, his thumb still sweeping over my fabric covered arm.

“But he shouldn’t have put his hands on you, father or not,” he ground out, his jaw clenching as I felt his anger.

“I’m the only one who will ever touch you.” He leaned in close so our mouths were almost touching.

“But only to make you cum.” I gasped in shock at his words just as he took a step back, his hand falling from my arm. I found myself lifting my hand and rubbing where he’s just been touching me.

Even through the fabric of my dress it felt like my skin was scorched in the best way. In a way his touch, his words and his body heat made me feel dirty and wrong and... feelings I wanted more of.

“Until dinner, kukolka.”

And with an arrogant grin he turned and left me leaning against the wall still shrouded in shadows and wondering what in the hell had just happened.