chapter 2
1213 Words
I don't sleep.
The guest room is bigger than my entire basement apartment at home. Silk sheets. Fresh flowers. A bathroom with a tub big enough to drown in.
I lie awake and stare at the ceiling and think about Lev's hand on my lower back.
Three doors down.
I don't go.
But I don't sleep either.
***
Morning comes too fast.
A maid I didn't see arrive lays out a white dress on the chair by the window. Lace. Long sleeves. A train that pools on the floor like spilled milk.
“Mr. Stroganov requests you wear this,” she says. “For the ceremony.”
Mr. Stroganov
Not Lev. Not the one who fed me steak from his own fork.
The other one.
The one I haven't met.
***
The ceremony is in a private chapel on the Stroganov grounds.
Small. Cold. Stone walls and stained glass that throws red light across the aisle like blood.
There are maybe twenty guests. None of them look happy to be here. My family sits in the front row. My stepmother is wearing diamonds that aren't hers. Chloe is wearing a dress that's almost as white as mine.
My father won't look at me.
Lev is standing at the altar.
Not beside it. At it. Where the groom should be.
I stop walking.
“Keep moving,” the wedding coordinator hisses behind me.
“Where's Nikolai?”
No one answers.
Lev walks down the aisle to meet me. He's wearing black. No tie this time. His top two buttons are undone. He looks like he just rolled out of bed and decided to steal a wedding.
“Nikolai sends his apologies,” he says, taking my arm. “Business.”
“Again?”
“Again.”
I should be angry. Humiliated. My own husband won't even show up to marry me.
But Lev is looking at me like I'm the only person in the room.
“You're crying,” he says softly. His thumb wipes under my eye. “How tragic. How beautiful.”
“I'm not crying.”
“Liar.”
There it is again. That word. That smile.
He walks me down the aisle.
My father should be doing this. My father should be here. But my father is sitting in the front row with his eyes on his shoes, and Lev's hand is steady on mine, and for one terrible, wonderful second, I pretend.
I pretend someone chose me.
***
The vows are a lie.
The officiant reads words about love and devotion and until death do us part. Lev repeats them like he means them. I repeat them like a hostage.
No one objects. No one should. No one cared
No one celebrates. No one was supposed to.
When it's over, Lev lifts my veil. His grey eyes are darker than I remember. Hungry.
“You're mine now,” he murmurs. “On paper, anyway.”
“Nikolai's,” I correct. "I'm Nikolai's.”
Lev smiles.
“We'll see.”
He doesn't kiss me at the altar. But his thumb brushes my lower lip.
And I feel it everywhere.
***
The reception is in a ballroom that could fit my entire childhood home.
Champagne towers. Ice sculptures. A cake taller than me.
I stand in the corner and watch strangers celebrate a marriage that hasn't started.
Lev is pulled away by business associates. Old men in expensive suits who look at me like I'm a new car they're thinking of buying.
I'm reaching for a glass of water when Chloe appears.
“Wow,” she says, circling me. “They really scraped the bottom of the barrel, didn't they? I mean, look at you. That dress is doing work.”
I don't answer. I learned years ago that answering Chloe is like feeding a stray cat. It only encourages her.
“That's right,” she says, leaning closer. “Silence. That's all you're good for, isn't it? Lying there like a…”
“Chloe.”
Lev's voice is quiet. Pleasant. That's what makes it terrifying.
Chloe freezes mid-sentence. Her mouth hangs open.
“I'm sorry,” Sebastian says, appearing at my side. “I didn't catch the end of that sentence. What exactly is my wife good for?”
The temperature drops.
Chloe's face goes pale. Then red. Then pale again.
“I was just, we were just…”
“You were just leaving,” Sebastian finishes. He smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. “The door is that way. I'll have security escort you.”
“You can't…”
“I can.”
Two men in black appear behind Chloe. They don't touch her. They don't have to.
The looks at me. For the first time in eighteen years, there's fear in her eyes.
“This isn't over,” she whispers.
She's wrong.
It's just beginning.
***
Lev doesn't let go of my arm until Chloe is gone.
“Your family,” he says, not a question.
“They're not my family.”
“Good.”
He pulls me toward a hallway. Private. Quiet. Away from the champagne and the strangers and the cake I'll never eat.
“You're trembling again,” he says.
“I'm fine.”
“You're not fine. You've never been fine. And no one has ever noticed.”
I hate him for saying that. I hate him for being right.
“What do you want from me?” I whisper.
Lev stops. Turns. Crowds me against the wall.
“Everything,” he says. “I want everything.”
He kisses me.
It's not gentle. It's not kind. It's the kiss of a man who's been starving and just found food.
And I…
I kiss him back.
For three seconds. Maybe four. Long enough to taste wine and want and something I've never felt before.
Then I shove him.
“No.”
Lev steps back immediately. His chest is heaving. His lips are wet.
“Say it again,” he says.
“No.”
“Good girl.”
He walks away.
I slide down the wall and press my hands to my burning face.
What have I done?
***
The marital suite is at the end of the hall.
Lev's room is three doors down from the guest room.
Nikolai's room is at the opposite end.
Demilitarized zone, Lev called it.
I open the door.
The suite is dark. One lamp on the nightstand. The curtains drawn.
And on the bed…
A man.
Shirtless. Dark hair falling over his forehead.
Nikolai.
My husband.
He looks exactly like Lev. Same jaw. Same mouth. Same grey eyes.
But where Lev burns, Nikolai freezes.
“Close the door,” he says.
I do.
“You're shaking.”
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
Nikolai stands. He's taller than I expected. Broader. The kind of body built for violence.
He walks toward me slowly. Like I'm prey. Like he's savoring the hunt.
Lev touched you," he says when he's close enough that I can feel his breath on my forehead.
I don't deny it.
He leans down. Inhales near my neck.
“I can smell him on you.”
His voice isn't angry.
It's hungry.
“Take off the dress,” Lucien says. “I won't ask twice.”
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