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I turn toward the voice. Standing in the shadows across the room at the end of the table is Sergei Mikhailov and his younger brother, Igor. Another man is with them, someone I’ve never seen before.
“Come, come.” Sergei motions for me to approach the table.
I swallow down my urge to say hell no and force my legs to move forward.
The stranger catches my eye first. He’s tall, lean, and incredibly fit by how well his dark gray dress shirt stretches across his chest, clinging to his broad shoulders. His black hair falls in shaggy waves around his chiseled, handsome face. He takes a sip from his glass of wine and meets my eyes for the first time over the rim. Blue eyes as bright as the color of the Caribbean Sea lock on me with an expression of curiosity and something else harder to identify. Pity? Guilt? Concern?
A hand on my arm pulls my attention away, and I glance down to find Sergei touching me. The contact makes my skin crawl, and I fight back the urge to slap him. Instead, I gently pull my arm away with a tense smile. Sergei’s dark eyes follow the movement, but he says nothing before he steps back to get a good look at me. His eyes roam over my figure, a leery smile growing on his lips, and it makes me want to hide from him.
“You’ve grown into a gorgeous woman, Rosaleen.” He admires me with an approving nod. “Wouldn’t you agree, little brother?”
My eyes unwillingly slide to the other man in the room. Igor shares a similar look with his brother. They’re both tall and bulky, with dark hair and dark eyes. Their age shows on their faces. Igor’s nose is crooked, like it’s been broken one too many times, and his hair shows signs of receding.
The way Sergei looks at me is disgusting, but Igor takes the creep factor up to a whole other level. He stares at me like he’s undressing me piece by piece until I’m left naked under his gaze. It’s demeaning and degrading, and I don’t care for it one bit. It reminds me too much of how he looked at me ten years ago at my mother’s funeral. Only this time, there’s excitement because he’s been told he can have me. Well, fuck that.
“Very much so. Such young…beauty.”
Gross.
“And this is Dimitri Volkov,” Sergei introduces the blue-eyed stranger.
Dimitri nods in my direction but says nothing. Strangely, though, he feels like the safest in the room despite his icy exterior.
Sergei walks toward the table. “Come sit. Dinner will be served soon.”
I freeze when Igor’s giant hand lands on my lower back, a little too close to my ass for comfort. My dress is modest, but it still has a plunging back. The nauseating scent of his cologne overwhelms me until it’s all I can smell.
“A little flustered there, my dear?” Igor asks with a touch of humor. I snap my eyes open at the sound and look over my shoulder, catching the gleam in his eyes. Does he really think I enjoy his touch? That it turns me on somehow? I purposely move away from him and walk to the other side of the table, picking a random seat and sitting down.
Sergei chuckles as if he finds my actions amusing, but Igor does not. A dark shadow crosses his face. It’s a look I’m familiar with. I’m certain his hands would be on me in a different way if I was still near him. Particularly around my neck or as a fist against my cheekbone.
Suddenly, Sergei claps his hands, and there’s a flurry of motion as dinner is served. I can barely focus on the dishes as they’re placed in front of me because each one makes me nauseous.
I try a few spoonsful of a cold soup I’m told is called Okroshka, but the smoked fish is all I can smell, and I nearly hurl all over the table. Instead, I concentrate on tearing off pieces of bread and manage to keep that down as conversation flows around me in Russian and English. For once, I’m happy to be ignored.
When dinner concludes, I’m anxious to leave and request my car be brought around. Sergei stands, buttoning his suit jacket, and looks at his brother. “I think tonight calls for a celebratory drink and cigar. Meet me in the parlor, brother, after you’ve said your goodbyes.”
The Russian leader walks around the table and reaches down for my hand. With no choice, I lethim raise my hand to his lips for a kiss. I hold my breath and go still when his lips touch my skin. “It was wonderful to meet you again, Rosaleen. I look forward to the union of our families.”
I can only give him a tight-lipped fake smile in return. When he leaves, I’m immediately very much aware of how alone Igor and I are. From the look on his face, he knows it, too. He stands and comes to sit beside me. I reach for my water glass when his ogre hand falls heavy on my thigh. He doesn’t waste any time moving it up, and I lose my grip on my water glass. Water spills all over the table, including my lap and his. I push back my chair quickly and stand, causing Igor’s hand to fall away. I don’t care that my dress gets wet. Anything is better than the touch of his hand on my body.
Igor stands as well. His eyes are dark with lust. “Oh, my dear, you got a little wet there.”
I don’t miss the innuendo hidden between his words, and I do nothing to stop the look of repulse from flashing across my face. If he sees it, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, Igor steps forward, and I step back automatically. He continues until my back hits the wall by the door. His cologne is so strong. It’s all I can smell, making my eyes burn. Desperate for fresh air, I turn my head away.
Igor takes that as an invitation when it’s not. He leans down before I even know what’s happening, and his lips are suddenly on my neck. I lift my hands to push back against his chest, but Igor is a mountain of a man, even in his older age, and won’t move.
“Stop.” I hate how small my voice sounds. I hate how weak and defenseless I feel.
“We’ll be married soon.” Igor presses into my body, trapping me between him and the unforgiving wall. He runs his hand up my leg, pulling my dress with it. “I think I’m owed a little taste of the goods before buying the whole cake.”
Fear fills my body, and I freeze as a terrible realization takes root. I’m experiencing a glimpse of my future with him if I don’t find a way to escape before then.
“Please. I said stop.”
“I do like a woman who begs,” he murmurs against my neck, his breath hot and wet. His other hand comes forward to squeeze my breast hard.
The pain is like a direct shot to my stomach, and I can’t stop what happens next, even if I want to. My stomach churns, bile burning my throat as it rises. I turn my head, my body convulsing, and I heave, spewing vomit all over Igor.
