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“Yes?” I ask, when my father doesn’t continue.
My father fidgets and gives a subtle nod to my brother. Why, I have no idea.
“The Romanovs are in need of an alliance sooner than we’d planned,” my father continues. “That’s good news for you, Harper. Mr. Romanov is prepared to make you his wife. I’ve agreed to this arrangement. We’ll be making final plans by the end of this month.”
I stare, keeping my face impassive while I quickly do the math. It’s the sixth. That gives me just over three weeks.
Alright, then. Plenty of time to plan my escape.
Aleksandr purses his lips, clearly displeased. “That wasn’t what I said.”
I blink, surprised at his boldness. No one talks back to my father. The red splotches on his cheeks tell me he’s holding himself back. He wants this suitor. Likelyneedsthis arrangement.
If he was kinder to me, I might feel bad for what I’m planning to do.
“Oh?” my father asks tightly. “What do you have in mind, Mr. Romanov?”
“Apologies for any misunderstandings.” God, I have literally never met a single other person who lied as well as my father and this man. The fake civilities are sickening. “I’d like to move on our agreement promptly. You know what we have to offer you, Bianchi. The offer’s only valid for twenty-four hours.”
What on earth is he offering my father? My father’s greedy eyes nearly bulge out of his head as he nods, his jowls shaking with enthusiasm.
“How soon are you thinking, sir?”
Aleksandr swivels his gaze to me and pinches his lips together. Instead of answering my father, he questions me. “I’m told you have a penchant for running. Do you like to run, Harper?”
The fact that he’s just called me out on the exact plan I have in mind makes me squirm uncomfortably. This is… not good.
I lick my lips and swallow, giving him a casual shrug. “I… used to when I was younger,” I say, my voice strangely husky. It’s true. As a child, I kept a suitcase packed and ready to go so I could escape. I’d be punished every time, but it was worth it to pretend I wasn’t under my mother’s thumb for a little while.
“Lying won’t be tolerated either,” he says in a clipped tone. “I happen to know that the last time you ran was six months ago.”
My cheeks burn with indignation. How does he know that about me?
My brother shakes his head. “I already told them the truth and what he can expect. There’s a reason we’ve made a move to make this happen sooner than later.”
But there’s a reason why I “run,” and it has nothing to do with what they think.
I’m not a child. I don’t run into oncoming traffic.
I find a way to escape so I can visit in private. And then I always return home, like a bird flying back to her gilded cage.
I turn my head away and don’t look at him.
The stranger clucks his tongue. “You’ve spoiled her, Bianchi.”
My brother squeezes my arm. I bite my cheek to keep from snapping back. I’m not like the other Italian princesses. I don’t have a penny to my name. No credit cards. No allowance.
“Spoiled?” my father says with a forced laugh. “I like to think she’s experienced and maybe a little indulged.”
Hardly. Another lie.
“You’ve arranged a marriage for me with a wife who’s rebellious, flighty, and clumsy, her only merit being mediocre good looks. In Russia, she wouldn’t hold a candle to most women.” He shakes his head. “Do you have any other daughters?”
Oh yeah? Well he can take his high-and-mighty assbackto Russia as far as I’m concerned. My nose stings and my cheeks flame as they continue to talk about me as if I’m a mannequin on display.
“Oh, I’m his one and only, and believe you me, I’m not spoiled,” I snap. I clamp my lips together so I don’t speak again when my mother gasps and my father glares at me. I have to choose my words carefully.
Romanov looks mildly amused if the faintest twinge of his lips are any indication. “Hmm. I have no other choices, and maybe I’ve misjudged. I never thought I’d be so lucky as to have a future wife who would be so demure.”
