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“What do you think?” The seamstress stands proudly by Calina’s side, beaming. And she ought to. Standing in front of me is the most exquisite woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. The gown is a simple, fitted ivory satin trimmed with lace at the neck and hemline. She shows hardly any skin, and it would be almost modest if not for the way it hugs her curves like a second skin. She’s wearing low heels, and carries a silk arrangement of flowers in her hand. The ivory is in such stark contrast to her dark hair and vivid eyes, she’s striking.
“Beautiful,” I say, distracted, because I want to know who she’s going to call and why. I’m torn between locking her up and punishing her for the very thought, and allowing her to do so because I want to know what her plan is.
“And here’s her crown,” the seamstress says, holding a jeweled tiara. “You know it’s traditional for you to crown her at the ceremony.” Fuck tradition. We’re getting married in a civil ceremony in the ballroom, hardly the massive church affairs the little brats who get married these days insist on. There will be no large wedding party, or the many traditions and trappings of a traditional Russian wedding. No honeymoon or road trip for pictures, like others typically do.
I’ll take my vows and keep her as mine for as long as our arrangement suits me.
“Perfect,” I say, looking away. They stand in the doorway another moment before the seamstress whisks Calina away. A few minutes later, she comes to me and sits by my side.
“You didn’t seem too enamored by the dress,” she says with a frown.
“Does it matter?” I ask her, looking out the window. “This is only to check off a box.” I don’t care that she flinches at my tone. She’s here to serve a purpose, and I’ll see that she fucking does. There is no love lost in this. There’s not even affection or infatuation. She can’t hide how badly she wants out of here, even if I make her body teem with lust.
That’s all this is, fucking lust. One of the seven deadly sins my mother warned me about as a child on her knee. She tried desperately to school me in virtue. I have my own set of virtues now.
I pull up my phone, holding it close so she can see it. I want to yank her head back with my fist in her hair, and make her tell me what she’s after. Who waits for her somewhere else? Does she have a lover? Is there a man she’s given her heart to, who’s on her mind even while she worships my cock under threat of punishment? I barely control my temper at the very thought.
“Filip just sent me the record of your payoff. You’re doing well.” I swipe my phone on, not bothering to hide the password, and she tenses beside me when I pull up the spreadsheet. “The wedding will also pay well,” I say. I slide my phone in my pocket, and get to my feet. Those invited are the wealthy, and it’s customary to receive large gifts at our weddings, though it isn’t the income from the ceremony I’m referring to. Having a bride will bode well for me here. “Today, I’ve got work to do,” I tell her. “You’ll join me.”
Boring work lies ahead of me, but I like the idea of her by my side. I don’t care that she’s indebted to me. Tomorrow, we wed, and I mean to make the most of our arrangement while I can. Fuck whoever pines for her somewhere. Fuck whoever she cares about. While she’s here, no one else matters.
I’ve had my desk set up in a makeshift private office here. I have phone calls to make, and another call to Amaranov.
I point to the armchair a few feet from my desk. “Today you will earn your wages by giving me something to look at.”
Pouting a little, her lower lip sticks out. “What did I do to deserve this?”
“Deserve what?” I ask, distracted.
“Sitting like a child in the naughty spot,” she pouts. I almost smile. She thinks sitting is a chore.
“Need I remind you what earned your place here?” I ask her, taking my place at my desk and opening my laptop. But I know what she means. What has she done recently to be punished with a time-out?
“Is there nothing else I can do for you?” she asks, and the immediate image of her on her knees under my desk sucking my cock comes to mind. I can’t afford the distraction, though. Last night I made a connection with Amaranov, and I need to follow up on that for the good of the brotherhood.
“What do you normally do in your free time?” I ask her, distracted while I respond to a message from Filip. Out of the corner of my eyes, I can see her begin to pick at her nails then stop herself. She’s done better with that habit since I’ve had her get a manicure, but she still tries to pick at them from time to time. One sharp look, and her hands fall to her lap.
