"My hair took forty minutes and if you ruin it, I'll hurt you."
He chuckles against my neck and whispers, "You'd look better with it down anyway." Then his teeth rake across my skin, making goosebumps rise down my arms. I feel the familiar swirl of arousal, but I can't do it now. God, I wish things weredifferent, that he was madly in love and wanted my heart, soul, and body, but all he wants are my legacy and sex.
I won't be fooled into settling.
"That's not happening." I push harder, and he pulls back, and the lust in his eyes is so naked, it makes my chest ache. I see his eyes flash and that possessive expression crosses his face.
Something has changed, and I can't put my finger on it.
I study him for a second while his hand lingers on my hip and his eyes dance from matching my gaze to drinking in my lips.
"Fine," he says. "But you owe me this dress on my floor later." Then he offers his arm and walks me to the front door where Yegor's holding it open.
The car is idling in the drive, and Roman opens the back door for me to slide in. He follows, not to his side but directly beside me, then drapes his arm around my shoulders. The entire time, I'm fighting tears.
Because I'm not an object.
I'm more than a means to an end.
And I deserve more than to be traded like a cow at auction just so he can have my empire.
Well, the empire is his.
But I am not. And when this night is over, he will know all I've ever wanted is love.
28
ROMAN
Mila's hand rests on my arm as I walk her through the ballroom to the head table. The room is full, two hundred guests seated under chandeliers, dressed in their best attire, and every head turns as we pass. I pull her chair out and she sits, smoothing the emerald fabric across her thighs before folding her hands in her lap without looking at me.
I sit beside her and pull my phone from my jacket, scrolling through several notifications that have come in over the past half hour or so.
Timur: 7:24 PM: Cameras are live and all entrances are covered. No issues so far.
Kazimir: 7:11 PM: East perimeter is secure and catering staff have been checked.
Stepan: 7:02 PM: The General arrived ten minutes ago with the Major-General. Both are seated at table nine and the file is ready for handoff.
I type back to Timur.
Roman: 7:15 PM: Hold on the file until I give the signal. Don't move early.
Timur: 7:15 PM: Understood.
With my instructions clear, I set the phone face down on the table and turn to Mila. She's sitting perfectly still with her hands folded, staring at the centerpiece, wearing the same plastic smile she put on in the car. She really does look radiant, but I can tell she's unhappy. I know she thinks I'll be choosing one of her stepsisters tonight, but I could never do that.
I don't want either of them. I want her. But I also can't tell her my plan before I enact it. I don't know how she would react, and it doesn't matter. I'm doing this for her, not for myself. I've already resigned myself to the fact that she doesn't want me. I'll make my speech, and then I'll let her go. Just as she wishes, and I won't take a dime of her inheritance ever.
"Tell me what's wrong," I say, quiet enough that the nearest guests can't hear.
"Nothing's wrong."
"Mila." I reach under the table and put my hand on her knee. "Talk to me."
She looks at my hand, then at my face, and the smile falters before she puts it back. "It's what the doctor said. I'm grieving my father. Sunshine, water, social interaction." She lifts her water glass an inch off the table. "I've got two out of three."
"This doesn't count as social interaction. This counts as torture," I joke, hoping to lighten her mood, but there is barely a response.
