Page 26 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

By the time I make it downstairs, Ana is already awake and sitting in the breakfast room wearing a cream silk robe that somehow looks elegant. Her hair is pulled back in a loose braid, and she's reviewing what looks like wedding magazines spread across the table.

"Good morning," she says without looking up.

I pour coffee and don't respond. If I open my mouth right now, nothing good will come out.

"I've been thinking about the ceremony," she continues, flipping a page. "Since we only have a week, we'll need to prioritize. The dress is most important, obviously. And the venue. I'm thinking the cathedral downtown would be appropriate."

"No cathedral." I take a long drink of coffee, black and bitter. "Small ceremony. And private."

"Samuil." She finally looks up, and those green eyes are bright with determination. "I'm the last Rostova heir. This wedding will be noticed whether we want it to be or not. We might as well do it properly."

"Properly means what I say it means." I set down the cup on the table with a loud thunk. "This isn't a negotiation, Princess."

Her jaw tightens, but before she can argue, my phone buzzes. I glance at the screen and see a message from one of my captains. There's a problem in the south territory that needs immediate attention. Perfect fucking timing.

"I have business to handle." I grab my keys from the counter. "Don't do anything while I'm gone."

"Like what?" Her tone is innocent, but her eyes are calculating.

"Anything." I head toward the door, then pause and look back. "I mean it, Anastasia. Don't touch anything in this house."

She smiles sweetly. "Of course not."

The drive across the city gives me time to think and focus. I'm getting married, not moving to another country. I still have business to take care of and the family to protect. I can't let these stupid distractions affect what I have to do.

The problem turns out to be exactly what I suspected. A small gang testing boundaries, thinking the wedding news means I'm distracted. Thinking I've gone soft. They learn otherwise.

I handle it personally, needing to expend some of my pent-up energy. I walk into their warehouse with three of my best men and make it clear what happens when someone mistakes patience for weakness. By the time we leave, several men are bleeding on the concrete floor, and the rest understand exactly who runs this territory.

The violence clears my head and reinforces who I am. Not that I should need the reminder, but it's good to be back in control of something since I feel like everything else about my life is spiraling out of control. I didn't become Pakhan by letting entitled princesses reorganize my life or by losing focus because of a kiss.

By the time I pull back through the gates of my estate, it's late afternoon. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the grounds. I take a deep breath before I go inside but stop with my hand on the door handle. There's a lot of noise coming from in there. With a frown, I open the door and stop in the doorway, taking in the scene before me. My sitting room, the space where I conduct private business and entertain important guests, has been transformed into what looks like a royal planning committee.

There are at least six people scattered around the room. A woman with measuring tape and fabric samples spread across my leather sofa. A man showing Ana photographs of flower arrangements on an iPad. Another woman displaying jewelry pieces on the coffee table. And in the corner, someone is setting up what appears to be a scale model of a wedding venue.

Ana sits in the center of it all like a queen holding court, wearing tailored black pants and a silk blouse, her hair now styled in an elegant twist. She's gesturing at something the florist is showing her, completely at ease in my space.

"What the fuck is this?" My voice cuts through the chatter.

Everyone freezes and the room goes silent except for the quiet classical music playing from somewhere.

Ana looks up, and her expression is perfectly composed. "Oh, good, you're back. We're making progress on the wedding plans."

"I can see that." I step into the room, and the professionals immediately start gathering their things. They recognize danger when they see it. "Everyone out. Now."

"But we're not finished," Ana protests.

"Out." I don't raise my voice. Don't need to. The edge in my tone is enough.

The designers, jewelers, florists, and planners scramble to pack up their materials. Within three minutes, the room is empty except for Ana and me. The door closes behind the last person, and silence settles like a weight.

"That was rude," Ana says, standing from the sofa. "They were helping."

"I told you not to touch anything in this house." I move closer, and she doesn't back away. "What part of that instruction was unclear?"

"You said don't touch anything. I didn't touch anything. I invited professionals to help plan our wedding." Her chin lifts. "There's a difference. And this wedding affects both of us. I have a right to participate in the planning."

"You don't have the right to reorganize my life."