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Chapter Seventeen
“Don’tsmileunlessthere’s something to smile about,” Bron snapped, tapping my mouth with the switch he held. I’d watched him cut and strip the green stick earlier, and hoped we’d gotten marshmallows in our grocery shipment, but no such luck.
The kitchen was still warm after Ilya and I had spent all day making pelmeni for the freezer. Sweat trickled down my spine. I was already tired, but Bron didn’t care, and he was determined I needed to practice my ‘wife lessons’ tonight.
They’d already filled my head with rules and customs, and short phrases I still got mixed up, although my pronunciation wasn’t bad. Sometimes I suspected they were rules Bron had made up on the spot.
“How am I supposed to remember not to smile?” I snapped back.
“You smile too much. People will think you’re dishonest or stupid.”
Do this. Don’t do that. Don’t speak unless spoken to in case I said something Vas would disapprove of. It was enough to make me want to scream.
“I’m American. Wouldn’t they realize there are cultural differences?”
He switched my ass, and I had to force myself not to react, so I didn’t dump the soup I was carrying to the table. At least I was wearing clothes. Yesterday, the struggle had been to make ladylike small talk while they’d passed me back and forth, groping and teasing me until I screamed at them in frustration and begged them to fuck me.
“Are you going to make me walk with a book on my head next?” I demanded.
“How would that be a useful skill?”
I made a sound of disgust and put down the soup in front of Ilya a little too hard. Some of it sloshed onto my hand. I sucked at the serving-my-man bullshit Bron was trying to teach me.
My hiss of pain made Bron grumble.
Ilya went to the freezer to get an ice pack that he wrapped in a tea towel. Bron hauled up the back of my dress and switched me three times on the backs of my bare thighs.
“Fuck you!”
Ilya took my hand and held the ice to my burn.
The switch came up to tap my mouth hard enough to sting. I really wanted to hate it—hate him—but his aggressively bossy bullshit was unfortunately turning me on.
“Watch your mouth or you’ll go to bed with a needy pussy and more welts than you can count.”
“You’re impossible!”
“You need to learn. Vas is old-fashioned. He won’t tolerate your mouth.”
I walked away before I exploded at him. He’d been so on edge as we got closer to leaving. Neither Ilya nor I could understand why, and of course Bron hadn’t provided me with an answer when I’d been brash enough to ask.
After I grabbed Ilya’s old coat, I stepped out of the house, meaning to let the evening air clear my head. I walked down to the goat shed. They were happy to see me, but I hadn’t brought them snacks this time. They milled around me, nibbling at my coat and the hem of my dress.
There was no way to stay angry while standing in a little tidal pool of goats.
The shed door squeaked, and Bron came in. I moved further away, realizing I’d effectively trapped myself.
In the dim light of the shed, I couldn’t see his expression, let alone read it.
“I know you don’t understand, but I’m doing this for your benefit.”
“Just like you fuck Ilya in the ass for his benefit?”
He cleared his throat. “That’s— Maybe that’s different.”
Wow. Progress?
“I’m not really marrying Ilya. It makes no difference if Vas doesn’t like me much.”
“You need to be a submissive woman he approves of, otherwise you’re not proof Ilya is a man.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s the truth.”
I scratched the white splotch on one of the goat’s heads because I could see it, even in the dimness.
“Do you really consider Moscow your home? Ilya has never lived there, and you haven’t lived there in years.”
“What would you consider our home, then?” He sounded incredulous. “This godforsaken island?”
“Absolutely. You’ve built a life here—fixing the house, farming the land, caring for the animals, spending time with Ilya. This isn’t a jail. You go to the city when you want to. You’re not waiting to be let out on parole.”
“Who would choose to live like this if they could do anything else?”
“A lot of people.”
