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“My agreement with Russina was strictly professional. She was my wife only on paper. We had separate rooms. We did fuck sometimes just to have some sort of release, but we got married mainly for business purposes. We rarely ate together,” he explained, then took a sip of the wine. That statement truly shocked me because I wasn’t expecting him to be so detached—and more so, open about the whole thing. “From tomorrow, you will have Jordan, one of my right-hand people, give you training on how to become Russina, because you obviously need it.”
The tomato got stuck in my throat as his words left his mouth.
“Training?” I repeated in disbelief.
“Yes. You need to be more believable and act the part well. Otherwise, this whole agreement will come crashing down on both of us. You will spend a few hours of your time with Jordan before our wedding,” he added, and then I nearly choked on the wine that I was now sipping, spraying a few drops on his crisp white shirt.
“Oh hell, I’m so sorry, but you caught me off guard,” I quickly said as he glanced down at the red stains.Should I get up and help clean it up or stay put? What to do?I looked from side to side, as though I’d find a quick solution in the very air around me. At last, I pursed took a deep breath and pursed my lips, waiting on a reaction from him. Fuck, I’d managed to piss him off during dinner and we hadn’t even started the main course yet.
I was so terrible with men.
He sighed and for a second, I thought he was going to hit me, but he just continued to enjoy his wine. I let out a ragged but quiet breath of relief, then drank some more. The alcohol was getting to my head a little, but at least I was more relaxed than I’d been in the past week. I was such a light weight. I got drunk after only one glass of wine.
“Spare the apologies, teacup,” he snapped, and then Penelope started to clear away our appetizer plates.
I swallowed hard, my cheeks heating and my palms damp with sweat.
“I understand the training, that will be helpful, but wedding? Why do we need to get married?” I asked, feeling nauseous all of a sudden.
All right, fair enough. This man, this mobster, owned me. He believed I was his possession now, but we didn’t need to get married. I was only twenty-one and I always wanted to get married for love, not out of some kind of obligation. Sebastian raised his left eyebrow, staring at me with that cold detachment he knew how to deliver so well.
“This whole setup needs to be convincing. My enemy often looks into me, so all the paperwork needs to be in place. This wedding is just a formality, teacup, and don’t worry. It will be low key—only you and me somewhere away from the crowd,” he stated, as though we were talking about trivial things and not my future.
“What if I don’t want to get married? Do I not have a say in any of this?” I asked, folding my arms over my chest. At this point, I was pissed off. My heart was fucking thumping loudly. I didn’t want to be married to that bastard. I understood the situation, but this didn’t have to be anything official. Damn, my mother had really screw it up this time. She’d ruined my life to save her own skin.
Before more could be said, Penelope placed a plate with a mouthwatering steak, garnished with potatoes and carrots, in front of me and Sebastian. I noticed she hadn’t asked how I wanted the meat to be cooked.
“Teacup,” Sebastian started and this time, the sound of that nickname felt like he was kicking me in the stomach. So many painful memories conjured just from that one word. Memories of my brother’s tragic fate, my pain … and I just had had enough of hearing it. “This is happening whether you like it or not,” he continued. “Your precious mummy and daddy really fucked me up by killing Russina. Now, eat your steak.”
I pushed the plate away, giving him a death look. The hatred for this man, the monster in my sight, was growing by leaps and bounds. Still, I refrained from saying anything. I was livid, not stupid.
“Don’t act childish. Penelope put a lot of effort into that meal, so be grateful and eat. I’m sure you don’t want to hurt her feelings,” he barked, cutting his own fillet. His shoulders were so broad, the muscles were poking out of his shirt.
“I lost my appetite,” I said through my gritted teeth, feeling bad for Penelope. She did really make a huge effort to prepare this meal. Steak wasn’t the easiest thing to get right. “And stop calling me teacup. My name is Marinka and you know it.”
“You just earned yourself another strike. Eat it. You have barely had anything tonight and you need to put on weight. Russina was a little fuller than you,” he retorted, making my blood boil. “Why don’t you like that nickname?”
I was ready to throw the red wine in his face, but that question stopped me. It also shocked me because I didn’t expect it. Besides, his expression suddenly shifted from strained to remorseful. Why would he care? I should refuse to answer that but fact was, I could stare at his handsome face for hours and never get bored of it. It was super annoying that Sebastian was so beautiful. Made it harder to think straight.
“My mother used to call me that … well, me and my brother,” I blurted out, and my internal voice started screaming at me to shut up. I wasn’t supposed to talk about Nicolas at all. Sebastian wasn’t supposed to know about him.
“Your brother who died?” he asked.
I wanted to ask him how he knew, but when my lips parted, no sound came out of my mouth. I pressed my hands on my thighs, squeezing the cuts underneath my sweat pants painfully hard.
With a nod, I picked up the fork again. Fuck, I didn’t care about the strikes. Sebastian could punish me as much as he wanted. He could slap me, hit me, or even cut me, but he still wouldn’t break me. One couldn’t break what was already broken.
“I have done some research into your background, Marinka. Were you close to your brother?” he probed. I started eating, because I didn’t get why he was suddenly interested in my story. He could switch so easily from the ruthless gangster to the man who—I dared think—wanted to care. Well, he didn’t deserve to know anything about my past.
“It’s none of your business what kind of relationship I had with my brother. I don’t want to talk about him,” I said.
“Teacup, why are you making this more complicated? It will be easier if we got to know each other a little better,” he said, then poured more wine into my glass.
Okay, so pigs had started to fly. He didn’t go off into some rant about how I deserved more spanking and whipping. He’d actually spoken in a reasonable and compassionate manner.
Something didn’t add up.
I accepted the wine and drank more, knowing well enough I was making this whole evening worse … so much worse … for myself.
