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A creak comes from the front door, and I stumble out of the closet and run to the living room. I come to a slow halt when I find Kirill standing by the door, looking more dashing than a model.
It’s been only a few days since I last saw him, but it feels like forever. He’s the same person, but for some reason, he’s also not.
The jacket stretches around his bulging biceps, and the few undone buttons of his shirt reveal a hint of the tattoos on his chest.
He strides inside, his icy eyes filling with undeniable lust as he takes in the length of me. It doesn’t matter what I wear, Kirill always seems to be able to see beneath every layer of fabric.
It’s as if I’m always standing naked in front of him.
I clear my throat in a helpless attempt to chase away the lump stuck there. “Are you going to let me go?”
His attention finally slides back to my face, but that’s not necessarily a good thing. Tension lurks beneath his narrowing eyes as if they’re hiding something. “That depends on whether or not you’ve come to your senses. You’ve had plenty of time to think about it, no?”
“What does that mean?”
“Are you going to abandon that nonsense about leaving?”
“No! You can’t make me stay here against my will, Kirill.”
He adjusts his glasses with his middle finger, looking as cold as a statue. “News flash, I’m already doing that, and if you keep defying me, I’ll take this further.”
“Further…how?”
Is there something worse than keeping me as a prisoner and confiscating my freedom?
“You’ll never leave this place until you stop being stubborn for no reason.”
“No reason?” The emotions flow back into my words again, and I jut a finger at his chest. “How is being cast aside because Your Majesty is having an arranged marriage called no reason?”
He engulfs my forefinger, and the rest of my hand in his, then spreads my palm on his chest. More accurately, on the steady rhythm of his beating heart. My own heartbeat picks up and refuses to be brought back down.
His expression sharpens, and a tinge of strange emotion ignites in his light eyes for a fraction of a second. “That’s where you’re wrong. I never cast you aside. You’re doing that yourself.”
“Well, excuse me if I don’t want to be the other woman.”
“The only other woman in this equation is Kristina.”
“But she’s the one who’ll be your wife!” My vision blurs, and I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.
Why do I get riled up this easily? Why can’t I be as detached as he is while he’s ripping my chest open?
Just why?
“Is that what you want to be? My wife?”
My lips part, and his words do a strange thing to my bleeding heart. The gaping wound slowly closes as if it’s been touched by a magic wand, and that’s fucked up, because I know for a fact that he’s just throwing me a bone right now.
I always knew Kirill excelled at mental torture. I just didn’t realize I’d be on the receiving end one day.
This is just too cruel.
“Don’t say things you don’t mean.” I sniffle.
“When have I ever lied to you?” He steps closer, killing the distance between us, and wraps his hand around my waist even as I push at his chest. “Answer the question, Sasha, do you want to be my wife?”
My fight wanes, partly due to his words and partly because I’m breathing his cedar and woods scent with each inhale. I didn’t realize how much I missed it and him until right now.
My fingers curl into his jacket as I take his face in. He’s so close that I see my reflection in his glasses—vulnerable and stupidly hopeful. But I still hold on to him, to the damn optimism and the smokescreen of happiness.
This is all I have left, and believing in the half-full part is better than wallowing in misery.
“If I say yes, will you make it happen?” I whisper.
A smile lifts his lips. It’s not cruel or condescending. It’s not sadistic or cunning. It’s…triumphant. Happy, even.
This is the first time I’ve ever seen this expression on Kirill’s face, and I don’t know why that makes me want to smile back.
His free hand strokes my cheek, and I instinctively lean into his touch, then it lowers to my neck, and he wraps his fingers around it as he whispers in my ear, “Fucking mine.”
He releases me as quickly as he grabbed me. “I’ll be back.”
I stare, dumbfounded, as the door closes behind him.
Once he’s out of sight, I run toward it and bang on the stupid metal. “You can’t keep locking me up, Kirill! Let me go!!”
No reply comes. I continue hitting the door for a few more minutes until my fists and legs ache. Then I hit my head against it.
