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Her chin trembles, and she presses her full cupid’s-bow lips into a thin line.
The words die on my lips, and I shake my head again. For once, at a complete loss.
Then her hand comes out of nowhere.
She slaps me clean across the cheek, our skin connecting with a resounding snap. She hits hard enough to turn my head, and I’m stunned momentarily by the stinging blow. But it’s nothing compared to the sense of emptiness threatening to swallow me. Because I know it’s too late. I’ve already lost her.
Then she whirls, scrambling across the bed with a speed I hadn’t imagined she possessed.
“Silvia, wait,” I command, throwing my legs over the other side of the bed to chase after her.
But she doesn’t stop. She doesn’t even slow down as she snatches her cocktail dress off the floor. In one fluid motion, she steps into it, sliding it up over her hips as she runs. She doesn’t even bother buttoning it around her neck before she opens the bedroom door.
With the last glimpse of her I get before the door closes, I see her makeup-streaked face, her one arm holding her dress up over her breasts as she flees.
“Blyat!” I cuss in Russian, snatching up my slacks from the floor without bothering to grab my boxer briefs. I secure my pants as quickly as my fingers will allow, then grab my dress shirt and suit jacket off the floor.
I shove my feet in my shoes, worried she might try to make a break for it outside. I’ll have a better chance of catching her, even with my shoes untied, since she’s barefoot. Then I yank the door open, letting it slam against the wall as I stride into the hallway.
I have no clue where the fuck she thinks she’ll go. But as I look down the hall, I see no sign of her.
“You’re such a fucking idiot,” I snarl under my breath, mentally kicking myself.
As I shrug into my shirt, I stride purposefully in the direction of the stairway. From there, I’ll have to give it my best guess. As the hall opens up onto the landing and multiple hallways branch out, I take a moment to assess. Still no sign of her.
Scowling, I rush down the stairs and toward the door. I fling it open and look into the dark night. But I don’t see her. I hope she didn’t decide to make a run for it. The late hour has brought a biting cold that’s common in New York at this time of year, and Silvia’s hardly wearing any clothes.
Just as I’m about to close the door, fairly certain she stayed inside the house, I hear a twig snap. It’s off in the direction of the barn.Well, fuck. Please tell me she doesn’t think she can run away on a horse.
Throwing on my suit jacket, I step out into the bitter darkness and sprint for the barn. I doubt one of the grooms would help her saddle a horse at this time of night, but Silvia’s chances of catching hypothermia are no small thing.
This night went from one of the best I’ve ever had to damn near the worst in the blink of an eye. And it’s all my fault.
19
SILVIA
I don’t hesitate as I race down the hall to the stairs. And though I know it’s indecent to simply hold it up, I don’t waste time hooking my dress. Once I’m far enough away from Pyotr, I’ll deal with that. Right now, I need to run. Because I’m leaving. I’m going home. I can’t stand to be here another minute.
My feet slap noisily against the wood of the stairs as I sprint down them, one hand on the rail to keep me upright. I wish I had shoes to protect my feet. But I don’t dare go back. Not for anything. Because I don’t want to be anywhere near Pyotr.
How could I have been so stupid?
I let my physical attraction get the better of me, my basic urges, and now I’ve ruined everything. Because Pyotr doesn’t want me. It was a mistake to sleep with him. He said it himself. And now, God only knows what will happen. He might decide he wants out of our contract altogether. He could refuse to marry me. Father would befurious.
Not that he’d be mad if the contract were broken. So long as it didn’t throw our family into war, he could care less about an alliance with the Veles Bratva. But he will be livid when he finds out that I gave up my virginity. Which I’m sure will come out if Pyotr backs out of the agreement.
How will Father sell me off to the highest bidder now? After I’ve given up my most valuable asset?I could almost be proud of myself for choosing this for myself. In a way, it liberates me.
But not in the way I might hope. I’ve made myself utterly useless to my father. Worse. I’ve become a burden. No one will want to marry me after I’ve been with another man. And my father won’t just let me be. I’m sure I’ll come to regret the alternative he gives me immensely.
Because the one man I was supposed to marry doesn’t want me anymore.
Arranged marriages might not be a thing in the rest of society. Women in the everyday world get to choose who they sleep with, when, and how without the judgment of society. But it’s different with mafia families, where women are still sold off like chattel.
Even those born into a high station. We are still bartered off to create alliances through marriage–an archaic practice that puts an insane value on a woman’s virginity.
Which I no longer have.
