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Alina shifts in her seat. She smells like a field of lavender. It’s… nice. Certainly not unpleasant. “New York?” she echoes quietly. “I, um…”
“What is it?”
Her eyes flit down to her lap and remain glued there. She can’t look at me. I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she hates me.
“I don’t have my passport,” she answers with a shaky exhale. “I didn’t have a chance to pack any of my things. My mother didn’t give me very much time to prepare.”
I pity this poor woman. At least Mikhail did me the courtesy of discussing the details. Apparently, Violetta Salkov was nowhere near as accommodating for her daughter. It’s difficult for me to ignore Alina’s glassy eyes, smudged makeup, and blotchy cheeks. Hell, she still looks half asleep. I’m sure she’d rather be anywhere but here with me.
“Your mother has already given me your necessary travel documents,” I inform her. “Everything else will be purchased for you upon our arrival.”
The silence that follows is tense. Thick. It’s difficult to breathe.
She picks at her fingernails, pulls at a loose thread on the sleeve of her white cashmere sweater. “When do we leave?”
I almost don’t hear her again. She’s sitting to my left, which is my good ear, but her words are still a distant muffle at best.
“First thing in the morning. A chartered flight.”
Alina nods slowly, almost as if in a trance. “Do you, um… Does this mean we’re staying the night?”
“At a hotel,” I answer.
She fiddles with a lock of her hair, her nerves plain to see. I may be stunted where conversation is concerned, but I’m not an idiot. I can sense her unease. Is she worried about what’s going to happen once we’re alone together?
We arrive at the hotel in record time. Alina fidgets as we ride the elevator up to the executive suite. I arrived yesterday evening, my small carry-on suitcase resting at the end of the bed.
Thesingularbed.
She keeps her distance, remaining by the door as I venture into the room and shrug off my suit jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair. Alina still hasn’t budged from the doorway. She’s my wife. I suppose I should try to make some effort in making her feel comfortable—I just don’t know how.
“Sit,” I tell her.
Alina glares at her me, her emerald green eyes no longer frightened and lost. She looks pissed more than anything. “You don’t need to be so rude,” she snaps, a hint of her fire crackling through.
It looks like there’s more to this timid girl than I first thought.
I exhale. “Sit.”
With a disgruntledhmph, Alina plops down in the wingback chair near the window. I wonder if it’s a strategic choice on her part. She could have taken the loveseat, but that would have left room for me to join her.
“This is what’s going to happen,” I say, because it frankly needs to be said. “Neither of us wants this marriage, but what’s done is done. When we get to New York, we will have an interview scheduled with an immigration officer to make your citizenship permanent.”
Alina listens in absolute silence. She’s either taking diligent mental notes or ignoring me entirely as she glares a hole into the center of my forehead.
“We didn’t exchange vows before, but I will now. I vow never to touch you or do anything against your will. You will be my wife in name only. While you’re required to live with me, you’re free to live your own life as long as it doesn’t interfere with mine. I will make sure you are provided for financially. You will want for nothing.”
She huffs. “How romantic.”
I set my jaw. If today is any indication, the next few weeks are going to be rough as fuck. I’m already exhausted. “Do you have any questions?”
“Just one,” she murmurs.
“Ask.”
“What do you get out of this?” Alina leans back and crosses her legs. She looks like a queen upon her throne, eyeing me with nothing but suspicion. “What did they threaten you with?”
“Threaten?”
