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“It’s my turn to make my vows,” I tell him through gritted teeth. “I vow to keep running away. No matter how many times you try to stop me, I’ll never give up until I’m finally free of you.”
“You make it sound like a game.”
I sneer at Pyotr. I wonder if I look even half as intimidating as my mother. Father used to say I got all my looks from her, after all. “Don’t patronize me.”
“Or what? You’ll claw my face off?”
Ooh, how I loathe this man.
Pyotr huffs. “Get on the plane, Alina. I don’t want a word out of you for the duration of the flight.”
My nostrils flare. For that little comment, I’m going to talk his damn ear off.
Chapter 4
Pyotr
Ishould have known better than to goad her. We’re four hours into our ten-hour flight and she hasn’t stopped talking. The loud roar of the jet engines makes it next to impossible to hear her, so I have to pay extra attention to the movement of her lips to try and piece together what she’s saying.
“I like pastel colors,” she drones on. Alina’s words are empty, an endless stream of consciousness filtered through her mouth for the sake of making noise. “I like playing the piano, too. I don’t get to practice very much anymore because Mother says it gives her a headache, but then again, I’m pretty sure my breathing too loud gives her a headache. I like to think I’m a pretty good player, though. I used to dream about attending Julliard, but Mother would never have allowed it.
“Let’s see, what else… Oh, I know! I haven’t really told you about my horse. Her name’s Polina and she’s a grey Trakehner. She loves eating sliced apples and carrot sticks. She’s a bit on the heavier side because I have a bad habit of feeding her too many treats. I was training her to become a show horse, but Mother said it was a waste of time. I really hope Mother doesn’t actually sell Polina to the butchers to be turned into horse meat.”
For a moment, Alina trails off. She’s sitting across from me in the spacious beige leather seat next to the jet’s mini bar. There’s nothing but quiet sadness in her eyes.
“Do you think she will?” I ask. I’m not sure why I do. I don’t feel like entertaining her and her ramblings, but for some reason, it bothers me to see her so upset.
Alina shrugs jerkily, glaring out the window. There are five of them on either side of the cabin, nothing but a sea of fluffy white clouds below. I wonder if she was so caught up in her private self-talk that she forgot I was even here.
“So what doyoudo?” she asks bitterly, tucking her knees up to her chest. Alina wraps her arms around herself, resting her chin on her knees. “For fun, I mean.”
“I’m an adult. I don’t have fun.”
She rolls her eyes. “How old are you?”
“Old enough,” I grumble, scrolling through the emails on my phone.
“Just tell me. I’m going to have to know it for the immigration interview or whatever, right? You might as well just spit it out.”
Hm. She has a point, but I’m not going to fool myself into thinking she’s actually interested in getting to know me forme. Alina’s probably just bored.
“Forty-one,” I answer.
She stares at me, her lips pressed into a thin line. She fiddles with the remote control attached to her seat’s armrest. “Wow.”
“Save your snide comments.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“Mm-hmm.” I set my phone down and study her for a moment. I count my blessings she’s calmed down a bit. Maybe it’s the high altitude. “What about you?”
Alina nibbles on her bottom lip, a habit, I’m starting to realize, when she’s apprehensive. “Twenty-one.”
I knew she was young, butdammit. Twenty years between us? That’s another full-grown adult, an entire generation. I silently curse Mikhail for turning me into one ofthosemen. Technically my elder brothers’ wives are younger than themselves as well, but we don’t share the same taste in women.
I prefer someone in my age range, someone mature and thoughtful… Not that it matters because I’m basically married to my work. I don’t have time to date. Were it not for this arranged marriage, I likely would have died alone.
Being alone is safe. Secure. I prefer it.
