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I scoff. “You call this luck?”
“To me, yes. To you, no.” She concedes that we are different. Natasha shifts her tone. “You have not seen the cruelty men are capable of. I wish to offer my condolences for your loss. Everyone does.”
The emotions start to rise. “Andrei won’t let me attend the funeral.”
“That is wise.” Her voice betrays urgency. “You have seen what they do at weddings. And at funerals, the graves are already dug.”
I slump down into an armchair, folding my arms. I will not allow myself to rationalize their cruel treatment. It’s my mother, after all.
“Paige.” Her tone softens as she forgoes my patronymic. “Each of us has lost someone special, undeservingly, and too soon. I urge you not to go. Andrei will pursue you, not to prove his authority but to shield you from harm.”
My vision blurs as I try to force back tears. Ihaveto be there to say goodbye. I know Andrei won’t understand, but maybe he would if it were Eva. I have to go against his wishes, even if he’s trying to protect me.
Andrei wants to keep me safe, but from what? This ismylife he’s controlling.
“I’ll never see her again,” I reply. “I only want to say goodbye.”
I take a deep breath and wipe away the tears. Natasha’s words have stirred something inside me—a determination not to accept this. If he doesn’t let me go, I will leave this place.
Her visage of ice slowly cracks. She takes a deep breath and comes closer. “I will ask,” Natasha replies firmly. “But he is as stubborn as you. You cannot hold me to a promise I cannot keep, Paige Geraldovna.”
Natasha’s hand slips into mine and gives it a reassuring squeeze. A small gesture of understanding without voicing it. A silent acknowledgment that she understands anguish even though she’s forbidden to express it. Natasha stands tall, and her look of concern tightens into a scowl before she turns and strides out of the room.
Chapter 54
Paige
The following days are filled with distractions to keep me from asking again. I don’t know if Natasha asked if I could go, but I suspect she did. I don’t see her for the rest of the week. She’s barely around while I’m kept busy with meals and shopping with Sonya, who has reappeared again.
Do they think I’m a fool? Do they think they can just wave something shiny in my face, and I’ll forget what matters in my life? As the days draw closer to the funeral, Andrei and I sleep farther and farther apart.
He eats breakfast with me every morning. A small table with two chairs and fussy place settings has been set up in our bedroom. Fresh flowers are placed on the table and, later, on my vanity. A trolley is pushed in, piled high with fresh fruit and bread that make my mouth water. I rationalize that I should eat as I cover a biscuit in homemade butter and take a huge bite.
But Andrei barely speaks. I watch him—handsome and aloof—as his strong hands gracefully butter a piece of toast. It’s ridiculous how a mundane task makes me stare at him. But it does because I can picture those hands on my body, and it’s enough to make me wet again. I know a surefire way Andrei can distract me, but I won’t beg again.
“This is for you.” He reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a Tiffany blue box, placing it on the table between us.
I refrain from rolling my eyes. I must seem ungrateful and as spoiled as they all claim. But gold can’t replace my family. I can’t cuddle a diamond. I glare at him as the box just sits there. Andrei picks up his phone and checks the screen, pretending it’s all normal.
“Checking today’s kill list?” I ask sweetly.
His square jaw twitches. Am I getting to him? No, something else must have happened. When has he ever given a shit about my opinion of him?
“I spoke to Eva,” he says, placing his phone facedown.
He pushes the box toward me and stares into my eyes. My shoulders slump as if I can slide out of the chair and run. His sexy looks are pure perfection, as if he were designed from every woman’s wild private fantasy. But his eyes always make me forget why I want to hate him. It’s how he looks at me as if he really cares. Even if it’s only lust.
I clear my throat and poke the fruit salad with my fork. “What did she say?”
He doesn’t tell me. Instead, Andrei places his fingertips on the box and pushes it closer. “Are you okay, Paige?”
I lean forward as if to pounce. “Don’t speak to me like this is all my fault. As if I’m responsible for my own bad luck. I do have a reason to be angry. As if giving a damn about how I’m treated is my screwed-up problem, not yours!”
His hand stills as his eyes narrow, sending a warning chill down my spine. “You were shouting then laughing the other day,” he scoffs. “I’m worried, that’s all.”
Poof. My appetite is gone. I hold the front of my robe closed and disappear into the bathroom to change, leaving the door open. I can make demands with the door open. I can be a bitch when I’m not looking into his eyes.
“You don’t understand, do you?” I shout so he can hear me.
