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I wonder if he cares about his bride-to-be lying to him, because what comes out of my mouth is absolutely not the truth.
“Of course I am.” I keep the polite smile fixed on my face. “That’s what I was meant to do. Make a good marriage for the sake of the Vasilev family.”
Next to me, I can feel Lilliana twitch slightly. She knows exactly how hard it is to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, to make it sound as if everything I just said was sincere.
“I’m sure you know that I’ve never married,” Theo continues. “And I know that might seem odd for a man of my age, in my position. But I wanted to save the prospect of matrimony for the right woman.”
“And I’m the right woman?” It comes out a bit more biting than I intended, and I can see Nikolai’s eyes narrow out of the corner of mine.
“I think that you are. Your brother has made quite the convincing argument.” Theo smiles at me. “If you have no objections, Ms. Vasilev, then I propose we enjoy our dinner and then go forward with the proceedings.”
There’s a sudden tightness in my throat, a twist in my stomach that I do my best to ignore.There’s no turning back once you sign the contract.It would be better to tell Theo McNeil no outright, than to break a contract signed in blood and ink. Our traditions are old and run deep, and I’m sure his are the same. Refusing him would have consequences, but breaking a betrothal contract would be suicide.
But with that contract comes the expectation that I will go to his bed a virgin. That’s impossible now—which means I’m entering into it a fraud. If Theo ever finds out…
He won’t. You can fake it just fine. There’s no reason for him ever to know, unless Adrik says something, and—
I can’t believe that Adrik would. Not only for my sake—and I do believe he cares for me—but for his own. Admitting that he deflowered the Vasilev princess would mean his death—and a slow one at that.
“I have no objections.” The words come out slow and flat, but they’re spoken nonetheless, and Nikolai looks pleased. I can’t read Theo’s expression, but I’m not sure that I care to. Whatever he’s thinking, it doesn’t matter to me.
He’ll treat me however he chooses to. I don’t believe that I have any influence in that. The best thing I can do for my own sanity is to think about him as little as possible.
The rest of the dinner is uneventful. We work our way through a soup course and a course of perfectly cooked filets and seared shrimp with garlicky potatoes and roasted vegetables, wine accompanying every course, and despite my nerves, I eat all of it—as much out of defiance for any idea Theo might have about how his wife ought to eat as my own appetite. But he doesn’t seem to have any reaction, if anything, he seems to be faintly amused by the fact that I finish all of my food, while Lilliana picks at hers.
When the dessert course is swept away, and we’re left with glasses of port, Nikolai looks at Theo. “The three of us can go to my study, then? The contract is prepared. All you need to do is read it, and if it’s to your approval, we can move forward.”
Theo nods. Lilliana gets up gracefully, kissing Nikolai on the cheek. “I’m very tired,” she tells him, and I know it’s as much out of courtesy as actual tiredness—she knows this part of the evening isn’t something she’s meant to be present for. Lilliana, for all that she fought against it tooth and nail, has picked up the niceties of Bratva life very quickly, once she fell in love with my brother. “I’m going to go up to bed.”
She gives me a reassuring look, and Nikolai returns the kiss, brushing his lips over her cheek before finishing his port and looking expectantly at Theo. “Should we go to the study, then?”
I follow them there, my stomach knotting with nerves as we walk. There’s a ceremonial aspect to all of this that I’ve never experienced before, the precursor to all the ceremonies that will be a part of our wedding, and it feels like a slow march to my own doom. Once this step is taken tonight, it can’t be undone.
Til death do us parthas never been so literal. And it needs to be Theo’s.
Not mine.
I just have to get through it until Nikolai’s plan comes to fruition. Until I find enough to make it possible. I can keep a secret for that long. Months. A year at most. And then I can decide if I want to be with Adrik—or if I just want to be me.
Either way, it will be my choice.
Nikolai turns on the light as we walk into the study, going to the bar cart near the fireplace and pouring drinks. Whiskey for Theo, vodka for himself, wine for me. I’d rather we skip the drinks and go straight to the part where we sign the contract, and I can go home, but there are steps to all of this. Protocol and tradition and all of the things that make up the lives we lead. Theo is used to it, and so am I. It’s all expected.
Even if right now, it feels very unnecessary.
I sip at my wine while Nikolai gets out a leather folder and opens it, pulling out several thick sheets of paper and handing them to Theo—our betrothal contract. They’re not handed to me—as the bride-to-be, it’s my job to acquiesce, not understand. Even my self-proclaimed progressive brother isn’t going to change that, not in front of my intended. He’ll let Theo think he’s just as backward and traditional as our father was, because that’s to his benefit.
Unfortunately, he’s playing the part so well that it’s starting to makemewonder.
I’d half expected Theo to just flip idly through the contract and hand it back, but to my surprise, he reads it thoroughly—every word. I’m finished with my wine by the time he hands the papers back to Nikolai, and I wonder how annoyed my brother would be with me if I poured myself another glass.
“Is it acceptable?” Nikolai asks, and I bite back the retort that comes to my lips at the idea of being termed “acceptable.” Of course, the question wasn’t directed at me.
No one is going to ask me if I find Theo acceptable. He’s rich, powerful, and a man—so ofcoursehe is.
“It is.” Theo takes a sip of his whiskey, watching as Nikolai opens a wooden box and slips out a small, ivory-handled penknife. He unfolds the blade and drags it across his thumb, pressing it next to his signature on the paper, already signed. The blood seeps into the thick, cream-colored vellum. When the thumbprint is firmly apparent, he removes his hand, wiping his thumb on a clean white handkerchief as he pushes the papers towards Theo, and hands him the knife.
Theo doesn’t hesitate. He reaches for the proffered fountain pen, signing his name. A quick swipe of the blade across the pad of his thumb, pressed to the signature spot, and his part is done—leaving only me.
