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“You will have a nice life in Russia. Live in a palace. Have maids and guards. You’ll be royalty there.” He grips my chin. “I expect you to be grateful I have chosen a man for you who will give you a privileged life.”
For a moment, I see it from that angle. I don’t suppose the mayor of Russia can keep a wife a prisoner or hurt her. Perhaps I can cultivate a relationship with a guard, who… Who, what?
No, I don’t want this. I must figure a way out of this. Russia is very isolated and so far away. Not that I have real friends here. Stasia was my best friend. Who wants to be friends with a Bratva princess? I choke, thinking of Lachlan calling me that. I guess I am. Only, not in a good way. My so-calledvaluegot me forcibly engaged to a disgusting old man.
“Yes, Papa.” I lower my head.
“Get dressed. The party starts at five p.m.”
“Then why is Rahil coming over now?”
“You must sign the contracts with him.”
I wonder how much I’m being sold for, but I don’t dare ask.
The next few hours pass in a blur. It’s a hot, sweltering night, and I’m standing on the patio overlooking at least one hundred people slogging around, drinking, and eating. No one talks to me. Not even Rahil, who didn’t even look at me when we signed the marriage contract.
His complete disinterest in me is my only comfort in this horrible situation.
A woman in a bronze satin dress watches me from a table near the garages. While everyone sips champagne, she drinks what looks like water from a cut crystal glass. My eyes trail down her body and the shiny fabric hugs what looks like a baby bump.
Why is she looking at me?
I take a few steps to the right and snag a glass of champagne for myself, even though I’m not twenty-one. Sipping it, I glide further down the patio and duck behind one of the two tall hydrangeas. The white pompoms have bloomed, but I can see through the sparse branches.
The woman gets up and mingles through the crowd. With nothing else to do, I watch her. She strolls right up to Rahil, who puts his arm around her waist while talking to men in suits. A few seconds later, the woman steps away, and Rahil follows her.
I finish the champagne. At the end of the patio, I dash down the steps but bump right into Rahil. His eyes burn with hatred toward me.
I feel ya, mister.
“Hello,” I address him with a bow.
“What do you want?”
“We’ve not even spoken,” I say.
“There’s no need for us to speak.”
“Then you won’t mind if I continue my ballet lessons and education.”
“Ballet? I need you with me on the campaign. You belong to me.”
I shudder, feeling sick. “I see.” Boy, do I see. My eyes trail to the woman in bronze, who hovers a few feet away. “And you are?”
“She is my mistress,” Rahil sneers.
I glance down at the woman’s hands, holding her stomach. “Congratulations.”
“You don’t talk to her.” Rahil grabs me, tearing my dress.
Rage bubbles up, and I step on his foot with my heel, enjoying how he cries out. Until he pushes me. Hard.
“Take your hands off me,” I yell. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
I smile but make the mistake of turning my back on him. He pulls me by the hair and drags me into the walkway between the house and the garages. The pain is excruciating, my legs kicking from being hauled practically off my feet.
“Rahil, stop!” the woman cries out.
