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There’s no warning in his words which tells me he would accept it if I were to tell him no. The thing is, I don’t want to tell him no.
Is he handing me an opportunity for us to really get to know each other? What does that mean? Could this be something more than an arrangement we were forced into?
There’s only one way to find out the answers to my questions.
“I’d love to,” my words come out far more breathless than I want them to and heat flares in Viktor’s stormy eyes for a moment.
He nods sharply, stands up, and heads toward the door while throwing over his shoulder, “Go ahead and get dressed,zhena. I’ll be downstairs waiting for you.”
A shiver rolls down my spine; it does every time he calls me wife in Russian. I’m not entirely sure if he means it in a derogatory way and is trying to remind me this marriage between us doesn’t mean anything. If he is, that doesn’t stop the way his endearment affects me. I try and fight it, but it’s futile.
Just like how it’s impossible for me to ignore the strange pull between us. I sigh as I stand and hurry into the walk-in closet we share. It’s more than large enough for both of our belongings, but there’s something intimate about our clothing being in this space. It feels domestic in a way I never thought this marriage would be.
Don’t be fooled. He was clear about what this marriage is.
Still, I get dressed quickly, pulling on a wrap dress that hugs my curves and shows off a hint of cleavage, and some heeledboots. I brush my hair quickly before putting on a minimal amount of makeup. I’ve never been one to cake it on, preferring to feel natural.
My mom was the same way and I saw how father always appreciated her natural beauty. I always hoped the man I married would feel the same way about me.
The sinking feeling in my gut reminds me of how Hazel wrapped herself around Viktor the day we met. She was wearing a full face of makeup and seemed like the kind of woman who always does. There’s nothing wrong with it, don’t get me wrong, but it’s just not me. Would Viktor prefer a woman like Hazel?
They seemed awfully close.
My heart aches at the thought.
She was even at the wedding, even though she never approached either of us. Have they been spending time together? Will he honor our vows? Is she a woman who would be happy to be his mistress?
I walk down the stairs on autopilot, not paying much attention as my thoughts swirl through my head. When I hear a sharp intake of breath, I look up to find Viktor looking me over with hunger in his eyes. It gives me a confidence boost and the ability to push my thoughts of Hazel away.
She’s not the one going out on a date with my husband. Not tonight.
I am.
Viktor holds my coat open for me and I slip my arms into it. As I turn toward him, he surprises the hell out of me by kissing my cheek.
His warm, minty breath fans across my skin, “You look beautiful, Calla.”
My cheeks heat and I whisper, “Thank you, Viktor.”
Even through my coat I can feel the heat of his hand at the small of my back as he leads me out of the mansion and towards his car. I’m a little surprised that he’s driving us himself. Pavel has been taking full advantage of his money and using a driver to go everywhere. It’s a status thing to him, but it always makes me a little uncomfortable.
When Viktor opens the passenger door for me, I glance up at him, hoping he can’t see the surprise in my eyes. I slide into the seat and squirm a little until I force myself to be still when he gets behind the wheel. The silence stretches between us as we ride, but it’s not as awkward as I thought it would be.
There’s a comfort in the silence between us which I’m not expecting. For the last ten months, I’ve found silence fills me with anxiety because it’s a precursor to something bad, something that will cause me pain. Pavel loved to use silence to make me feel like the walls were closing in around me, but this is different. This makes me feel like I can breathe again.
When we get to an upscale bistro, Viktor opens the door for me again and leads me into the restaurant. He doesn’t even look twice at the hostess who is batting her eyelashes at my husband. Honestly, I’m a little surprised she doesn’t take flight.
Once we’re seated—and yes, he pulled my chair out for me as well—Viktor graces me with a small smile. “The food here is great,” he assures me.
“I’m sure it is.” I nod as I start to look over the menu, the silence between us changing again into something not as comfortable.
When I look up and we catch each other’s eyes, something snaps, and we both start to laugh. His deep chuckle reverberates around us, and I giggle. It makes no sense, but at the same time it does. A wall is torn down between us, the chasm feeling like it’s not as wide as it was.
Our laughter leads to talking. About everything. As we order and then eat, the flow of our conversation is light and easy.
It feels like we’re finally starting to get to know each other. We’ve been married for a few days, we’ve been living under the same roof for weeks, but now we’re finally getting to know more about each other than just the façade we’re forced to exist beneath.
It feels good.
