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He steps aside from the door, offering me a pathway out, and I don’t hesitate to take it. I toss the binder aside, shove away from the table, and hustle through the door. The kitchen is even more beautiful than I remember it, and I spent a quick ten seconds running my hand across the shiny steel oven knobs before I start gathering my supplies.
The binder to the right of the fridge is actually a walk-in pantry that wraps around the back of the fridge like a food version of Narnia. There is a well-stocked spice rack, baskets of fresh produce, and a basic spread of flour, baking powders, and sugars. For a moment, I forget about Luka Volkov and his family’s brutality. I forget about the circumstances that brought me to this mansion and this kitchen, and I simply focus on the fact thatthis is mine. If things get truly bad with Luka, I would even consider sleeping in here. It is the closest thing to a real life “happy place” I’ve ever had.
“Hurry up in there,” the soldier barks from the kitchen, making me jump.
I roll my eyes, take a deep breath, and begin gathering supplies. I take half of the spice rack—paprika, onion powder, garlic powder, thyme, oregano, black peppercorns—and dump it on the kitchen island. Then, I go back in for lemons, avocadoes, fresh garlic, and a bag of long-grain white rice. The refrigerator is just as well-stocked as the pantry, and I find chicken breasts thawed out on the bottom shelf.
I rinse the rice, and while it cooks in a pot on the stove, I heat a stainless-steel pan, slice the chicken breasts in half, and season them with the homemade blackened seasoning. The soldier moves closer and closer to the island as I work. At first, I think it is because he is worried about me with a knife, but when I look up, I see that his tongue is nearly dangling out of his mouth. He is starving.
Then, a bang comes from the front of the house, and the soldier stands to attention and glares at me like I purposefully hypnotized him. Heavy footsteps pound across the marble entryway, and the soldier scrambles back to stand with his back against the wall. I can see the fear in his wide eyes, and I know Luka is home. However, seconds before Luka’s frame fills the doorway, the soldier sets his face to neutral and stares straight ahead.
I’m not sure why, but this makes me like the soldier more. He seems more human to me than before. But I can’t sit with that feeling long because Luka stomps into the kitchen, sees me at the kitchen island, and quickly pivots until he is looming over me like a raincloud.
“What are you doing in here?” His voice is a deep bass that rumbles through my bones, but I do my best to continue working as though he doesn’t bother me.
“Cooking,” I say, gesturing to the food. “Do you want anything?”
I hate how domestic I sound, but apparently, years of my father drilling into me that a woman’s duty is to feed her family did the trick. It is all I can think to say.
“You are supposed to be planning our wedding,” he growls.
I don’t look up at him. I can’t. Not if I want to look unaffected. Unlike the soldier standing in the corner, I haven’t perfected my neutral mask. If I look at Luka, he’ll see the fear blooming inside of me, and he will enjoy it. I don’t want to give him that pleasure.
“I found a caterer and a photographer,” I say, trying to keep my hands from trembling as I slice open one avocado and then another, digging the knife into the pits and twisting them out. “And a designer I’ve worked with in the past is altering a dress off the rack for me.”
He moves even closer so his hip is whispering against my elbow as I work. “That’s all?”
“Most brides have months to plan a wedding,” I say.
I can practically feel the heat wafting off of him as he turns to the soldier in the corner. “Get out.”
The soldier turns and leaves at once, and despite the fact that he and I had not exactly become friends over the last several hours we’d spent together, I still find myself wishing he would stay. I don’t want to be alone with Luka. Though, I suppose I better get used to it. If we get married, I’ll be alone with him a lot.
As soon as the soldier disappears down the hallway, Luka leans down until his lips are only a few inches from my ear. His hot breath sends a shiver down my spine. “I’m the reason you’re not dead right now, so I’d suggest you speak to me with respect.”
Steeling myself, I turn to face him. His eyes are trained on me. Green eyes the color of clover and spring grass. They are too beautiful for such a horrible man. “There is a difference between disrespect and speaking the truth. Why are you in such a rush to get married?”
“That is no concern of yours.”
“It certainly feels like my concern,” I retort. “Plus, I’m not in the habit of taking orders for the sake of taking orders. I’m not one of your soldiers.”
His massive hand is around my wrist before I can even blink, and I gasp. He isn’t gripping me hard or hurting me, but I know without trying that I won’t be able to pull my hand free. It is yet another reminder of how powerless I am against Luka. Of how easily he can overpower me. His hand slides down my hand, squeezing and forcing me to drop the knife I’d been holding.
His beard is pitch black and meticulously groomed and it shifts as he works his jaw, either in anger or frustration—probably both. “Because you belong to me,” he says simply. “And the sooner your father and the Furinos understand there is nothing they can do to change that, the better off we’ll be.”
“‘We’?” I ask, eyebrow raised. “Or you?”
His other hand flexes like he is itching to lift it and strike me, but then, he drops my hand and steps away. Without a word, he leaves the kitchen and walks into the meeting room, closing the door behind him.
My heart is racing from our close contact and his intensity. I’ve never been around someone like Luka before. I’ve known plenty of violent, cruel men in my life, but never anyone who could unsettle me to my very core with one look. Who could send shivers down my spine with a single breath. Being near him is like sharing a cage with a wild animal. I’m completely at his mercy. I can talk all I want, but at the end of the day, he is the one with the teeth and claws and brute strength. He is the one who can destroy me.
I turn back to the food – anything to distract me from the unease sinking in my skin. I cover the rice and remove it from the heat to let it steam and then find a top of the line food processor in a cabinet under the island. I drop in the avocado, garlic, and the juice of one lemon and turn it on. While it runs, I drop the seasoned chicken into the heated pan, and the familiar sizzle of the meat sets my frayed nerves at ease. Over the next ten minutes, I finish blending the avocado sauce and add salt and pepper to taste, flip the chicken to sear the other with a perfect golden crust, and fluff the rice with a fork and season it.
I find plates in an overhead cabinet, but they are too high for me to reach without a step stool, so I crawl up onto the counter and stand on my knees to reach them. I’m tempted to only grab one plate and feed myself, but I don’t want to give Luka any more of a reason to despise me, so I grab two.
The pan is still sizzling, so I don’t hear Luka come back into the kitchen or walk up behind me. I don’t know he is only a foot away from me until I crawl down from the counter with the two plates in my hand and feel his body against my back side. I yelp and jump, the plates clattering together in my hand. I nearly drop them, but before I can, Luka’s hand snakes around and steadies the plates.
He takes the dishes from my hand and sets them on the counter, and I press a hand to my heart and let out a shaky breath. “I could have fallen backwards and died. You should warn people before you sneak up behind them.”
