She stills, blinking. When she speaks, her voice is strange. “No, I’m afraid I don’t have anything like that. And Chloe… you might want to think of a really, really good delaying tactic. Remember what I told you about my brother and accidents? Same thing goes for memory lapses.”
I stare at her, my stomach dropping. “You mean…”
“It sounds to me like he’s dead set on binding you to him—and is already pulling out all the stops.”
27
Nikolai
I wake up with an unsettling sense of déjà vu. Even before I roll over and feel the cool, empty sheets next to me, I know Chloe is not there.
I can feel her absence deep inside.
Logic tells me she couldn’t have run away again—the guards are under strict orders not to let her leave the compound—but my heart still thuds heavily against my ribcage as I jump off the bed and get dressed with military speed.
I have to find her. Now.
Before I can exit the room, a flicker of movement outside catches my eye. I step over to the window, and a wave of relief washes over me.
It’s Chloe and Slava, standing together on the edge of the driveway, peering into the cluster of trees on the side. As I look closer, I notice a gray-brown ball of fur in front of them—a wild rabbit. I also catch a glimpse of a long, skinny carrot in my son’s hand.
The relief merges with a new, purely incandescent sensation, a glowing sort of warmth that fills every crevice of my chest. My son and my wife to be—it feels so right, so perfect.
So utterly fucked up.
I don’t deserve this. Deep down, I know that. A man like me doesn’t get to experience this kind of happiness, to bask for any length of time in real joy. And Chloe certainly doesn’t deserve me. The blood that runs through my veins is pure poison, my nature ruthless through and through. A better man would’ve let her go long ago, protecting her from the darkest parts of himself instead of seizing this mirage of happiness with both hands.
But I am seizing it. Because I’m a selfish monster. Because when I finally had her in my arms last night, I knew that was where she belonged. And I knew it wasn’t enough to simply have her there.
I need the world to know that she’s mine, that she belongs solely to me.
I let myself watch her and Slava for a while longer, enjoying the unearned happiness, these stolen moments of uncomplicated joy. I don’t know how I’d been able to restrain myself all that time, how I’d managed to hold back and give her the two-week reprieve. Now that I’ve had her again, I can’t imagine spending another night without her, can’t even attempt to put the beast back on its leash.
She doesn’t want to marry me. So be it. The scorching burn of rage and hurt at her refusal is still there, but it’s cooled slightly, hardening into a grim resolve.
It’s time Chloe understood with whom she’s dealing. One way or another, she’s going to wear my ring on her finger.
Tonight, she’s going to become my wife.
28
Chloe
I get through the morning by sheer willpower, going about my lessons with Slava with a smile despite the anxiety shredding my nerves. It helps that Nikolai doesn’t show up at breakfast, locking himself in his office with Pavel instead. In fact, I don’t see him at all except briefly in the hallway, when he strides past me with nothing more than a heated once-over and a murmured “excuse me, zaychik.”
It’s as if last night never happened, as if my body doesn’t bear the imprint of his possession and my stomach isn’t in knots as I try to work up the courage to confront him.
It’s not until eleven that the first sign of the changes to come appears. By then, I’ve grown hopeful that Nikolai has changed his mind, and his threat was empty after all. But no. I walk into my room to find Lyudmila in my closet, grabbing dozens of dresses together with their hangers and carrying them past me without a single word.
“Hey!” I hurry after her as she walks briskly down the hallway. “What’s going on?”
She casts a sidelong glance at me as I catch up. “You move today. To Nikolai’s room, no?”
“What? No! Give me those.” I try to grab the clothes from her, but she proves to be surprisingly agile. Sidestepping my move, she darts into Nikolai’s bedroom, then emerges thirty seconds later and beelines for my room.
Fuck.
I run after her. “Don’t. Just leave them.”
She doesn’t listen, snatching another batch of clothes and pushing past me, her matryoshka-doll face devoid of all expression. “If you in my way, I get Pavel to help.”
Dammit.
Brimming with anger, I step back and let her do her thing. The alternative—physically fighting her and her mountain of a husband—would be both pointless and stupid. Who cares where my clothes reside? It’s what this move signifies that matters.