“I thought we would just act as husband and wife until the danger is past. I can’t be stuck, married to him, forever.”
“Until death. Surely you heard the promises you made.” Sanyet said. “You will not betray them or me.”
His chest expanded with his words. As if he were bristling like a cat. Casting a bigger shadow over her shaking body. “I’m not going to betray anybody. I already told you that one hundred times. Please, I just want to live my life.”
“And you will, as my wife.” Sanyet snarled.
Rurik took a deep breath and settled his gaze back on her. His brows meeting in the center of his forehead. Before he turned to Sanyet. “Give her time. She is not familiar with our customs. Even Hannah had to learn to accept her place.”
Her place? They spoke as if they were still living in the middle ages. This was worse than a funhouse. This was Bedlam. “Now that we’re married, we don’t have to live together. I can go back home and you can go back to your place. We never have to see each other again.”
Sanyet gave a brutal bark of laughter. “You should have thought of that before you accepted the makhr.”
“Sanyet. She will learn our ways. You will teach her. Until then,” Rurik turned back to Jessalyn. “There is no giving back the makhr. There is no getting divorced. You will live together in a blessed state of marriage. This is what you agreed to and let me be clear. There is no other way for you.” Rurik gave a short brisk nod, before wiping his hands and brushing them off. “You marry or you die. I can do nothing more to save you.” He turned on his heels and returned to Hannah, who stood with concern furrowing her brows. She stepped forward as if she would say something, but Rurik took her elbow and led her firmly towards the officiant. Turning her away from Jessalyn.
Had she imagined Rurik was the nice one? She took another look at her husband. Sanyet stood with his legs braced apart as if he faced a front line of soldiers. His body tensed as if he waited for her to dissent so that he could assign her some terrible punishment. Daring her to deny that he was her husband… for better or worse.
Chapter 2
“Settle down, dove. We’ll be home soon enough.” Her hazel eyes fired as if she had a thousand rebuttals, but she remained silent. At least most of her shaking had stopped.
Last year, Sanyet’s father sent word that the days of the single Ismailov men were coming to a close. And when Akim Ismailov decreed something, it was done. No arguing. No debate. If Akim said it, it was law. Akim said it was time, so it was time. He’d given them ten years more than he’d received. Akim was twenty-three-year-old Akim when he’d been ordered to marry Sanyet’s sixteen-year-old mother. Unacceptable today, but those were the old days and the old ways. Change brought improvement, innovation, novel ideas and practices. Thank the stars that had changed. He would never bed a child bride. He’d go to bed every night with his dick hard as a hammer first. Waiting for her to grow up because he’d never cheat on his bride, either.
His bride’s hands still had a slight tremble as she tucked in her seat belt and waited for takeoff. Thank the stars she didn’t throw up again. What the fuck was that? He’d sliced his first throat at twelve and had the same reaction. But shit, he’d barely reached puberty. He grimaced. Thank God his father hadn’t seen it. His mother had been his only witness, and she’d helped him clean up in silence. She was a good, strong woman. Worthy to be an Ismailov. His grandparents had chosen well. He observed his choice, a woman who shook whenever he was near. Jumped like a cat when he spoke and retched at the sight of blood. The brains and the back of the skull he’d blown off by her head were more than a little blood. But still, was she unaware of human anatomy? By the stars, she was a woman. Didn’t she see blood every month?
Sanyet didn’t know who his father had planned for him, but it wasn’t a weak-kneed, crying baby. He’d learned to read a man in minutes. He only needed to see into a man’s eyes to know his secrets. He could tell when someone was lying to stop the pain he’d inflicted and when the truth was spilling from his guts. But somehow he’d read her completely wrong. When he picked her up, intelligence had sparkled in her eyes with questions. Oh yes, she had questions, but she only pressed her lips together and held them. The look that crossed her face reminded him of his mother. She’d give her father the same look when he came home with bloody hands from handling Ismailov business. But she’d say nothing. She knew who she was married to. That’s what he needed: a strong, silent woman. Let him do his business and come home from work like any other man to a home that was run with quiet efficiency. Thank God she was at least quiet. He didn’t need to talk to a woman. Fuck her and forget about her. And if he couldn’t forget, at least be fucking quiet.
He peered at his wife from under his lashes and watched her squirm in the seat facing him. She had the curvy body of a nineteen-fifties Italian screen goddess. When he was a teen, he’d seen a black and white movie starring Sophia Loren in a low-cut, skintight dress. His fifteen-year-old brain had nearly exploded from the impact. He’d jumped out of bed every morning to shower and change his sheets for a month. His mother wondered at his sudden clean streak, but his father hid his smile behind his cup, and told her to leave the boy alone.
When he picked her up from the airport, he’d nearly fallen to his knees, grunting to cover his surprise. She had the same Sophia Loren shape, with a butt plump and round, begging to be palmed by his hand. Shaped. Molded. Slapped. His dick jerked again, eager to start.
“Where are you taking me?”
Her voice didn’t quiver, and she met his eyes, but her shirt rippled with the rapid pace of her exhalations. The plane began its taxi down the runway. He looked out at the monochrome beige desert landscape and sighed. He couldn’t wait to return to the land of fucking scenery. Should he tell her they were on their way to Michigan? Rurik might like the barren, lifeless desert, but he missed seeing trees, birds flying overhead, deer running in the fields. Summers with suns that scorched but didn’t burn, and winters that froze his balls in their sack. Like Ardestan.
“Did you hear me?” Her voice grated with the new demand. Did she imagine he answered to her? Or maybe she thought he was a man who repeated himself.
He held her gaze again before reclining his seat back as the plane ascended. Settling his bulk into his custom seat. He closed his eyes and signed. His fingers found the button on the armrest, working their way like braille to fill the cabin with his classical music. Music that told a story. Not that loud shit Rurik preferred. His breathing slowed even as he felt her tense up across from him. Simmering like a pot before it reached its boiling point and spilled over. Did she have a boiling point? Did he care? She’d stayed pretty calm, considering. Staying calm was an asset. At least he had something he could appreciate about his bride. Well, besides her body. He definitely appreciated that, as he looked at her breasts again. If she’d turned into a drama queen, he’d have shot her days ago and been done with it. But she’d held herself like a calm anchor dropped in a raging storm.
He folded his arms behind his head and cracked his eyes open to hold hers. “We’re going home. I already told you that. You’re not an idiot and I don’t repeat myself. Learn that now. Ask me once and never ask again. If you can’t remember what I said. Take notes.”
Her nostrils flared, and her fingers curled into her armrests. She did that a lot. Another one of her tells. He’d have to teach her to hide her feelings. Bury them. No one should know what an Ismailov was thinking. Why give your enemies the advantage? His lip jerked up, curling into a brief smile. Best to teach her that lesson after the dove was trained.
“Where is your home?”
“Our home. Say it.”
He could hear the growl and pictured her lips turning into a sneer as she responded. “Our. Home. Is that better?”
“Yes. Much. I find I like the sound of it coming from your lips. My wife. Our home. So many things to get used to. But we’ll be there for a while. So we have time.”
“Is this supposed to be some kind of honeymoon?”
“Call it what you like.”
“I meant what I said. I’m not sleeping with you.”
“No, we won’t be sleeping.”