Page 37 of Lethal Saint

“You have my word.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Guess I’ll keep an eye out for your lawyer then.”

I nodded and returned happily to my wife, dropping back into the chair, immensely pleased with myself. “Found anything else you love, little queen?”

She shrugged, her eyes on the table.

“Vasilisa?” A frown tugged my brows together. “What’s wrong? Did something happen? Did someone say something to you?”

I should never have taken my eyes off her for a damn second. I was such a fucking idiot.

“No one said anything, and I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t smiling, her eyes were dull again, and she’d stopped eating.

Fuck.

CHAPTER 14

VASILISA

Sickness coiled in my belly like a snake wrapping its dark, scaly body around my stomach, squeezing until I wanted to throw up. My face burned. If I looked at Damien, I’d cry.

He kept asking me what was wrong, but I didn’t want to talk. Today was nerve-wracking and scary, but beautiful. Meaningful. Perfect.

I’d been strangely, unapologetically happy. And when Damien took me to that café and insisted on ordering everything, when I tasted incredible food and snuck glances at his soft, indulgent expression, I’d felt incandescent.

I thought it was as real and perfect for him as it was for me. I thought his vows meant as much to him as they did to me.

“He didn’t promise to love you,” I whispered to myself, closing the bedroom door behind myself and swallowing the lump in my throat. “Only to protect you.”

That fact tasted like acid when I swallowed.

I meant nothing to him. And why would I? He’d only known me three days. I wasn’t charming or beautiful or magnetic; I didn’t suit him. I kicked off my shoes so aggressively that I left a scuff mark on the white silk, and jumped when the door flew open.

“Talk to me,” Damien pleaded, his burnished hair rumpled in a way it hadn’t been before the drive home. He was so handsome it hurt to look at him, especially in the suit that hugged his body so perfectly, the reminder that we were now married. And I meant nothing to him.

“No,” I whispered, and fled into the bathroom, throwing the door shut with a loud crash and twisting the lock into place.

“Vasilisa!” Damien said, rattling the doorknob and very obviously trying to remain calm.

I didn’t care, right then, if I triggered his anger. Survival instincts flew out the window, eroded by hurt and pain and—jealousy. I spun away from the door, my hands curling into fists. I could still see it now, so fucking sharp in my mind. The sight of him smiling at the pretty barista, the way she leant towards him, her eyes wide the way I knew mine went when he complimented me.

Lies. All fucking lies. And I fell for them.

“Unlock the door, little queen. Whatever upset you, we can work through it together, I promise.”

I turned to scowl at the door. His promises meant nothing. I was surprised to find my upper lip curled, my teeth bared. I ought to draw my gun and shoot him through the door. I thought our marriage was going to bereal.I should have known, shouldn’t have convinced myself he cared about me. He only married me to keep me safe. He swore to protect me, and he would. He hadn’t lied about that; I believed his vows.

I just…got carried away. Appreciating him. Letting him past my walls. Imagining what it would be like when he took me to bed.

No wonder he didn’t want to fuck me. He’d find someone more appealing for that. His behaviour earlier made so much sense.

“Vasya,” he groaned, thumping his head against the door judging by the rattle and thump of it. “What happened in the café?”

“Nothing,” I muttered. I needed to get out of this dress. This perfect, beautiful, rage-inducing dress. I’d been so happy mere hours ago, with his family congratulatory and sweet, if overwhelmingly intense. Now I wanted to burn it.

“Did you hate the food so much?” he asked, his voice close to the door. I gave the slab of wood my middle finger. “That’s a shame. I just bought that café for you.”

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