Page 63 of Seduction (Wicked Vows)

Double gah.

“Now, I want you to tell me about other things.”

I look up at Markov, who’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his strong, sturdy hands braced on his thighs. “Mmm?”

“You and Markov. How is our Jason Bourne?”

I look Markov straight in the eye while I respond. “He’s bossy as hell. Kind of old-fashioned, too. Thinks he knows everything. And he won’t even let me walk in our room—I mean my room—without checking to see if it’s safe first.”

My cheeks heat. I’m thankful my mom is thousands of miles away and can’t see how beet-red I am. If she caught that little blunder, she doesn’t let on.

“Of course he is. Men like him would be, you know. They always would be.”

I wish Markov wasn’t here right now. I’d want to talk to her. . . honestly. Woman to woman. About everything.

Mom, why am I capable and independent but crave his dominance?

How can I justify being a woman in modern-day and still allow him to tell me what to do?

How do I make peace with what my body wants and what my mind knows is right?

And most of all. . .

How can I love a man who’s forbidden for me?

But I don’t. I don’t ask her any of these things and just assure her that I’m fine.

I assure her Markov is.

I tell her I love her and that I can’t wait to come home.

“Stay close to him, sweetheart. Your father has made many mistakes in his life, you know I believe that, but appointing Markov as your bodyguard was one of his better decisions. And on that note, Vera. . . you and I need to talk.”

Why do those words never fail to incite fear in me?

“What is it? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes, don’t worry. It’s just that your father called. He said that there’s a benefit in Moscow this weekend, and he wants you to attend. Now, I know how you feel about him?—”

“No, Mom. We had dinner with him recently, and it was a disaster. Ugh. I hated being around him. He is so full of himself! Besides, I don’t have time to go to a benefit.”

I feel guilty hearing her sigh on the other end of the phone.

“I know, Vera. I know, I really do.”

“Then why make me go?” I feel like an angsty teen. “It’s too much. Why does he insist I go to these things?”

“Because he’s trying to mend bridges. He thinks if you see him with his peers, you’ll think more highly of him. Because you’re his daughter, Vera.”

I hate that my father puts my mother in this position. She must hate him more than I do, but she knows she’s stuck being married to a powerful man of the Bratva. She knows he keeps mistresses and has long since broken their vows to one another. He’s done all of this and still makes her do his bidding because he can, the power-hungry asshole. Without him, she’d be penniless and homeless and blacklisted from everyone she knows. It’s shitty, and it isn’t fair.

“It isn’t just all that, Mom. It’s also because he wants to parade me around and make himself look better. He has no interest in who I am as his daughter. None! My perspective won’t change just because he’s playing the part of philanthropist for a night.”

Markov shifts on the bed. When I look over, he taps his wrist as if to remind me to wrap this up. My pulse races.

“Having Markov with you might make things a bit more bearable, no?”

That’s. . . debatable.

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