Page 96 of Ruthless Reign

He winks. “So many firsts with me. I’m honored.”

If he only knew—this is the first time my heart has thawed in so long.

I thought it was impossible to be bad at snowshoeing, but apparently, I was wrong.

When Roman suggested an outdoor activity this morning, I thought he was kidding. But no, he’s a big fan of snow and, for some unknown reason, likes to clomp around in what looks like tennis rackets tied to his feet. He swore it was as easy as riding a bike, that everyone gets the hang of it—except me.

I’m lying on my back, starfished out in the snow after my fifth fall, and I don’t have it in me to get up.

A shadow moves above me, but I keep my eyes closed, hoping he’ll move on and leave me to my snowy grave.

“Need a hand, milaya?”

I pop open an eyelid. “Nope. I’m staying right here.”

He smiles, and my heart stops for a moment. With the bright winter sun shining behind him—his thick, tousled hair peeking out beneath his hat, and the laugh lines crinkling around his eyes—he’s the most devastatingly sexy man I’ve ever seen.

“If you’re staying, I’m staying.” He drops down next to me, tossing his snowshoes aside, and joins me on the snow-covered ground. “Good thing I got us waterproof snow gear.”

I giggle. “Good thing.”

Our eyes lock, and I can’t tear myself away. Not when so much is conveyed in a single glance. I don’t know what to call it, but I recognize it in my soul.

I have to break our gaze so I can catch my breath. “Why is snowshoeing so much harder than it looks?” I moan to keep the mood light.

“Is it though? Because I haven’t fallen once.”

“Asshole,” I mutter.

His response is to pull me on top of him. We roll over a few times, him laughing and me squealing.

When he finally stops our roll, he buries his face in my neck. “You’ve got great rolling skills, though.”

“Thanks. Such a high compliment.” I’m still snuggled into his chest, watching his breath escape in small puffs. The stark branches of green pines tower over us. “I didn’t take you as the outdoorsy type,” I tell him.

“It’s because you’ve only seen me in Moscow. When my mother and I would come up here during the summers or for winter holiday, she’d force me to play outside, probably to burn off my endless energy."

I smile, imagining a young Roman throwing snowballs and making forts. I hope it was a happy time for him. At least when he was alone with his mother.

“What about you? Did you grow up playing sports?” he asks.

A rough laugh breaks free from my chest. “Not exactly. My mother thinks a stroll in the park is braving the wilderness.” I can't conceal the bitterness in my tone. “My mother didn't really care what we did, to be honest.”

“Then why do you care about her? It seems you’ve lived life to make your family happy. When do you get to put yourself first?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. I hoped we'd never have to talk about my family history, but I don’t think there’s any way to avoid it. “It was the only way I knew to keep the peace when I was growing up,” I say softly. I don't look his way but sense him hanging on my every word. “As I'm sure you know, the Ivanovs used to be a rich and well-connected family—the only reason, as far as I can tell, why my mother married my father. My father never worked a day in his life. But when you're a bored-as-shit alcoholic, you tend to hang out with the wrong crowd. When he drank, which was often, he’d also gamble. Badly, I might add. The more money my father lost, the more my parents fought. So I learned to be the perfect daughter, the good girl who never caused any trouble or demanded attention, keeping my head down and my grades up. I guess I got stuck in that role.”

Something strange passes through his gaze, like a dark storm cloud. He's angry on my behalf, but I'm not done with my story. I want him to understand why I've made the decision I have.

“After Sofiya was born, nothing else mattered to me. I finally had someone deserving of my love and affection. For the first time in my life, I felt truly loved back. I stepped in to be the parent to Sofiya that our actual parents could never be. Even now, everything I do is for her. To keep her safe and happy, to make sure her future is different from mine. That she can make her own way in this world, free to do whatever she pleases, not dependent on any man.”

“Fuck, baby, you took on all that?” Roman is on his elbows, propped over me, his expression tense and serious. “And that’s why you’re marrying a man you hate?”

I stiffen, my face heating with shame as he looks at me with a gaze that feels like it's drilling into my soul.

“I bet my mother’s losing her shit right now,” I say, an obvious attempt to change the subject. “Both she and Anatoly are probably blowing up Maxim's cell phone. He won't know what the fuck’s going on when he picks up his messages.”

Both my parents and Anatoly have called me repeatedly, leaving messages I don’t listen to. I have nothing to say to either of them. They think I'm in hiding—that should be reason enough for me to not be in touch.

---