Page 57 of Unbreakable Vow

“He recognized you.”

I huff. “Recognized me from what? No one knows me. I’m a nobody. Just a college dropout.” That comment might have been a smidge unnecessary, given how stormy his expression gets.

“I’ve just taken over Kustov Metals, making me one of the richest men in not only this country but Russia too. Do you think no one has taken notice that we’re married?”

I swallow around the embarrassment balling up in my throat over not having figured that part out.

“But no one knows what I look like. Right?” My voice gets a little thin here, much like the ice I’m walking on with this whole conversation.

“You know that photograph we took right after our vows?” His voice lowers. “It was released to the media.”

“Oh.” It’s barely a whisper at this point.

“You won’t be going to that café again. Or any other café until we solve this.”

“You’re not being reasonable.”

“I’m not being reasonable?” His voice hardens. “Would you prefer to be locked in the house instead? Maybe I should post guards at the front door.”

“You already have guards at the doors,” I point out, feeling a little braver.

“They are to keep people out. Maybe I should order them to keep you in.” His threat isn’t a threat at all, it’s very much a vow and if I keep pushing, he’ll make it happen.

“Can’t we compromise? I’ll agree to make sure you know when I’m leaving and I’ll always have one of your guys with me, and you won’t lock me up like Rapunzel.”

“Compromise?” It sounds vulgar the way he says it.

“Yes, we both?—”

“I know what it is.” He shoves off the bookshelves. “You won’t go anywhere without talking to me first. And you will always have someone with you, always, Cora. If you even one time step onto the front yard without a man with you, I will have you strapped to my bed.”

And we’re back to threats that aren’t working on me the way I’m sure he wants them to.

“All right. I can agree to that.” I nod and take a soft breath. “Are you calm now?”

“I was always calm.” He frowns.

“You looked a little tense,” I point out.

He stares at me a long moment. “I have work to do. I’ll be working late.”

“Right. Of course.” I clear my throat when my voice comes out all scratchy again.

After another long beat of silence, he turns on his booted heel and storms from the room as intensely as he barged in.

I let out a long breath, wait for my heart to get back to its normal beating habits, and pull out my phone to look up this photograph.

Great. I look like a fucking blueberry standing next to him. As I swipe through the comments on the article, my heart sinks lower and lower.

The consensus is a man as sexy and rich as Sergei could and should do a hell of a lot better than aroly-polylike me.

I wonder if he’s seen this.

I press my hand to my stomach, soft and plump like always.

He’s really getting the short end of the stick with this deal.

Does he know that? And if not, what will he do with me when he figures it out?

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