Page 7 of King’s Promise

“An estate? Two weeks to get married? I love living here,” she protests. “I’m single, I have a life. I like eating alone, standing over the kitchen sink. I do what I want.” She stands in front of me, her chest juts out. She’s a spitfire and clearly a virgin, otherwise, she would know how to get what she wants from a man like me.

I twist my large frame to survey her living quarters. “You’ll need to make some changes in your routine. I like a sit-down dinner. I’m sure we’ll adjust. Your flat is not suitable. My estate will be our home. It makes the statement we need to send. You’ll have a guard to keep you safe and I expect you to honor our family obligations.”

“I can’t bloody well have a strange man following me on campus.”

“Whatever do you mean?” My voice bristles with disapproval.

“I go to the university; I’m going to be a lawyer.” She perks up, her prior sadness disappearing for the moment.

“No wife of mine will be attending a university or working,” I sternly inform her.

“I’m not giving it up, I’m almost through the program.” She moves closer to me and it’s a power move seeing as I’m sitting, and she enjoys towering over me as she makes her demands. “I’m not going to let a man dictate what I can and can’t do,” she replies emphatically. “I’m not my mother. I refuse to be treated as less than an equal in this preposterous marriage.”

“Your father entertained your delusions. It’s not the Bratva way.”

“Screw the Bratva way,” she huffs. “I didn’t ask for any of this, my life was just fine until Papa died and you showed up.”

I stand, using my height to intimidate her. I’m known for my keen sense of reading people. She’s got spirt and sass. “You’ll not disrespect me or the Bratva name. It’s the Volkov Bratva now, your last name will be Volkov. Forget any notions of the independent life you had under your father. Those fantasies are gone.”

She flinches and takes a step back. Good, she needs to learn submission; I might as well set the rules now. She wasn’t trained to be a Bratva wife because they know their place. This is why I like older women; they’ve matured and know when to give up a fight. They also know sex is a manipulation with men to get them do what they want. It’s used as a currency, particularly in Russia.

“Fine, I’m Bratva too,” she reiterates. “I have one year left and I’m not giving it up. It’s my ticket to freedom.” Her words assault my ears. My little bird is looking for a way out of the family already. In fact, she’s been planning it for years. Would she leave me at the altar? I quickly decide I don’t want to find out.

She’s in a gilded cage, albeit one with perks worthy of a royal. Her life is becoming complicated as she can’t enjoy the freedoms she’s enjoyed for years. Change is difficult, especially when we resist what we know must be done. It sucks I have to be the one to reign her in. However, I also have a duty to keep my future queen safe.

“What I say goes.” I raise my voice. This school thing must be important to her. I have no idea why when she has me to take care of her.

“We’re in a free society here, and women don’t have to walk behind men,” she spat at me.

“We’ll see about that.” I turn and shout, “Pavel.”

The back door opens and in walks my right-hand man.

“This is Anya. She needs a bodyguard vetted by you.”

He nods.

“Anya, pack a bag for now, you’re coming with us.”

“Can’t I pack and move in after the wedding?” Her eyes implore me but it’s useless.

“No, it’s not safe and you’re to do as you’re told. Go. Pack. We’ll wait but make it fast.”

Anya slips past us and disappears upstairs. Her heels bang on the steps. I’m sure she’s mumbling her discontentment with eachthunk.

“Quite the looker, and here your brothers thought she’d be absolutely doggish,” Pavel jokes.

“Beauty is only skin deep. She has foolish notions of being equal to men,” I mutter in Russian.

“She’s grown up here, it’s what she knows.”

“We’ll see about that.” This schooling seems to be a sticking point with her. I will take care of my woman. It’s my pride, it’s our tradition and for her to work is considered an embarrassment for the pakhan. I’ll not have her diminishing me in any capacity, no matter how many times she bats her long eyelashes. I have to admit her spunk turned me on and my cock is only now returning to his normal state. “Besides, she was born in Russia, our fathers really are from the same hometown. She’ll have to adjust,” I mumble to Pavel.

“Well, her father was one cheap bastard.” His eyes take in her modest flat. I’m hoping her father wasn’t being robbed blind. We have yet to delve into his business affairs.

Sooner than expected Anya appears on the steps with a backpack on her shoulder announcing her bag is packed. She leaves her luggage at the top of the steps for Pavel to retrieve.

I slip on my trench coat and head to the front door to retrieve her coat and purse from the wall. I peer outside. The press is still there.

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