Page 80 of Brutal Promise

“Charlotte.” I extend my hand. We shake, and I find her hand warm and soft. Not what I expected from someone who cleans and tidies for a living.

“Ma’am.”

“Oh, no. It’s Izzy. I’m not formal,” I insist.

“Izzy, I want to know what you like to eat. We can start with what time you want dinner served.” Her face is open and honest, her voice friendly. I like her instantly.

“I have no idea.” I cover my mouth with both hands. How can I be expected to make these decisions? “I’ll talk to my husband. Let’s start with seven o’clock and adjust if needed.”

“Great. I need a list of food you’d like to eat this week. I do the shopping and will also pick up anything you want personally.”

I let out a chuckle—so many decisions.

“I’ll think about it. I do love a great rib roast, potatoes, and vegetables if that’s possible?”

“Absolutely.”

I hear a phone buzzing and look up to see Erik standing in the doorway.

“Anya is at the guardhouse. I’ll meet her outside and start our car.”

“Thank you.”

He leaves, and a minute later, a young woman, whom I will come to know as Anya, enters like a breath of summer air.

She extends her hand and says, “You must be Izzy. I’m Anya.”

Her honey-blond hair falls over her shoulders and curls perfectly to frame her face. She has a button nose and sapphire blue eyes. She’s wearing an unbuttoned black wool coat, and she carries a handbag on her arm as she tugs off her leather gloves.

She gives me a short hug, and I wish I looked as stylish as her.

“I’m so happy to meet you. Do you know where we’re going?”

“You’re in good hands. We’re having lunch, and I’m taking you to pick your wedding dress. Erik will drive us, and my guard will join us.”

She doesn’t look thrilled about being followed around, from her expression.

As we pull away in the SUV, it’s the first time I see the house and the grounds in the daylight. Anya notices me craning my neck to take everything in.

“Quite the house, isn’t it?”

“Amazing. I’ve never stayed in a place so nice. My best friend’s place in New York is nice, but this is next level.”

“Yeah, the bratva men tend to spoil their women. They would be content to live in a cave as long as they have their cigars and cognac. Not us. I’m taking you to lunch at Zima’s, a Russian restaurant we own.” She chuckles. I take it this is one of many restaurants they own. “You’re getting married at Fulham Palace. It’s a nice place, Tudor style, on the Thames. It’s beautiful with old bricks and nice scenery. It’s pricey and makes the right statement.”

“Is that important?”

“Yes, you’ll have a public wedding, tight security, and it will be beautiful. The invitations went out, so everyone will know the date. After lunch, I’ll take you by our boutique, and you’ll pick a wedding dress.”

“It seems weird to hear you say that. I never intended to marry Dmitry.”

“None of us ever intends to marry them, Izzy,” she states matter-of-factly.

“Really?”

“For sure. There are arranged weddings, but for some of us, it’s circumstances. My marriage was arranged. My family moved away, and he remained here. We were pledged by our fathers and didn’t know it until they died.”

“I’m so sorry, that’s so sad.”

---