Page 15 of Unveiled

The way she looks over her shoulder at the guards by the doorway. The way she meets my baby sister Zoya’s eyes as if reaching for reassurance.

The way she doesn’t meet mine.

The ceremony is short and sterile. Vows. She finally glares at me, and her tone is venomous, but I ignore her the way I’d ignore a toddler having a tantrum. She can fall to the floor and pound her little fists for all I care.

But the truth is… she’s beautiful when she’s furious and completely unaware of the power she holds in that moment. I clench my jaw, barely suppressing the urge to grab her and show her exactly what it means to defy me.

I slide the ring onto her finger, my thumb brushing over her soft skin. She shivers, and I tell myself it’s because she’s cold, that it has nothing to do with me. Maybe she feels this, too.

Her breath hitches before she can stop herself, a sound so soft I might have imagined it, but for the way her cheeks flush. For a fleeting second, our gazes lock, and the room and its hollow applause fade.

Then she wrenches her hand back.

My heart beats against my ribcage like a warning.

Anya’s my wife.

She’s mine.

Standing before me in a dress.

And she fucking hates me.

Good. She should. If she knew how much I really wanted her, she’d run.

“Congratulations,” she says through gritted teeth as we turn to face the camera, as stiff beside each other as cardboard cutouts.

“For what?”

“For winning the game,” she whispers.

“Oh, sweetheart,” I whisper back. “That’s cute you think the game is over. It’s only just started.”

Her sharp intake of breath tells me I rattled her, but she masks it quickly. She can’t hide the flush that creeps up her neck though.

My gaze sweeps the room for an exit. I said no reception for the two of us. They can party all night long for all I care.

“This way.” I take her hand roughly in mine and tug her along so she trots to keep up with me.

“Where are we going?”

Ember takes pictures, and Rodion watches, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Home, Anya.”

I tug her into the foyer and march with purpose toward the door. Our men open the double doors for us and stand aside amidst formal wishes of congratulations. I nod, barely acknowledging them.

“You don’t have a driver?” she asks when I lead her to the car parked and waiting by the curb. “I thought you’d practically have hired people to wipe your ass.”

I don’t bother to reply and only click the key fob to unlock the door when Rafail calls from behind me.

“Semyon.”

I turn around to face him. He nods at me, his hands tucked into his pockets. “You sure you don’t want to stay and at least have a drink?”

Why would I do that? I have my favorites at my own house.

I shake my head. “Not tonight.”

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