Page 11 of Forbidden Vows

“Sergei. He’s on his way over. We scheduled this days ago. You knew about it,” my father says, leaning back in his seat with one eye set on his plate.

“Daddy, you can’t. I haven’t even consented to the engagement.”

“Here we go again,” he grumbles, shaking his head in disappointment. “We had this conversation already, Eileen. I thought you understood what’s at stake here.”

“I do, but—”

“Then go upstairs and wash away the shame of whatever you did last night,” he shoots back. “Wear something pretty.”

“You can borrow one of my perfumes,” Ciara adds with a pleasant smile, which means something unpleasant is about to follow. “I’d let you borrow one of my floral dresses, but I doubt any would fit you.”

“Oh, for—”

“Eileen has plenty of beautiful, custom-tailored dresses,” my father interjects. “Perfect for her gorgeous Irish figure,” he adds with a smile.

At least he never teased me about my curves. He loves me. All of me, albeit in his very stern and obtuse way. But he loves me. I don’t like that he never rebukes Ciara about any of her weight-related jabs, but he’s always had to keep the peace between us, especially after Ciara’s mother abandoned them both.

“For the record, I’m still not okay with any of this,” I mutter.

“After the stunt you pulled last night, Eileen Fiona Donovan, I don’t give a rat’s ass about what you’re okay with,” my father replies. “Now, go get ready. I’ll have the kitchen prepare youa plate when you come back down. We’ll be done by then, anyway.”

I stomp up to my room to change.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Eileen. Ronan has told me so much about you,” Sergei Kuznetsov says as we shake hands in the tearoom.

His touch makes me recoil, and I wonder how much of this reaction is instinct and how much is simply me being against anything that my father tries to shove down my throat.

“Likewise, Mr. Kuznetsov,” I reply with a pleasant smile.

“Sergei, please. We’re going to be family soon enough.”

Shivers— and not the good kind—travel down my spine at his words.

He’s not a bad-looking man. On the contrary, I’ll bet he’s broken a string of hearts before ever setting foot in this house. Tall and athletic, Sergei appears to be a regular at the gym—or at least some sport that involves plenty of running. His shoulders are broad, and the custom, dark blue suit he’s wearing falls elegantly over his muscular frame. His eyes are a cold blue, and a lock of blonde hair rests on his forehead.

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Thank you for taking the time to come visit,” I force myself to say, motioning for us to take our seats at the table by the window, where our staff has already set up a lovely tea service.

My father and Ciara join us, both of them quiet as they watch our interaction. It makes me feel like I’m some sort of exotic animal at the zoo, and they’re introducing a new male to my enclosure.

“For you, Eileen, I will always make time,” Sergei replies in a soft-spoken tone. I offer a nod as I pour a cup of tea for him, then for myself.

Ciara clears her throat, lips curled into a smirk as I look at her.

Calmly, I set the teapot down. “Here, help yourself,” I say to her, then let my gaze wander over to my father, before letting it settle back on Sergei’s handsome face. “So, I understand you’re handling your family business now?”

“That’s right, I recently took over the corporation,” he replies, adding too much sugar for my taste to his tea.

“How did that happen?” I ask.

“Two of my brothers went back to Moscow. My younger brother passed away shortly after my father, leaving me to manage the US-based businesses on my own.”

“They went back to Russia? Was the US mob corruption too much for them?”

“Eileen!” My father scolds me, but Sergei just laughs.

“I’ll be honest, Eileen, it’s refreshing to meet a woman like you,” he says.

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