Page 12 of Forbidden Vows

“She’s one of a kind, isn’t she?” my father adds.

Ciara rolls her eyes. “So, when’s the wedding? It can’t be too close to mine.”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you,” I mutter.

Sergei shrugs. “We’re just sitting down for tea. I’m sure Eileen doesn’t want to be rushed into a life-altering event.”

His Russian accent is slightly more pronounced than my captor’s. I spent the single most incredible night of my life with that man, and I don’t know his name.

“I’m glad you feel that way,” I say. “People need to get to know each other better before they marry, right?”

“Oh, I have no doubts about the marriage part. Ronan gave me his word, and I gave mine. It’s happening. But I want it to happen as smoothly and as beautifully as possible, so we can both enjoy our wedding day and the years to follow,” Sergei replies.

My stomach is riddled with knots. Why does he make me feel so uneasy?

There’s something beneath this pleasant surface of his. A dark shadow that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I don’t see myself spending the rest of my life with this man. I barely see myself spending another hour in his company, but the dance must go on, per my father’s order.

“When does Ciara wish to marry?” Sergei asks Dad.

“We haven’t decided yet,” Ciara says. “Before the end of this year, for sure. So you two can get married next summer or maybe next winter.”

“Thank you so much,” I reply, not skimping on the sarcasm.

She gives me a hard look, but she cannot hit back, not without drawing Daddy’s ire.

“We’ll have plenty of time to make our own arrangements,” Sergei says, glancing my way. “You’re more beautiful than what I saw in the magazines, Eileen.”

“What magazines?” I ask, somewhat befuddled. “I’ve become quite adept at avoiding cameras, in general.”

“Elite Monthlymaybe?” Ciara suggests. “I think that’s the last time my sister actually sat down for a photography session.”

“It could be. My assistant did a wide internet search as soon as Ronan reached out with his marriage suggestion,” Sergei replies, then looks at me again. “Beautiful, indeed.”

I lower my gaze. “Thank you.”

“Eileen here isn’t exactly camera-friendly, but she’s whip-smart and insanely ambitious,” Ciara says. “If you want to make her happy, buy her food, books, and that lovely commercial space up on Huron Boulevard.”

“A commercial space?”

“She’s just kidding,” I say and laugh nervously.

My father gets up. “Well, thank you for coming by today, Sergei. Shall we move to my office to iron out the details of this marriage then?”

“Shouldn’t I be a part of that conversation?” I ask, every goddamn alarm bell ringing in my head as I look up at them.

“Oh, it’s nothing to concern yourself with, Eileen. This is the business side of the arrangement,” he replies.

“And I’ve got a fitting to get to,” Ciara stands, perky and bright-eyed.

“You don’t even have a wedding date,” I mumble.

“What can I say? I’m excited!”

Sergei chuckles softly. “You have yet to tell me the name of your betrothed, Ciara.”

“It’s not something we wish to publicize just yet—” my father is about to explain, but my sister cuts him off with the enthusiasm of a little girl who just stumbled into the land of endless candy.

“I’m marrying Anton Karpov!”

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