Page 47 of Forbidden Vows

“Do you think it’ll work?”

“I’m not sure. But I am sure that you’ll pull through this with your chin up and your lovely smile lighting up every room that you walk into.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better about any of this.”

“I know, Eileen. But don’t make me ask you to trust me again. That’s not how this works,” Anton replies.

The tone of his voice has changed. It’s heavier. Darker. It commands my attention and my obedience.

His arm snakes around my waist and pulls me against him. He crushes my lips with his, reminding me of our bond. I am his. He is mine. And I will submit to him willingly, because I chose this.

Chapter 16

Eileen

Anton keeps me busy and gleefully entertained. Between the lovemaking sessions and the intimate dinners, the evenings spent in the reading room, or in the company of his brother and sister-in-law, I’m starting to feel like everything is going to be okay.

But then Anton leaves, never telling me about his business. Or where he’s going. Or how long he’ll be away.

I’m left behind, waiting, minding my growing baby bump and hefty appetite. Days turn into weeks. My father keeps me at bay, cutting our phone conversations short whenever I bring up the idea of going over to his place to check up on him.

“He sounds worse than ever,” I tell Ian one morning as I help him set up the breakfast table. “He’s sick. I know he is. But he won’t tell me anything.”

“Mrs. Karpova, please, allow me,” Ian says with a gentle smile. “You’re the lady of this house. I cannot in good conscience let you set the table.”

“I want to.”

“Please.”

“No, dammit!” I snap, my eyes instantly filling with tears. “I’m almost six months pregnant, I haven’t seen my husband in a week. Everybody’s walking on eggshells around me, and I can’t even leave this house! Let me at least help you set the fucking table!”

Ian stills, briefly lowering his gaze. Oh, God, is this what it’s going to be like? And for how long? How long will I feel so miserable and alone? When did I allow Anton to become my sole source of peace and happiness?

“I’m sorry, Ian.” I sigh deeply and take a seat at the table. “My hormones are getting the better of me.”

“I completely understand, Mrs. Karpova, and I would—”

“Eileen. Please call me Eileen.”

He nods. “I completely understand, Eileen, and I would gladly let you if I could. But I have clear orders, and frankly, it’s for your own good.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. One too many times.”

A minute passes in the most awkward silence as Ian looks around, cutlery still in his hands. “Perhaps you’d like to assist with cutting the fruit?” he asks. “I was thinking about putting together a citrus salad for today’s breakfast. Oranges, mandarins, grapes, maybe an apple or a pear for extra sweetness.”

“That sounds good. I’ll cut the fruit,” I say, eagerly taking the ingredients out of their basket and setting them on the cutting board.

The enormous counter island is in the middle of the kitchen. It gives me a great view of every angle, including through the French doors leading out to the gardens. Ian doesn’t know I’m aware of the key to the doors he keeps hidden in the cabinet above the sink.

“What else?”

“Pardon me?” he absent-mindedly asks as he continues setting the table.

“Oranges, mandarins, green grapes, a pear. It looks fabulous, but what do you think about adding some raspberries to it? They would add color and a sweet tartness.”

“You’re absolutely right, Mrs.–I’m sorry, Eileen. I believe we have some in the fridge.”

“No, it appears we’re out. I checked a while ago. I was looking for an early morning snack.” I exhale sharply, feeling a pang of guilt as I lie through my teeth.

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