Page 15 of Twisted Fate

From somewhere in the sea of guests, someone clinks their fork against their glass, urging us to kiss. Konstantin hesitates, but then he leans in, brushing his mouth quickly against mine.

He tastes like chocolate—or maybe it’s just the lingering hint of frosting on my own lips. The warmth of his mouth startles me, and for the briefest second, I feel myself starting to sway toward him, as if to chase the feeling of the kiss.

I stop myself before I can give in to it, tensing. Konstantin pulls back, his face expressionless, and holds out his hand.

“Time for the first dance,” he murmurs, and I follow him out onto the dance floor.

One of his hands clasps mine, the other settling at my waist. It’s the most he’s touched me, and I feel the heat of his hands against my skin, searing through the silk of my dress. I keep my gaze locked on his shoulder, not daring to look up and meet those piercing blue eyes. The band begins a waltz, and he guides me into the first steps with practiced ease. But even with his hands on me, even with us closer now than we have been since we stood at the altar—closer still, even—I can feel the resistance in him. He doesn’t want to be doing this—any of this. I can feel the resentment thrumming through him like a plucked string.

I’m trained to read people, to know their emotions before they do. It can mean the difference between life and death, sometimes. And what I feel from Konstantin is that he’d do just about anything to not be in this room with me right now, touching me, dancing with me.

Anything other than refuse to have married me at all.

"You dance well," I observe, trying to draw him out of his shell, to get him to loosen up a little. He looks down at me, a cool expression on his face.

"My mother insisted that I take lessons as a young man. Said no son of hers would embarrass her at social functions. I didn’t want to back then, of course. I wanted to be feared, a ruthless Bratva enforcer. Dancing seemed like the province of women."

“Women love a man who can dance.” A smile curves the edges of my own lips, and I put a note of teasing into my voice. “I’m sure being a good dancer has gotten a good many women into your bed.”

Konstantin frowns at me, his expression irritated, as if my teasing is annoying him. “It’s our wedding day, Sophia, and you’re talking about other women?”

I shrug lightly. “Are you going to ask me about other men?”

Something shifts in his expression. His expressionless eyes turn cold and flinty in an instant, his hand on my waist tightening. “There are no other men,dorogoy,” he murmurs. “As far as I’m concerned, when it comes to you, there never have been. If I believed any other man had touched my wife, I’d be obliged to hunt him down and cut off his hands.”

It’s my turn for my eyebrows to rise. “And if one looked at me now?”

Konstantin doesn’t flinch. “I’d scoop out his eyes.”

“For a wife you didn’t really want?” I frown at him. “I can feel that you don’t want to be here, Konstantin. Why would you care?”If teasing won’t work, then maybe directness will.

“For your honor. And mine.” His lips press together. “Desire and duty are two different things,devochka. You should know this.”

“But—”

“My father coerced me into this marriage.” His hands tighten on me. “I wasn’t asked or consulted, Sophia. But that doesn’t mean that I would allow another man to touch what’s mine.” His tone is curt, abrupt. “We don’t need to discuss this. We’ll finish our dance, as we’re required to, and then go back to our table. My father will be pleased, and I can avoid any more… unpleasant conversations.”

“Of course,” I murmur, spinning with him as we move across the dance floor. “I’m lucky to be so well defended against wandering eyes.”

He spins me out, then pulls me back against his chest, closer than before. His scent envelops me—that woodsy, salty scent of expensive cologne, mingled with his own primal scent. The scent of warm male skin. Something stirs in my core, making my skin heat, and I look away from him, composing myself. But when I look up at him, expecting to see that same flare of heat in his eyes. His face is cold and shuttered. The spin, then, like everything else tonight, was a show. A practiced move. He’s detached himself completely from what we’re doing.

Nerves flutter through me again, colder and more insistent this time. Something is off. I hadn’t expected him to dote on me, but it’s clear that he’s been forced to do this, that he wants no part of it.

An unexpected flare of resentment flashes through me. I’ve been forced into this too, unable to say no unless I want to commit myself to at least another year of indentured servitude to Kane. But I’m at least playing my part.

When the music ends, Konstantin’s hands drop away from me in an instant, as if he’s glad to be able to stop touching me.He pivots away from me, leading us back to our table, where I’m glad another glass of wine is waiting for me. I sip at it as guests come by the table with their well-wishes, until Konstantin finally takes my hand, giving me a pointed look.

"Come," he says, urging me to stand. "It's time we had that talk."

He leads me through the crowd, nodding and smiling at guests but not stopping to speak with anyone. I hear a smattering of jokes from the more well-soused guests, everyone clearly aware of why the new husband and wife are leaving the party. Something flips in my stomach, something that feels like nerves, and I draw in a breath. I have no idea what Konstantin could possibly want to discuss before our wedding night, but I remind myself that this is about him, not me. It was clear the first night we met that he desires me. All I have to do is fan that flame, pleasure him so well that he can’t get enough, and the noose will tighten.

This is the most vital part of the plan, the part where I can potentially make all that detachment crumble. I can’t think about how I’d rather not be faking my wedding night to this man, how this is the only time I’ll ever go to bed with my husband for the first time, and I don’t even want to be here.

How he doesn’t seem to want to be here, either.

We move into another wing of the mansion, the noise of the party quieting behind us until I can no longer hear it. We walk down quiet hallways until we reach a door at the end of a corridor. He opens it, revealing a bedroom—large and elegantly furnished, with a massive four-poster bed dominating the space.

My pulse quickens, despite myself. I take a moment to school my expression before I look at him. He should see desire in my eyes, which won’t be difficult. Konstantin is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever taken to bed, and I’d have to be dead or lying to say that I wasn’t curious about what’s lying beneath his expensive,well-tailored suits. Ultimately, whether I want this or not, I’m only human—and he’s the kind of man that no woman could ever be completely unaffected by.

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