Page 64 of Ruins
I push the thought down and step into the master bathroom, seeing it now from a different perspective—hers. This will be her space.
It’s grand but not excessive, classic but not suffocating. My gaze drags over the mirrored wall, the marble countertop with two sinks, my grooming products still neatly arranged beside a vase of fresh flowers from the garden. The scent is subtle, trailing in the air like a whisper.
The rich chocolate-brown ottoman sits in the center of the room, a striking contrast to the lighter marble tones. A functional piece, yet something about it feels indulgent—an invitation to linger.
I exhale in relief. It isn’t too much. She’ll like it.
Then my gaze catches on the soaking tub beneath the window, and that’s where the problem starts.
I see her there.
Hair damp, cascading down her back, water beading against her skin. Her eyes closed, her body half-submerged, exuding a kind of serenity that is entirely out of reach for a man like me.
I drag a hand down my face and clench my jaw.No. No, no, no.
The image refuses to fade.
I turn the shower on, the rush of water breaking the silence. Steam rises, curling against the mirrors, but my thoughts remain tangled.I can see her here,feel her presence in a space she hasn’t even set foot in yet. Walking barefoot across the mosaic tiles, trailing delicate fingers along the marble counter.
I hate that she’s affecting me like this.
I hate that I want her to.
My fists tighten, nails pressing into my palms as I force myself to breathe through it. This arrangement isstrategic.Necessary. Nothing more.
But as I strip off my clothes and step under the hot spray, I can’t deny the truth, no matter how much I try to bury it.
Vasilisa is already slipping past my walls.
I tilt my head back, letting the water burn away the weakness.
At least, I try.
Chapter 15
Santo
Theweddingbeingheldat my father’s estate was Maksim’s idea. The property is massive, with its own ballroom. That was my mother’s favorite place to entertain before my father sent her away.
The drive to my father’s doesn’t take long. I chose to be driven instead of driving myself—not out of nerves, just practicality. The new doorman barely gets a word out before I’m led inside. My father greets me with open arms, Angelo standing beside him, looking surprisingly well-rested for a man who spent the night drinking.
“Santo, today’s the big day, how do you feel?” My father claps me on the back, throwing an arm around my shoulders as best he can given my height.
“I’m ready,” I say simply.
He steers me toward the ballroom, Angelo following in our wake.
As we make our way through the grand foyer, I can’t shake the feeling of apprehension that gnaws at me. The marble floors gleam under the soft glow of the chandeliers, but my steps feel heavy, weighed down by the burden of my impending marriage.
My father leads the way, his strides confident and purposeful.
The ballroom doors swing open, revealing a controlled chaos of final touches. Servers move swiftly, adjusting linens, setting out crystal, perfecting every detail. The air is thick with the scent of lilies—Vasilisa’s favorite. I’d chosen them to appease her, but now, they serve as a reminder of what’s coming. Of what I’m about to step into.
My father gestures toward the scene with a satisfied smile. “Isn’t it magnificent, Santo? Your mother would’ve been proud.”
I nod, but my mind is elsewhere. The grandeur of it all only sharpens the unease clawing at my gut. Vasilisa may be young, beautiful, the perfect bride on paper—but she’ll be a target, just like my mother was. Just likeeverywoman tied to men like us.
A cold thought settles in my chest.
