Page 18 of Hostage of the Russian
The half-truth made Azriel’s stomach turn. Yes, her father had facilitated their meeting, but not in the romantic, serendipitous way Kostya was implying. There had been nothing romantic about Danny Hartford offering his daughter as collateral for his gambling debts.
“A whirlwind romance, then?” Professor Mercer asked, her academic curiosity clearly engaged by what she saw as an interesting love story.
“Something like that,” Azriel muttered, the words barely audible.
Kostya’s hand pressed more firmly against her back, his fingers splaying possessively across the curve of her spine. “I knew she was special from the moment I saw her. Her determination, her intelligence, the way she approaches every challenge with such fierce focus.” His voice dropped lower, taking on an intimate quality that drew the attention of several nearby students. “Her fire.”
Despite herself, despite knowing it was all an act designed to maintain their cover, Azriel felt heat rising to her cheeks. The intensity in his dark eyes as he spoke seemed genuine, as if he actually meant the words rather than simply performing for their audience. It was disconcerting how effectively he played this role, how easily he slipped into the persona of a devoted husband.
“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear it,” Professor Mercer said, clearly charmed by the display. “Azriel is one of our brightest students. Her thesis on power dynamics in modern literature is quite remarkable, really sophisticated analysis for an undergraduate project.”
“Power dynamics,” Kostya repeated, amusement coloring his voice as his fingers traced idle patterns on Azriel’s back, the touch maddeningly distracting. “How appropriate. I find myself increasingly interested in that subject lately.”
“I’m focusing on how power shifts between characters,” Azriel explained, unable to resist the opportunity for a subtle jab, “particularly in situations where one party appears to hold all the cards initially, but the other finds ways to subvert that control through intelligence and determination.”
Kostya’s smile widened slightly, and she could see that he’d caught her meaning perfectly. “Fascinating,” he said, his voice carrying undertones that made her pulse quicken. “I’m finding that subject increasingly relevant to my own recent experiences.”
Professor Mercer glanced between them, apparently sensing some undercurrent she couldn’t quite identify but not seeming overly concerned by it. “Well, I should let you two go. I’m sure you have plenty to discuss. Azriel, don’t forget your comparative analysis paper is due next Wednesday.”
“I wouldn’t let her forget,” Kostya assured the professor, his hand moving to cup Azriel’s shoulder again, thumb brushing against her collarbone in a gesture that seemed both possessive and intimate. “Her education is clearly a priority for both of us. I certainly wouldn’t want to interfere with something so important to her future.”
After Professor Mercer left, gathering her materials and heading toward her office with a friendly wave, Azriel immediately stepped away from Kostya’s touch, breaking contact and creating as much distance as the narrow space between desk rows would allow.
“What the hell was that?” she demanded, keeping her voice low to avoid drawing attention from the few remaining students who were slowly gathering their belongings.
Kostya’s expression shifted back to its usual controlled mask, the charming husband disappearing as quickly as he’d appeared. “That was me ensuring your academic career continues smoothly. You should be thanking me for handling a potentially awkward situation with such finesse.”
“Thanking you?” Azriel repeated incredulously. “For what? Nearly starting a fight with a classmate? Lying to my professor? Announcing our sham marriage to the entire academic department?”
“There’s nothing sham about our marriage,” he corrected, his tone hardening slightly. “The paperwork is quite legal, properly filed, and recognized by the state of Illinois. What we have may not be conventional, but it’s legitimate in every way that matters.”
“Forced signatures tend to undermine authenticity,” she shot back.
Kostya stepped closer, deliberately invading her personal space in a way that made her acutely aware of his size and strength. “Being married at your age isn’t unusual, Azriel. And it provides you with certain protections that you wouldn’t have otherwise.”
“Protection?” Azriel couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice. “From whom? You’re the one I need protection from. You’re the threat in my life.”
“Not from me,” he replied, his gaze intense and unwavering. “From the world I inhabit. A world your father dragged you into the moment he offered you as payment for his debts. Being my wife affords you certain... immunities that simply being my captive would not.”
The words sent a chill down her spine, a reminder of just how precarious her situation truly was. But she refused to let him see her fear.
“I never asked to be part of your world,” she said quietly.
“Few people do,” Kostya acknowledged with something that might have been sympathy. “But here you are nonetheless—and being my wife, both legally and publicly, provides you with a level of protection that other arrangements would not. No one in certain circles would dare touch what belongs to a Nikolai.”
“I don’t belong to anyone,” she insisted, though the words sounded hollow even to her own ears.
“The legal documents say otherwise,” he replied matter-of-factly. “But if it helps you accept the situation, think of it as a mutually beneficial arrangement. You can complete your education, live in comfort and security, and pursue your academic goals without financial worries. I get...” He paused, considering. “Well, we’ll see what I get.”
The implication in his words sent a shiver down her spine that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, which only increased her irritation with herself and the entire impossible situation.
Before she could formulate a response, her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, the sound echoing embarrassingly in the quiet classroom and breaking the tension between them.
Kostya’s eyebrows rose, genuine amusement replacing the intensity in his gaze. “Hungry?”
Azriel felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment. She’d been so focused on getting to class early that she’d barely eaten the breakfast provided to her earlier in the day, surviving on nothing but coffee and sheer determination to maintain some semblance of normalcy in her disrupted life.
Kostya’s amusement was infuriating, the way his mouth curved into that insufferable smirk, how his dark eyes sparkled with genuine mirth at her expense. He looked like he was thoroughly enjoying himself, which only made her more determined to deny him any satisfaction.
