Page 16 of The Russian Pakhan's Forced Bride
“Upstairs in the guest bedroom.”
That voice registers immediately, and sure enough, Roman enters on his phone, tapping his screen with a neutral expression.
He’s dressed as expensively as the contents in the shopping bags, with dark slacks and a crisp navy button-down. The fabrics are neatly pressed, his hair is perfectly groomed, and everything about him looks so intentional that it’s almost irritating.
But even with his refined look, there are still parts that give away an effortlessly cool aura about him.
The stubble that’s both trimmed yet strangely rugged…the top few buttons being undone, and the way his sleeves are rolled up to just beneath his elbows.
He seems like such a polarizing person, as if he’s impossible to fully read or understand. Something about it is annoyingly attractive, too. Regardless of all his appeals, seeing him there is enough to make my stomach tighten with nerves.
When Roman looks up from his phone at last, recognition sweeps over him.
“You’re awake.”
He says it so casually, almost like we really are husband and wife. As if this is all perfectly normal and something we’ve been a part of for years.
Whether it’s the flurry of movement or just the fact that I’m quite literally a prisoner in that mansion, I feel unsteady on my feet. Disoriented by the ease with which everyone moves around me.
It almost feels like I’ve missed out on some kind of prerequisite to prepare me for the moment. For the brutal upending of my life, all on his whim.
As a light breeze travels in through the front door and brushes against my bare arms, I shiver and cross them over my chest. “What’s going on?”
Roman gestures vaguely to the men hauling the clothes upstairs as their polished shoes move along the hardwood floors in a distant chorus. “I had some clothes bought for you.”
Pausing, I blink back at him. “You what?”
A low chuckle escapes him, and he seems to be taking this far better than I am.
“You can’t possibly walk around in my clothes forever…so I did what needed to be done.”
The faint pull of his lips at the mention of it makes my face warm while he glances down at me, eyes raking along my form.
Pulling my attention to the black oversized shirt hanging from my frame, the reminder clicks. Even if it happened not that long ago, I already forgot about finding it sitting on the corner of the bed when I woke up.
After sleeping in my clothes from the day before, I just needed something else to slip into. While the shirt dwarfs me as it falls past my thighs, I don’t have anything else.
Well…I didn’t.
When I put the shirt on—his shirt—I was too distracted and disoriented by everything to care. But standing in front of him like this, wearing the fabric that smells like him, I feel far too exposed.
It’s almost…too familiar. Too intimate.
It shouldn’t, but something about that scent clinging to the shirt and surrounding me is exciting in a way.
I don’t know him, and being bombarded by his oddly nice smell shouldn’t bring me any kind of comfort. But somehow…it still does.
“Look…” I murmur, adjusting my arms over my chest while I still struggle to fully look him in the eyes. “All of this is unnecessary. I don’t need all of those expensive things.”
Roman’s brows lift slightly. “But you do now.”
“Why? Jeans and t-shirts are fine.”
His lip barely twitches. “Jeans and t-shirts are for civilians. Regular people—which you aren’t anymore.”
My brows pinch together. “Then what am I now?”
“My wife,” he says without missing a beat. “Regardless of my error, you’re legally my wife. And as my wife, this is your life now. Even if it bothers you, I take care of what’s mine.”
