Page 39 of Forced to Marry the Russian Pakhan
“Are you one of Trifon’s... friends?” Nadya asks, eyes darting between us curiously.
I tense, waiting for Yulia’s response. Will she spit out the truth? Tell my family how I forced her into this marriage?
“I’m Yulia,” she says simply. “Yulia Fyodorov.”
The effect is immediate. Valentin straightens, eyes narrowing. Nadya pales.
“Fyodorov?” Valentin repeats, his eyes now shifting between both of us with suspicion. “As inthe—”
“My wife,” I cut in smoothly, moving to stand beside Yulia. “Yulia is my wife.”
The silence that follows is deafening. I can practically hear the gears turning in my siblings’ heads as they process this information.
Nadya recovers first, a grin spreading across her face despite her injuries. “You got married? Without telling us?”
“It was... sudden,” I say, placing my hand on the small of Yulia’s back. She stiffens under my touch but, thankfully, doesn’t pull away.
“Wait, wait,” Nadya pushes herself up slightly, wincing. “You have to come to the gala next week. The whole family will be there.”
“I don’t think—” Yulia begins.
“Please?” Nadya grabs her hand. “You saved my life. Besides, I need someone normal to talk to. My family’s lost its charm.”
I feel Yulia’s hesitation, the slight tremble in her body as she’s caught between refusing and hurting my sister’s feelings.
“I…I’ll be there,” she accepts with a smile, surprising the hell out of me.
Valentin’s eyes haven’t left my face, his expression unreadable to anyone who doesn’t know him as well as I do. But I see the questions, the suspicion.
“Perfect!” Nadya claps her hands with glee. “Now, tell me. How long have you been studying medicine for?”
Valentin grabs my arm the second Nadya pulls Yulia into a conversation, and drags me into the hallway.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” he hisses, eyes blazing. “A Fyodorov? Are you trying to start a war?”
“Keep your voice down,” I warn, glancing back to make sure Yulia can’t hear us.
“You married Akim Fyodorov’s daughter? Without telling anyone? Without negotiating terms?” Valentin runs a hand through his hair, looking at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Christ, Trifon, what were you thinking?”
“I’m thinking about protecting our family,” I reply evenly. “The Zakharovs saw her during the shootout. They would havecome for her, and when the Fyodorovs found out their princess was in danger because of us—”
“Wait,” Valentin cuts me off. “You married her because of the shootout? That was—that was last week!”
“I know.”
His eyes widen with understanding. “She doesn’t want to be married to you, does she?”
I sigh. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated,” he echoes flatly. “You forced a Fyodorov into marriage, and now you’re bringing her to a family gala? Brother, this is suicide. If her father finds out—”
“He won’t,” I snap. “Not yet. She didn’t even know who her family really was until yesterday.”
That stops him short. “What?”
“They kept her in the dark. She thought her father ran a legitimate import business.”
Valentin stares at me, incredulous. “And you told her?”
