Page 49 of Savage Vows
“You’ll learn the rhythm soon enough,” he says, barely glancing my way. “If you’re paying attention.”
“I’m trying,” I say quietly.
One of the aunts fixes her eyes on me. “We do things a certain way here. That’s all.”
I nod. My throat feels tight. “Of course.”
Sergei folds his paper and sets it aside with care. “You must be settling in by now,” he says, his voice mild, too smooth. “Or perhaps you find our home too…structured. I suppose it’s a change from what you’re used to.”
I force a polite smile, trying not to react.
One of the aunts looks at me with thin concern. “It must be difficult for someone from your background. Things run differently here. We have a reputation to uphold.”
She doesn’t say the quiet part out loud.Unlike yours.
I keep my eyes down, spreading jam on toast I don’t want.
Sergei continues, almost thoughtful. “You Petrova girls always did have a flair for disappearing when it suited you. Your sister wasn’t the only one who ran at the first sign of trouble.”
My hand goes tight around the knife. I taste metal, not jam.
“Dad,” Liam starts.
But Sergei isn’t done. “At least you’re here now, for as long as it lasts. I’m sure you’ll find a way to adjust—unless running is simply in your nature. But unlike your father, I will not tolerate disgrace.”
It’s quiet. My throat burns. I blink fast, willing myself not to cry in front of them.
“I need some air,” I manage, standing up.
No one stops me. Liam touches my elbow, a soft reassurance. I leave the kitchen as quickly as I can without looking rushed and nearly run right into Dante in the hall.
He steadies me, hands gentle but sure. “What happened?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. If I try, I’ll say something I can’t take back, or worse—I’ll let the tears spill. I press my lips together and shake my head. The words feel stuck, heavy and dangerousin my chest. I keep my eyes on his collarbone, then on the floor, then anywhere but his face. If I speak, I might break.
He waits for a second. I say nothing.
Gently, I pull my arm free and step past him, not trusting myself to look back.
I walk down the hall, keeping my shoulders straight, breathing through the tightness in my throat. The murmur of the family’s voices fades behind me. I keep my back straight until I get to my room and close the door, finally letting the quiet settle over me.
I press my palms to the cool edge of the dresser, steadying myself, and stare at my own reflection until the burning in my eyes passes.
I won’t cry for them. Not here. Not now.
The voices, the kitchen, the look on Dante’s face—all of it slips away for a second. I breathe out, hoping the tightness in my chest will ease.
Then I see it.
Laid out on my bed, impossible to miss—a slinky silk gown, red, barely more than a whisper of fabric. Expensive, probably, and meant to be worn for someone else’s satisfaction. My skin crawls. I would never wear something like this. They know that. That’s the point.
There’s a note beside it.
Wear it tonight. —Dante
The words are simple. Cold. Demanding. No question mark, no softness, just a command.
For a moment I just stand there, fists clenching at my sides. I hate them. All of them. They want to wear me down, chip away whatever’s left of me until I fit their shape.
