Page 75 of Savage Vows
That’s when it clicks.
I cut him off. “You called Larissa here to humiliate Adriana. Don’t pretend it was anything else.”
I see it now—the aunts’ forced cheer, Larissa’s appearance out of nowhere, the too-bright smiles and lingering stares. My father’s voice is all false politeness, but I know the venom underneath.
I fix him with a look, voice low and steady. “Was this your plan? Parade Larissa in front of everyone so my wife would know her place?”
He shrugs, completely unbothered. “Your wife is free to join us any time she wishes. If she can’t handle a little competition, maybe she isn’t cut out for this family.”
My hands curl into fists. “This is petty. Even for you.”
His smile deepens, pleased I’ve named it. “Perception, Dante. The Petrovs never missed a chance to remind us of our place. A little reminder, from time to time, is healthy for everyone. Especially for your wife.”
We lock eyes—a beat, maybe two—then he flicks his hand, and his attendant backs the chair away an inch.
“Don’t let your feelings cloud your judgment, Dante,” he says, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. “A Volkov who lets sentiment lead him will always be someone else’s pawn.”
I don’t answer. I walk past him, the words burning in my ears, and follow the path after Adriana.
It takes me a few minutes to find her. I check the usual places—the quiet hallway by the library, the old sitting room near the stairs—before I finally spot her through the glass doors of the upstairs terrace. She stands by the rail, arms wrapped around herself, staring out at the city as if the skyline might offer a way out.
I push open the door and step outside. She turns, startled, like she never expected me to follow. Her voice is small but clear. “Why are you here?”
For a second, I almost don’t answer. There’s a heaviness in her eyes that wasn’t there before—a rawness that makes my chest tighten. I lean back against the railing, keeping my distance, hands shoved in my pockets.
“I didn’t want to leave things like that,” I say. “You walked out.”
She looks away, jaw set, blinking fast. The wind tugs at her hair. I can tell she’s trying to steel herself, to put the mask back on.
“Why should you care?” she says quietly. “You seemed just fine out there with everyone else.”
Her words land harder than I expect. I exhale, searching for the right thing to say. “I care,” I tell her, voice rough. “Maybe I don’t always show it the way I should. But I do.”
She studies me, uncertainty flickering across her face. The air between us is tense—full of all the things we haven’t said.
I take a slow step closer. “Adriana. Don’t let them get to you. You’re not alone here. Not as long as I have any say.”
She shakes her head, but I can see her throat working, her eyes shining in the sunlight. “It doesn’t feel that way.”
I reach for her hand, gentle, letting her decide if she’ll take it. “Let me try to change that. Please.”
Her hand is cold in mine. She stares out over the terrace, eyes on the gray clouds rolling in over the city.
“Why me?” she says, voice low. “I’m not even pretty. Not like her. Not like Larissa.”
For a second, I just watch her. The words twist in my chest. I know the game that’s being played downstairs, the comparisons, the way Larissa fits every mold Adriana was never meant for. But hearing her say it like this—small, worn out, honest—makes something inside me want to snap.
I shake my head. “Pretty is easy. You think I need easy?” My thumb traces over her knuckles, rough and steady. “You’re not her. Thank God. I don’t need perfect. I don’twantperfect. I want—” I stop myself, careful not to go too far. “I want someone real. That’s you.”
She looks at me then, unsure, rain starting to spit across the tiles—cold, sudden, prickling at my skin. The wind picks up. I see her shiver.
Before she can pull away, I step closer, cup her face in my hands. The city and the house and all the ghosts behind us fade to nothing. I kiss her hard—cold rain running down our faces, her lips parted in surprise, the kiss more raw than sweet.
When I pull back, her eyes are wide, rain in her lashes. “You shouldn’t believe anything they say about you,” I murmur. “And you’re more than pretty, Adriana. You’re fucking unforgettable.”
She’s still breathing hard from the kiss, rain streaking down her cheeks, mixing with the remnants of tears. Her lips part in confusion as I brush a wet strand of hair behind her ear.
“And I’m going to show you what I mean,” I say, voice firm. “Pack your bags. We’re leaving.”
