Page 33 of The Russian's Kidnapped Bride
I hate that I even care, but I can’t help it.
Eventually, feeling brave enough, I carefully place my hand on Lily’s thigh under the table, hoping to offer her some kind of reassurance. Even if she doesn’t want to be there, I can at least try to give her some comfort.
Immediately, she goes rigid, like the touch is completely unfamiliar. She makes it seem like I’ve never done more for her, but we both know that isn’t true.
I pause, testing the waters, but she doesn’t move my hand, and she doesn’t lean into it either.
Her skin is warm under my palm as I slowly stroke her thigh with my thumb, wishing she would accept more from me. Wishing she wasn’t quite so resistant.
Part of me wants to push even farther, but I know I can’t—not yet. Her trust in me is practically nonexistent as it is.
My touch on her thigh isn’t much, but that small contact is enough for now.
Chapter 11 - Lily
I’ve never felt more like prey than in that moment. And for the first time, I’m fully aware of the danger surrounding me.
They’re predators in their own right, given what they do and how they command power within most corners of the city.
Mikhail’s family surrounds the table in that private dining room like they’re royalty, and I feel like nothing more than a guest.
But, of course, I’m not unsuspecting. Even if I don’t know the full breadth of what they do, it’s obvious enough that to them, there are no limits. If they want something, they’ll get it, and if they face resistance, they’ll take it by force.
Even if they haven’t done anything yet to be cause for concern, my skin still prickles with a kind of alertness that’s entirely new to me.
I’ve been sitting in fight or flight for too long, and it’s making my heart ache from holding on to that tension so tightly.
As much as I want to, there’s nowhere to run. Not while they’re all around me, watching discreetly.
Especially not with Mikhail by my side, hand resting on my thigh like he’s trying to ensure those flight instincts don’t win.
The pressure of his touch is maddening in ways I don’t expect. It’s vaguely comforting, almost like an anchor, making me feel like I’m less likely to lose my mind. But at the same time, it’s irritating.
Irritating because he’s the reason I’m even there in the first place. It’s his fault I’m in this nightmare to begin with—that I’m legally Mrs. Lukov.
It’s a name that shouldn’t be anywhere near my own, and yet, it feels like a curse he has placed on me, all because of a stupid mistake.
Glancing at Mikhail while he’s not looking at me, I watch the way he takes in everything around us. When his brothers crack their jokes and make jabs at one another, he doesn’t keep the amusement from entering his gaze. Sometimes, he even joins in, sharing that good humor in a way I might never understand.
To him, this is normal. This family dinner, the laughter, the vodka and wine going around, and the occasional mention of their conquests.
It’s all so natural to them, and it just makes me feel even crazier.
I’m in the lion’s den, and I can’t just walk out like I long to.
Every breath through the tension surrounding me feels next to impossible, especially whenever their glances reach my direction.
There isn’t anything inherently judgmental about the attention they offer me from time to time, but I know who and what they are. I also know that I’m nothing like them, which only makes it that much harder to bear.
From Sergey’s constant jokes to Nikolai’s analyzing gaze, and Ivan’s knowing grin, it feels like they all know. They know that I’m an outsider and a civilian who somehow managed to stumble into their world that I never had anything to do with before.
I shouldn’t be here, and that’s a fact. I should be in my apartment, studying for Monday’s practical. I should be quizzing myself, not trying to keep my heart from giving out.
Yet here I am, married to a man I hardly know, trying not to hyperventilate while sitting across from his family full of killers and criminals.
Eventually, the guys all get up and hand out cigars between them, offering me a moment of relief and the chance to catch my breath without having to feel Mikhail’s touch against me. They hang out by the edge of the patio, leaning against the glass handrails while they chat.
Of course, I feel Mikhail’s eyes on me occasionally, as if to make sure I don’t manage to bolt.
