Page 25 of Savage Love

“Viktor.” Levin stops at the table, nodding at his boss. “May I introduce my wife, Elena.”

Viktor stands up, as does the dark-haired woman next to him. “It’s lovely to meet you in person, finally,” he says genially with a smile, taking my hand and lifting the back of it to his lips. “This is my wife, Caterina.”

There’s a genuine smile on her face. “It is lovely to meet you,” she agrees. “The next time I’m in Boston, we’ll all have to spend some time together. All of us wives get together at the McGregor estate every few months or so, and Isabella has been joining us. You should as well.”

I nod, my throat tightening with anxiety. “I’d love to,” I manage, and I think it comes out sounding sincere.

“Don’t let us keep you,” Viktor says kindly. “I’m sure the two of you want to get back to enjoying your party.”

Levin nods, and we head back into the crowd of guests, winding our way toward the bar so that he can get a drink. He’s good at making small talk, commenting to those we pass as we walk by, but all of it feels like a fog to me. I can’t focus on anything for too long. The time is ticking by until the evening and whatever that might hold, and then tomorrow—

Tomorrow our life together starts. We have to start thinking of what our future looks like, where we want to live, how we’re going to do this. It all feels vast and overwhelming and unknown, and not even tonight’s festivities can make it better, because that just feels like a harbinger of what’s to come.

I don’t know whether to be relieved or anxious when it’s time to go. There are sparklers set off as we leave the venue, hand in hand, headed towards the car waiting at the end of the steps, and my heart is in my throat as Levin opens the door for me, and we slide inside.

My head is full of questions.What happens now? Where are we going? How are you feeling?I don’t ask any of them, because I don’t know if I’m ready for the answers.

I know that when Levin was married before, he didn’t have a wedding like the one we had today. It was a ceremony in a church, but a quick one, and they left after. There was no reception, no party, no guests to cheer and celebrate. A part of me wants to know how he felt about all of that, how it made him feel to have had that experience withme—and a part of me knows that the answer is too likely to be one I don’t want to hear. As for the rest of the night—

I know what I want to happen, but I’m not sure that it will. And I’m not sure that my heart can handle the rejection just yet.

We pull up in front of a gorgeous hotel. Levin gets out first and opens the door for me again, waiting while I carefully slide out, my skirt gathered up so I don’t trip over it. I follow him into the lobby, which is gorgeously done in an Art-Deco style, all black and gold, and brass. Levin checks us in, and I see the woman behind the desk beam, her eyes lighting up as she sees me in my dress.

“The honeymoon suite is already prepared for you, sir. There’s champagne, vodka, and the flowers you requested waiting.”

Flowers?My throat tightens as Levin thanks her, taking the matte keycard that she offers and leading me towards the elevator. I hadn’t let myself expect anything tonight. The idea of a honeymoon suite with flowers is wonderfully romantic, and I have to fight back the urge to cry.

It’s even harder when Levin opens the door for us, and I step into the room.

The room itself is gorgeous—a huge bed taking up most of the center, with double doors leading out to a balcony on one side, a long velvet sofa along the other side, and a gilded room service cart sitting next to the marble and gold coffee table with the aforementioned bottles of champagne and vodka chilling, as well as a plate of fruit. But what catches my eye the most are the flowers—vases of roses on the dresser, in white and pink and red and yellow, at least five dozen of them, filling the room with the thick perfume of fresh flowers.

“I thought it would brighten up the room,” Levin says quietly, seeing where my gaze ends up. “Do you like it?”

I can’t speak. My throat feels closed over with emotion, and I can’t ask the one word that comes to mind,why, because I don’t want the answer—especially if it’s pity, which is what I’m most afraid of. Levin has spent his whole life feeling as if he needs to pay for the presumed sins of his past, and now I can see a future where he spends it paying for what he feels are the wrongs he’s done to me. It’s not what I want for either of us.

Levin clears his throat, stepping over to the room service cart as he reaches for a glass to pour himself a vodka. “Elena, we—” he breaks off, sucking in a breath as if he’s trying to think of how to say whatever comes next. “We have to consummate the marriage tonight. Connor was very clear about it. You’re already pregnant—but he doesn’t want to leave anything to chance. So—”

I stare at him, dumbstruck for a moment. I’m not sure what feels worse, the thought of him not touching me at all on our wedding night, or the idea that he’s underordersto.

“I hope it won’t be too much of a chore,” I choke out, looking at him from across the room, and Levin turns sharply towards me.

“Being with you could never be a chore,” he says gently. “I only meant—”

“Is this the only time?” I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice even, to not let the riot of feelings threatening to choke me flood out. “Are we really going to have a celibate marriage other than this one night?”

Levin sinks down onto the edge of the couch, pressing the fingers of one hand against the bridge of his nose as he takes a deep swallow of his vodka before looking up at me again. “I meant to talk to you about this later, Elena. But if you want to have the conversation now, we can.”

“You told me that you had no plans to touch me ever again,” I tell him flatly, every word weighed down by hurt. “What conversation is there to have?”

“The one where I planned to tell you that after tonight, no, we won’t have a celibate marriage—unless that’s what you want, and I don’t think you do. I intend to be faithful to you, Elena, and a part of that, I’ve come to see, is keeping you satisfied inside of our marriage. It’s not fair to you otherwise, especially as I can’t stand the thought of another man’s hands on you.” A muscle in his jaw tightens and twitches as he says it, and I feel a small bit of gratification that he feels that at least—that he doesn’t want me with anyone else. That it hurts him as much to think of that as it does for me to think of him with another woman. But I still can’t shake the awful feeling that he’s doing this because he has to.

I press my lips tightly together, fighting back the emotion that threatens to close my throat up past the point of speaking. “Is that the only reason you’re going to do this, then? Out of a sense of obligation to me and to make sure I don’t fuck anyone else? That’s so romantic.”

I don’t mean for it to come out as bitterly as it does, but I can’t stop myself. Somehow this feels worse than if he’d simply told me we were going to sleep.

He swirls the last of the vodka in his glass, letting out a heavy sigh. “I told you before, Elena—and nothing has changed—I can’t love you. Not the way you want for me to. I care deeply for you, and I will do anything I can to protect you, to make you as happy as I can. But I can’t be the kind of husband I was before. I said I would never marry again for that reason. And now—”

“I know.” I cut him off before he can say anything else, feeling my stomach knot with a heavy sadness. I don’t know how to do tonight, feeling like this—but at the same time, I still want him. Even now, even after everything, I can’t stand across the room and look at him and not want him.

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