Page 17 of Poisoned Vows

My face flames hotter still, and I reach for the zipper of my dress, wanting to be out of it. I don’t know what’s come over me. In the space of one night, I’ve gone from having spent my entire life dreading and abhorring the thought of sex to seemingly being ravenous for pleasure. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they drugged me with something.

But I didn’t eat or drink a single thing since I left home last night. My stomach rumbles, reminding me of that fact, and my mouth is still dry as sandpaper. I glance towards the door on the left side of the room, hoping that it leads to a bathroom.

I desperately need a shower, and to pee.

To my relief, it does. I turn on the water to let it heat up as I use the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face afterward and looking at myself in the mirror. I’m slender to the point of skinniness, but other than that, I can’t find anything objectionable about my appearance. I also can’t find anything particularly thrilling, the kind of thing that would drive a man like Nikolai to make the kind of decision that he made last night.

One that I suspect isn’t in line with the choices he was expected to make.

The hot water is a relief. I stay in the shower for as long as I can, washing my hair and making thorough use of the expensive toiletries lining the shelves. When I’ve scrubbed myself pink, I sit on the tiled floor, letting the hot water run over me until it turns cool. It’s not until then that it occurs to me that I have nothing to wear other than the stained dress I left on the bedroom floor.

Surely Nikolai doesn’t intend for his wife to go around naked?

I dry off with one of the fluffy, thick towels—one benefit of my imprisonment, at least, is the improved amenities—and wrap it around myself as I walk back into the bedroom…and stop dead in my tracks.

There’s a very pretty blonde girl in the middle of the room, a few inches shorter than me and very petite, with blue-grey eyes that instantly remind me of Nikolai. She’s setting a pile of clothes on the rumpled bed, and when she looks up and sees me, a smile flashes across her face.

“You must be Lilliana! I’m Marika, Nikolai’s sister.” She gestures towards the clothes. “I brought something up for you to wear. I think we’re probably close to the same size. Not exactly—but close enough, until your things can be brought over from your house. I think Niki is sending men over to collect them today. We’re going shopping, too, so if you want to buy anything new—”

She pauses, taking in the expression on my face. “I know what Niki did last night,” she says gravely. “Papais pretty pissed about it. But he won’t break a binding contract. So you’re going to be my sister-in-law.” She presses her lips together. “I know this is probably not what you wanted. Actually, I’m sure of it, from what I’ve overheard. But Niki isn’t a bad man—”

“They said the wedding was in two weeks.” I cut her off, unable to stand her cheerful monologue any longer. “Is that still what’s happening?”

Marika sinks her teeth into her lower lip, worrying at it. “Yes,” she says finally. “And I’ve been put in charge of getting you ready. We’re going shopping today—”

“You said that.” I know I’m being rude, but I can’t bring myself to care. I don’t know how I’m expected to spend a day picking out things for my unwanted wedding with a complete stranger as if nothing were wrong. “Why doesn’t someone just plan it and tell me where to show up? That’s about as much choice as I’ve been given so far.”

“I know.” Marika gives me a sympathetic look, and somehow I hate that even more than her cheerfulness. I don’t want her pity. I don’t want that from any of them.

I’d prepared myself to be a fuck-toy for thepakhan. I’d even braced myself for the possibility of being his mistress for a period of time—having to attend events on his arm, pretend to be pleased by his attentions. But in the end, it would have bought my way out of all of this.

I wasn’t prepared to get married. I hadn’t planned on becoming a part of this fucking family. And I sure as hell don’t want to be Marika’s sister-in-law, no matter how sweet she probably is. I don’t want to be close to any of these people.

My entire life has revolved around this family and how I was going to be used by them. Now I’ve been given a life sentence, and I refuse to plaster a smile on my face and whistlehere comes the bride,all the way to my doom.

“Niki has given us an unlimited budget,” Marika says, as if that makes things any better. As if the extravagance of the wedding somehow changes the fact that I’m getting married by force.

“Can I use it to buy back my freedom?” I snap, and a shadow crosses Marika’s face, but she doesn’t respond. She just looks at me, and the sympathy in her eyes is almost as bad as if she’d told me to go fuck myself.

“I’ll make sure to spend as much of it as possible, then,” I tell her crossly, and her face softens, the smile returning, as if we’re co-conspirators.

“Perfect.” She nudges the clothes. “Get dressed. There’s breakfast downstairs. I’ll be waiting outside for you; I’ll show you around.”

She’s definitely nothing like her brother, I think to myself as I pick through the pile of clothes. Nikolai had been terse and controlled last night, only those stormy eyes of his hinting at any emotion. Marika is as bubbly as popped champagne.

The jeans she brought up fit me, although they’re several inches too short, so I roll them up instead, slipping my feet back into the high-heeled sandals I wore last night, despite the complaints from my sore toes. I slip into a black sleeveless chiffon shirt that fits me as well. It’s also a little short, but the jeans are high-waisted, so all in all, I look at least decently put-together. I won’t be an embarrassment to myself, at least.

“Can someone throw my dress from last night away?” I ask Marika as I join her outside. “I really don’t want to ever look at it again.”

“It can be dry-cleaned, if you—” she looks at my expression and shrugs. “Sure. I can tell the maid assigned to your room to toss it.”

I don’t ever want to see the dress again. Just the thought of it makes my face burn hot with shame, remembering what I did. Whathedid to me in it, in front of his father and mine in that office.

At first, I don’t think I’m going to be able to eat. Marika takes me to what I’m guessing is the informal dining room—the table could still seat at least twelve people, and the room is huge, decorated lushly with heavy curtains drawn back at the windows and carved chairs around the mahogany table—but it’s not as grand as what I imagine their dining room for dinner parties must be.

I’ve never been in a mansion like this before. This room alone could fit more than half of the apartment I grew up in inside of it. I’ve also never seen so much food—and definitely not food that I’m allowed to have.

There are covered plates across the table, and Marika takes the lids off, peering at them. There are two place settings—one for her and one for me, I imagine, and I stop a few feet away, feeling uncertain and confused.

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