Page 20 of Poisoned Vows

I won’t be able to run far in these heels, but if I can get away from Marika before she sees which way I’ve gone, I could stop and get them off—

I turn to see what’s behind me, poised for flight—and see three muscled, black-clothed security guards behind us, guns at their hips, watching us both with an eagle eye.

My heart drops. I could try to run, but I don’t think I’d make it far. They don’t look like they can run very fast, but I’ve been surprised by less. If I could even make it around them. They all but block the entire sidewalk.

When I turn around, Marika is looking at me with that sympathetic expression that I’m rapidly coming to hate. “I know what you’re thinking,” she says, looping her arm through mine as she tugs me down the sidewalk, and I recognize it for what it is—as much a gesture to keep me in sight as it is a friendly one. “But there’s no point. You wouldn’t get far. My family owns most of this city, and the parts they don’t are owned by men who would find you and hurt you to get back at us in ways that would make even my brother shudder.” She pauses and stops in front of the jewelry store, her long-fingered, slender hands wrapping around mine as she looks up at me.

“I know you don’t want to be a part of this, Lilliana,” she says gently. “But you are now. You’re betrothed to my brother, in ink and blood, in the tradition of our family going back generations. I know this isn’t what you expected, but I promise you, my brother is not the evil man that I know you think he is. He can be brutal and violent, but that’s the way of our world. He will try to do right by you—but you would do well to not make that any harder than it needs to be.”

She looks at me as if she’s pleading with me to understand, and I let out a long breath. “Fine,” I tell her, the word coming out a bit more sharply than I intended, and Marika looks faintly relieved.

But inwardly, I take all the anger that had been dulled earlier by the champagne, now heating my blood again, and clench it into a hard ball, letting it settle in my gut.

I refuse to give in to this. I refuse to let Nikolai, or his family, think that they can change the rules of this game whenever they please and bend me to their will.

I can’t escape this marriage. But I don’t have to be fucking happy about it.

Lilliana

Without really meaning to, I do spend a considerable amount of money. I’ve never been out like this, with an unlimited credit card and an enabler at my side. I choose heels for my wedding dress without looking at the price tag and nearly pass out when I realize they cost over a thousand dollars. At the jewelry store, I found a sapphire bracelet that Marika insisted I buy, telling me that it would be both my something newandmy something blue, and how could I resist what was, essentially, a two-for-one deal? The bracelet was beautiful—dark oval sapphire surrounded by delicate milgrain beading and linked by small round diamonds, and Marika’s argument sounded convincing—until I actually purchased it, and it was nearly five figures.

I’d never owned anything so expensive. Never evendreamedof it. If I’d ever had anything worth almost ten thousand dollars, I would have sold or pawned it for a ticket out of Chicago, away from my father, and to get started somewhere else. The idea of wearing that much money on mywristfeels insane.

But I can’t take it back. And even after that, Marika dragged me clothes shopping, insisting I should add some new things to my wardrobe. By the time we’re finished, I’m at least able to change out of my high heels into a pair of designer sneakers, and that eases my guilt a little bit at how much we’ve spent today—easily fifteen thousand dollars on shopping in a single afternoon. I look at the new leather handbag next to me as the car drives us home, feeling slightly sick with guilt.

Until I remember that the man who gave Marika that heavy black credit card had his hand under my skirt last night before pronouncing that he was going to marry me, upending my entire life’s plan in an instant, and the guilt vanishes.

After the life I’ve had leading up to this moment, maybe I deserve a fifteen-thousand-dollar shopping spree.

When we walk back into the mansion—sans bags, Marika informed me that a member of the staff would take them up to my room—we’re immediately stopped by the black-suited man who greeted my father and me last night, who I now understand must manage the household. “You’re wanted in the informal dining room, Ms. Narokovna,” he tells me primly. “Ms. Vasilev, your father has requested your presence for dinner in his private sitting room.”

What is this, a fucking palace?I feel like I’m in the middle of royalty, like I’ve been swept away into an entirely different century, let alone a different life, where all the things I grew up with and the world I knew doesn’t apply any longer. I feel out of place, unsettled, and as I follow the black-suited man to the dining room, I don’t know what to expect.

I’m left at the door, and as I walk in, Nikolai stands to greet me from where he is seated at the head of the table. There are two place settings at the ridiculously long table, as there was this morning, and I remember my father’s lessons with no small amount of irony. I hadn’t thought I would need the fucking lessons on table manners, but it looks like I was wrong.

I’ve been wrong about a lot of things in the last twenty-four hours.

“Lilliana.” My name sounds sinful on his lips. Like he’s savoring it. Heat pools in my belly unexpectedly, and I almost trip over my own feet, feeling my cheeks flame.What the fuck is wrong with me?

Nikolai shouldn’t have this effect on me. Ihatethat he has this effect on me.

“I’m not dressed for dinner.” I look down at my sneakers, my rolled-up jeans, and the shirt that threatens to ride up and expose a sliver of pale stomach despite the high waist. “I should—”

“It’s fine. Truly. Please, sit down.” He pulls out the other chair for me, and I see that he’s dressed impeccably—black suit trousers tailored to him perfectly, flattering muscled thighs and an ass too perfect for any man to have, and a dark blue button-down that sets off his eyes. The top two buttons are undone, showing a hint of chest hair, and my mouth goes dry.

Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me?

“I really feel underdressed—”

“Lilliana.” My name is sharper on his tongue this time, and my cheeks burn red. I sit down in the chair, hard, and try not to think of his hand under my skirt. His voice, whispering to me as he asked me if I’d ever touched myself.

You wouldn’t be able to answer that question the same way now, would you?

“We got off on the wrong foot.” Nikolai reaches for a decanter of red wine, pouring us both a glass. “I arranged a private dinner for us tonight. I thought perhaps we could get to know each other a little better.”

“A date.” My voice is flat.

“A dinner.” He smiles at me, nudging the wine glass towards me. “I hope you like red. This is an excellent vintage.”

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