Page 88 of Merciless Desires

I stare at my reflection in the ornate mirror as Marta expertly arranges my hair into softly curled strands that tumble over my shoulders. The woman gazing back at me looks like a stranger.

Clad in an elegant designer gown that clings seductively to my curves and subtle makeup that enhances my features, I feel like an imposter playing dress-up.

"You look beautiful, dear," Marta says warmly, giving my shoulders an encouraging squeeze.

With a final spritz of Chanel perfume to my wrists and décolletage, Marta declares me ready. My pulse kicks up, my stomach fluttering with anxiety as she leads me down to the formal dining room where Viktor is already seated at the head of a long table.

The table is set for two, laid out with fine china, crystal goblets, flickering candles, cloth napkins, and gleaming cutlery.

A vase of pale roses perfumes the air.

He stands when I enter, the appreciation in his eyes sending warmth through me as he takes in my appearance.

"You look exquisite," he murmurs, his eyes smoldering with barely restrained desire.

I wet my lips uncertainly.

He gestures for me to come forward as he rounds the table and pulls out the chair to his right in a wordless invitation. Feeling like I’ve entered a dream, I sit and allow him to push in my chair. He pours us both wine before taking his own seat.

Looks like I'm getting Dr. Jekyll tonight.

For long moments we simply study each other awkwardly across the intimate space. The candles cast a soft glow over Viktor’s harsh features, gentling them. Although he’s wearing a bespoke three-piece suit, he looks almost relaxed, the tension missing from his broad frame.

Two young women serve us pan-seared salmon with dill, wild rice studded with almonds, and roasted asparagus.

The food is delicious and we begin the meal in silence, stealing glances when we think the other isn't looking. The awareness of what has passed between us hangs tangibly in the air, and tension builds until I feel I might vibrate out of my skin.

At last, Viktor breaks the strained silence. "I thought perhaps tonight we might get to know each other better." He pauses, considering his next words before he speaks. "Tell me about where you come from. Your family."

I bristle instinctively at the intrusion into my privacy, the reminder of his current control over me and my life. But the earnest interest in his eyes gives me pause.

I take a bracing sip of wine before beginning hesitantly. "I was born in Moscow. But moved here when I was eight years old."

Viktor's mouth curves, and what he says next catches me off guard. "Tell me about your childhood.”

"What do you want to know?" I ask.

"Anything. Everything." Viktor leans forward intently.

I take a slow breath, centering myself. "My mother and I came here to the States after my father died. He..."

Even now, remembering Papa's death squeezes my heart. I close my eyes, seeing it vividly like it happened yesterday. Papa bellowing at me to run. The black car screeching to a halt, the smiling gunman taking aim as I screamed. Sudden thunder, Papa's body jerking...red blooming on his chest as he fell.

“My father was murdered,” I blurt out.

A muscle in Viktor's jaw ticks and it’s then I realize I've just revealed the most impactful memory of my life to this man. How is it he can strip me raw so easily?

Sensing my sudden tension, Viktor reaches across the table, covering my hand lightly with his own. It’s…strange, but I don't hate it.

"You are a strong woman." His solemn tone seems sincere. I force myself to relax as Viktor's expression warms and he brushes his thumb over my knuckles in a soothing rhythm.

I smile wryly. "I had to be, to survive my mother."

Viktor lifts an eyebrow and I go on, "I guess because of my father's murder, she became paranoid, always looking over her shoulder, overprotective of me. You've heard of helicopter moms? My mother put them to shame. We took new names when we came here and lived very quietly. She kept me close, homeschooled me. I wasn't allowed friends or any activities. It was as though she was always afraid something might happen to me."

"Yet you work as a waitress."

I nod ruefully. "Mother was hit by a car a little over a year ago. She was in a coma for several weeks before she passed. That left a lot of medical bills. I was lucky to find a job at the diner, and I’ve been slowly paying them off." I pause gathering my thoughts. "After she passed...well, let's just say I was woefully unprepared for the real world. I've been struggling to make my own way ever since."

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