19. Viviana

"I want to go swimming," Dante pouts, lagging behind as I try to pull him down the hallway.

Stella greeted us this morning with the news that we have plans, but she is under strict orders not to "spoil the fun," apparently.

Exactly how much "fun" we're going to have remains to be seen.

So far, convincing Dante to get dressed in anything other than his swimsuit is proving to be approximately negative fun for me.

"I know, but we can't go swimming every day."

"Yes, we can!" he chirps back. "The pool is inside. It's climack patrolled."

Dante's little chin is raised. He's clearly proud of his argument, but I have no idea what he's talking about. "What?"

"Climate controlled," Stella chuckles. "I taught him that last night while you were… busy."

Busy getting married,she means.

Busy getting married and then having the first of many fights with my husband less than five minutes after we walked down the aisle.

Such a promising start.

What is actually promising is the fact that Mikhail is nowhere in sight this morning.

Maybe, just maybe, he's going to keep his distance. Dante and I will live in this house, but we won't have to deal with him much. He may be a raging control freak, but he can't keep tabs on everyone all the time, right?

Then we turn the corner and find Anatoly grinning in the entrance hall. "You all ready to go?"

"Where are we going?" I ask while Dante repeats "climate controlled" under his breath, trying to make sure he's got it down.

Anatoly winks. "You'll find out."

He leads our party onto the porch where a large SUV is idling in the driveway. A middle-aged man with a buzzed head is standing next to the open backseat.

"Viviana, meet Pyotr," Anatoly says, gesturing at the driver. "Pyotr, Viviana."

Pyotr looks like a boulder disguised as a driver, his broad chest nearly popping the buttons of his black suit. He reaches to shake my hand just as Dante wiggles between us.

"And Dante!" he adds, squinting up at Pyotr against the bright morning sun.

Pyotr squats down to one knee, grinning. "Especially Dante. We could never forget you. It's lovely to meet you."

Being nice to Dante has always been the fastest way to my good side, but these people are going to have to work a lot harder than this. Working for Mikhail puts them at a disadvantage.

"Where are we going?" I ask again.

Stella opens her mouth to answer, but Anatoly interrupts. "We'll tell you on the way."

The secrecy has me imagining underground bunkers. Maybe some compound outside of the city where Mikhail keeps his harem of women. He said he didn't have one, but do I really want to take his word for it? No. No, I don't.

Anatoly slips a rainbow-colored lollipop to Dante as he helps him into the backseat and Stella gets Dante strapped into his booster.

If they're taking us to our doom, they're being awfully cheery about it.

I climb up to slide in next to Dante, but he waves me off with his lollipop like it's a baton. "I want to sit next to him."

I follow the point of his lollipop and find Anatoly beaming through the open door. "Absolutely, little man." He squeezes his muscular body through the second row seats and into the third row. His knees are in his chest when he sits down, but he's never looked happier. "It's cozy back here."

"It's just because you gave him candy," I grumble under my breath to no one in particular.

The entire car shifts as Anatoly leans forward to whisper, "That was the point."

I roll my eyes, but can't quite keep from smiling.

Anatoly wants to make a good impression on Dante. That can't be a bad thing. Plus, our little confessional the other night did, unfortunately, leave me with a pang of sympathy for Anatoly and everything he's been through. He understands better than anyone else what Dante might face in this world. I like the idea of him taking Dante under his very massive wings.

"Okay. Someone tell me where we're going," I demand once I'm strapped in and Pyotr is pulling down the drive.

Stella grins. "Shopping spree!"

"Shopping spree?" I ask. "Is that code for something?"

"It's code for a shopping spree. Mikhail wants you and Dante to look the part now that you're?—"

"Living here," I interrupt, eyes wide.

Dante doesn't know about the wedding yet and this isn't how I want him to find out.

"Right," Stella says slowly, nodding in understanding. "Now that you're living here, Mikhail wants you to have everything you need. You didn't bring much with you when you moved, so now, you get to go shopping."

Admittedly, the mall is better than a nuclear fallout shelter or churning my own butter with all the other sister-wives Mikhail has abducted and impregnated… but not by much.

"No."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that we aren't going." I slap the roof twice. "Pyotr, take this ginormous armored SUV back to the mansion. I'm not going."

"This is why we didn't tell you." Anatoly leans forward, one elbow on my seat and his other arm splayed across the back of Stella's. His hand rests casually on the maid's shoulder. "You're going to go buy a few things on Mikhail's dime and not make a big deal about it, Viv. It'll be fun."

"I don't want anything from him," I hiss quietly enough that Dante can't hear.

"Too late for that. Mikhail has given you plenty already." Anatoly hitches a thumb in my son's direction and wags his brows suggestively.

I slap his chest and he falls into the back seat laughing, giving Stella's shoulder a tender pat as he pulls away.

Stella's smile is shaky when she turns to me. "You really are going to need more clothes. There are a lot of responsibilities now that you're… living with Mikhail. You'll need dresses, at the very least."

"It's not like he's going to take me anywhere. This is all some power play on his part. He doesn't actually care what I look like."

"Of course he does," Stella says, looking genuinely offended I'd suggest otherwise. "You are his—" She glances back at Dante and huffs in frustration. "You are living with him now. That means something to Mikhail."

Bless Stella's heart for having so much faith in her employer. It would be sweet if it wasn't so annoying.

"It's really not that serious, Stella."

"It is," she insists. "To Mikhail, family is the most important thing in the world. He wouldn't ask you to step into this role if he didn't mean it."

She's wrong. Mikhail asked me to marry him because he wants access to Dante. It has nothing to do with me. I'm still not convinced the mission today isn't for his henchmen to lose me at the mall and kidnap Dante.

But I don't have the energy to un-brainwash everyone in this car. So I sit back and try to enjoy the ride.

"My legs are tired." Dante sags forward, his knuckles dragging on the pavement like the little chimp he is.

I can't blame him. We've been shopping for three hours. Two and a half of which have been spent in the children's dressing rooms of designer clothing stores all up and down Fifth Avenue. Dante has never tried on so many clothes in his life.

I've never been able to buy him so many clothes in his life.

"I know, but we're almost done. What if we go across the street and look for a new coat before we call it quits?" I ask, trying to make it sound exciting.

"He already has eight bags of stuff," Anatoly points out.

Tired of being the pack mule, he asked a woman at the dress shop Stella all but forced me into to have all of our bags shipped to the mansion. I don't even want to know how much of Mikhail's money he paid for that luxury courier service.

"And I'm hungry," Dante groans. "This is boring. My legs are?—"

Before he can finish, Pyotr sweeps in from behind and scoops Dante up. He does it easily, settling Dante on his shoulders like it's a circus sideshow they've trained for.

"You don't have to do that, Pyotr. He can walk."

"My job is transportation," Pyotr says with a grin. "Wherever you two need to go, I'll get you there."

Dante doesn't have any reservations. He giggles and grabs the lapels of Pyotr's suit and pretends to steer him like a horse down the pavement.

"I want a hot dog!" Dante declares, pointing at a cart on the corner. Without hesitating, Pyotr gallops on.

"He doesn't need a—" I save my breath and let them go. Two days of living with Mikhail and my son is already spoiled absolutely rotten.

I can't even be mad. All I've ever wanted is to get Dante everything he wants. Now, I can… so long as I can swallow my pride long enough to do it.

Stella glances nervously up at the quickly darkening sky. "I think it's going to rain."

"Sounds like we're done here, then. Let's pack it in and go home—er, back to the mansion."

Stella winks and I think maybe she caught my slip. "We can't leave yet. You only bought five dresses."

"And a new pair of jeans," I add.

She frowns. "My job wasn't to buy you more jeans. You're supposed to have a whole wardrobe. We still need to get?—"

"I don't need anything else."

"But Mr. Novikov wanted me to get you everything you would need. He'll be upset with me if I don't?—"

"Order it," I interrupt. "Whatever is left on the list, order it. I trust you. You have a good sense of style."

"While I agree that Stella always looks marvelous," Anatoly says, seemingly unaware of the way his attention sends Stella into a near-conniption, "there are some things you need to pick out for yourself, Viv."

"Don't call me that," I mumble as Anatoly grabs my shoulders and turns me towards a limestone building on the closest corner.

Warm light shines out of the windows into the overcast day. "Cartier" is written in gold script on a red awning above the front doors.

"Jewelry?"

Anatoly grabs my left hand. When I stare up at him blankly, he grabs my bare ring finger and shakes it in front of my face.

"He wants me to pick out my own wedding ring?" I gasp. "Should I get down on one knee and pop the question to myself, too?"

"A little late for that, since you're already hitched," Anatoly points out.

I cross my arms over my chest. "If he wants me to wear a ring, he can pick it out himself."

"You might not like what he chooses."

"What do I care?" I snap.

"You'll care when he decides to forego a wedding ring and get your finger—or other delicate parts of your body—tattooed with his name."

Anatoly looks a little too pleased with that suggestion. I'm not convinced he wouldn't offer up the idea to Mikhail himself. It would probably earn him a pat on the head and a treat from his master.

Stella swoops in, tossing a disapproving glare at Anatoly. "He won't tattoo you! But it would make Mr. Novikov happy if you did this for him. He wants you to pick it out yourself to make sure you'll like it, that's all."

"He doesn't care if I like it."

"Of course he does," she insists. "You're going to have to wear it every day for the rest of your life. He wants you to like it."

The rest of my life. I look down at my left hand and try to imagine a ring there. A ring that symbolizes this sham of a marriage we've entered into. That I've been forced into, more or less.

If I have to wear a diamond shackle, it only seems fair that Mikhail should wear a ring, too.

"Fine, I'll do it," I relent. "But only if I can select a ring for him as well."

"What are you doing?" Anatoly asks, eyes narrowed and no small amount of suspicion in his voice.

I shrug innocently. "I want Mikhail to have a daily reminder of our eternal love."

Stella claps her hands, thrilled. "That's so sweet."

Pyotr and Dante gallop back to us, a hot dog clutched in Dante's little fist.

Anatoly just shakes his head. "This should be interesting."