40. Viviana

I'm going to kill her.

Actually, I might start with Mikhail. He's the one who decided to marry me after he'd already proposed to another woman.

I guess that explains why he never dropped to one knee and gave me a ring. He'd already been through that song and dance with Ms. Sour Puss here.

Helen Drakos has the kind of face meant for bland editorials—the sullenness of high fashion. As soon as she wears an emotion, her face twists and creases like it can't wait to be rid of it. She looks like overdried leather drenched in mismatched foundation.

"If you keep sneering like that, your face will get frozen that way," I warn her. "It's not a good look."

Her forehead crease deepens, but before she can say anything, Mikhail is standing between us.

I hate that, even now, he looks good. Rumpled and more strung-out than he was ten minutes ago, but good.

"You're two brides away from a reboot of Sister Wives, Mikhail. When were you going to tell me?"

"When the cameras showed up," he retorts without a beat of hesitation.

I slam my palm into his chest before I can stop myself. Of course, Iron Man doesn't even budge, so I'm forced to spin away from him and Helen, who is gawking at me over his shoulder. Seeing them side-by-side like this, I can understand why they got engaged. They look good together.

Which makes everything about this so much worse.

"I won't be here when that happens. I have no interest in whatever the hell this is. If you two want to be together, go ahead. I won't stand in your way."

I storm towards the hallway, waiting for Mikhail to hurry after me.

Wait, Viviana. Don't go.

I choose you. I love you.

But nothing happens.

His warm hand doesn't wrap around my wrist to draw me back. The rumble of his deep voice doesn't shatter the deafeningly-loud silence.

I should disappear without another word—if he doesn't come after me, he isn't worth my time, anyway—but I don't have quite enough self-respect for that. Instead, I stop in the doorway and face him.

Mikhail hasn't moved, but Helen has. She's standing just behind him now, her manicured claw clamped on his shoulder.

I want to snap her fingers off at the knuckle and jam them into her eyes.

"Go upstairs, Viviana," Mikhail says coolly. "I'll be up in a few minutes."

"Are you—Are you dismissing me?" I growl. "So you can be with her?"

Helen smirks and… yep, I'm going to kill her. Mikhail, too.

With the fury boiling up inside of me, I wouldn't be surprised if I could breathe fire. I'd turn them both to ash right now.

But when I open my mouth, nothing comes out. Not even when Mikhail says, "I'll come talk to you next."

"Don't fucking bother," I hiss.

Finally, I turn around and storm out.

Embarrassment and rage fuel me as I take the stairs two at a time and slam my bedroom door closed. But by the time I'm pacing the floor of my bedroom for the tenth time, it's jealousy creeping through my veins.

I'm jealous that Mikhail is downstairs with Helen right now, giving her even a second of his attention when he should be upstairs with me.

It's not fair to think a one-night stand would keep him from ever looking at another woman again, but I'm not in the mood for "fair" right now. I want Mikhail to tell me he never even thought about another woman after that night in the bridal suite. Helen? Never heard of her.

I want all of his thoughts to be consumed by me. I want to open up his closet and find a shrine to me plastered on his walls.

I'm tearing myself apart imagining some version of Mikhail sitting on his floor crafting a collage of my face when the man himself walks into my room, shoulders back, hands in his pockets.

I promptly lunge for the lamp next to my bed and hurl it at him.

It shatters against the wall, a good three feet away from his face.

"You missed," he says flatly.

I stomp around the bed, prepared to grab the second bedside lamp and make sure I absolutely don't miss this time. But Mikhail finally decides it's time to stop me.

He grabs my arm and jerks me back. "No more throwing lamps."

"Of course you'd say that. You're the one who deserves to have a lamp thrown at his face." I try to twist out of his hold, but his fingers are like iron around my wrist. "Let me go!"

He pulls me closer, pinning me between his body and one of the posts of my four-poster bed. "Talk to me."

He smells delicious. It's infuriating.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

No, I don't. But I wish I did.

"Don't tell me what I feel." I fidget, but Mikhail is like a brick wall. A warm, fragrant, well-muscled wall. "You don't get to send me up to my room like a child while you talk to your fiancée and then?—"

"Ex-fiancée."

"Oh, no," I drone. "Down from two wives to zero. How sad for you."

He drags his calloused finger over my pulse point. "Your heart is racing."

I slap his hand away. "Don't touch me."

"But you like it so much," he says with a smirk.

After everything that just happened, he has the audacity to smile? To tease me? Even worse, my heart has the audacity to speed up. I feel like a sexually charged hummingbird. I hate him for it.

I slam my fist into his chest. I'm more likely to break my hand than hurt Mikhail, but I can't just stand here. I have to do something.

"You lied to me." I hit him again. "I asked you if you had a wife. The first day we met, I saw those fucking roses on your desk and I asked you if you had a wife?—"

"I didn't have a wife," he explains, grunting as I continue to hit him. "I also didn't answer the question."

He dodged it. The same way he dodges everything he doesn't want to discuss.

The same way he dodges the fist I aim at his square jaw.

It's enraging to hit nothing but empty space, but I should've known he's too fast, too calm for me to land so much as a single blow on that smug face of his. Fuming, I step back and brush my hair out of my eyes. "You really think you're above reproach here? You were engaged. That's information you should have shared."

He arches a brow. "If you want to get into a fight about which of us has kept more important information from the other, I'll win."

He's talking about Dante, but there's more I haven't told him…

More secrets hanging over us like anvils on fraying strings.

Right now, I wouldn't mind so much if a few of them dropped. It would put me out of this misery.

"Engagement isn't legally binding. But what you and I did?" He spins my rainbow-colored ring around my finger. "It's official."

"Screw the law. What matters to me is that that woman down there was planning to marry you!"

He curls my hand up in his and pins it against his chest. I can feel his heart beating against my wrist. "Too bad for her, I'm already married."

"Under duress," I remind him, putting as much space between us as possible. Which, right now, is about six inches. "I married you under false pretenses and coercion."

"What about when you came on top of my desk today—twice? That wasn't under duress."

"Being a good fuck doesn't make you a good person."

If it did, Mikhail would be the best person in the world. Saint-like levels of goodness.

Blood thrums through me, pooling in places I wish it wouldn't. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. Can feel it between my legs.

"I never claimed to be a good person, Viviana." His fingers slip around my hand, tracing the lines of my palm. I hate that he's being gentle with me now like he didn't just rip my heart out of my chest.

But goosebumps bloom across my skin. My mind and body are clearly not on the same wavelength.

"I remember. You said you'd be the worst possible thing for me." I stretch onto my toes, upper lip curled back in a snarl. "I think you undersold yourself."

Mikhail holds my gaze for a second. His icy blue eyes are penetrating. I'm positive he can read every confused, lust-drenched thought in my head.

Whatever he sees there, he decides to slam my wrist against the post above my head and press our bodies flush together. "Then let me amend a few things."

His lips crash against mine before I can even gasp.