Chapter 2

Lydia

CHAPTER TWO

I fiddle with my engagement ring, spinning it around on my finger, and stare. Diamonds inlaid in yellow gold, they sparkle under the overhead lights. I know they must’ve cost a fortune. Timur Yudin, a man of high taste and a high-ranking captain of the Ledyanoye Bratstvo, doesn’t do cheap things.

My belly churns with nerves as I wait for him. The guard he’s stationed by me stands, scrolling through their phone as I sit at a quiet table by myself. Timur said he’d be here any minute and instructed me to go and wait for him. He seemed a bit guarded, but that’s not unlike him after a busy day of work.

I pick up my phone and pretend to make a call, then surreptitiously put my phone camera on so I can look myself over to make sure I’m flawless. Timur doesn’t like anything less than perfection.

I’m wearing a soft green dress that highlights my curves and emphasizes the green in my eyes. My makeup’s flawless, not a hair out of place.

I finish checking myself over and, when satisfied, put my phone back down. When he arrives, he won’t like it if I’m on my phone. I’m expected to pay attention to him.

The flicker of the candle on the table pulls my focus. I’m drawn to the orange flame behind frosted glass. I reach out and run the tip of my polished fingernail around the base of the candle. I pause and note a drip of wax.

My heart races.

It’s not one of those fake electric candles, but real fire. If I took the edge of this tablecloth and touched the flame, I know exactly what would happen. First, it would smoke?—

I close my eyes and draw my hand back as if the glass itself scalded me. I hate that my mind goes there when I’m stressed or under pressure.

No.

I worked too hard and too long to go back there now. I can’t.

I won’t.

I can still hear my mother’s tearful plea while my father slammed my suitcases into the back of the car that took me to boarding school. “Why, Lydia? Why did you do it?”

I heard the questions she didn’t ask as clearly as I heard the ones she did.

Where did I go wrong?

I take another sip of wine, aware that I’ve likely only traded one vice for another, but I don’t fucking care.

I take a few minutes to look around the upscale restaurant. It’s difficult to get into Le Jardin de Lumière, but I’m excited because the name reminds me of Beauty and the Beast, my childhood favorite. Who am I kidding? It’s my favorite even now in adulthood. They’re booking six months out here, but Timur likes expensive, hard-to-get things, so it makes sense he would want to come here. I’d expect no less from him.

Quiet instrumental music plays in the background. The tables are set with fine china and crystal wine glasses, the utter picture of sophistication. The basket of fragrant, warm bread is accompanied by slabs of homemade butter topped with crystalized truffle salt. Delicious.

My phone buzzes with a text. My heart leaps, thinking it might be Timur, but when I look at the screen, I sigh.

Vera: Lydia, can you talk now?

Vera gets so caught up in her studies she doesn’t talk to me for weeks at a time, and now that she has a break, she wants to chat? I shoot her a quick response.

I can’t now, I’m meeting Timur for dinner, but I’ll call you when we’re done.

I’m still holding my phone when I hear his familiar voice behind me. I quickly tuck it in my purse.

“Lydia. Thank you for waiting so patiently.” He stands tall and imposing behind me with an air of unapproachable strength. I turn to face my handsome fiancé, once more appreciating his features are sharp and defined with high cheekbones and a strong, clean-shaven jawline. Dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, he exudes confidence and sophistication, his demeanor composed but with an icy detachment that can be intimidating to those who don’t know him. I know him, though. I know him well.

I stand and give him the full effect of my smile.

“Hi. How was your day?”

With a smile, he bends and kisses my cheek. My heart flutters at his nearness. Timur Yudin is all grace and refinement, a gentleman in every sense of the word. His hand rests on the small of my back for a brief second before he takes his seat. He always holds my chair out for me, so I stand a bit awkwardly before I realize he must’ve forgotten.

I clumsily sit in front of him.

“You’re looking quite nice tonight, Mr. Yudin,” I say flirtatiously. He smiles coldly when the waiter approaches.

Normally attentive and gentlemanly, his behavior takes me off guard. Timur addresses the waiter. “Bonjour, je voudrais une sortie, s'il vous pla?t.”

I cringe when the waiter looks confused. Timur’s French needs a little work. He just accidentally ordered an exit instead of an appetizer. I don’t want to correct him in public, but he’s made a mistake.

I quickly amend. “Je voudrais commander un apéritif, s'il vous pla?t.” The waiter bows and takes his leave. Timur levels his gaze at me with an air of coldness so sharp I shiver.

“Do not ever do that again,” he snaps.

“Do what?” I look at him in surprise.

“Correct me in public.”

I laugh. “Timur, you ordered an exit instead of an appetizer. I was hardly correcting you, just making sure?—”

His hand reaches out and snatches my wrist. “Are you talking back to me now, too?”

I blink in surprise. “No.”

Sometimes, he reminds me of my father, and I hate that. Though Timur is handsome and polished and treats me well, he occasionally has a bit of a cold streak when stressed.

“What is it, Timur? You seem troubled,” I say gently. I lay my hand on his. “What’s going on?”

He shakes his head. “I’m guessing you haven’t spoken with your mother.”

I blink. “No. Why?”

He looks away, his jaw taut. “Oh, you’ll see. Have you ordered yet?”

Why does my belly dip to my toes?

“Timur. What is it? What do you need to tell me?”

His gaze hardens. “I asked you if you ordered yet.”

I shake my head. “No, I was waiting for you.”

He blows out a breath. “Of course you were.”

I look at him in surprise. My phone buzzes and buzzes in my purse. When Timur scowls at me, I silence it.

“What is wrong?” I ask, my anger rising. I don’t like not knowing what’s going on, and it seems like he’s lying to me.

He only shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Order. Something light, Lydia.”

My cheeks color, and I suddenly lose my appetite. We’ve only known each other for a few months. Not long before my father’s sudden and tragic death, he arranged for our wedding. Timur has been the perfect gentleman, attentive and generous, even if a bit cold sometimes. But he’s never been like this before. He’s definitely never commented on my food choices.

I look down at my full figure, my bust spilling out of the dress I wore to accentuate my curves.

I thought he liked my curves.

“You want me to choose something light?”

He smiles, but his eyes remain cold. “I’m teasing. Choose whatever you want. You know that.” He mutters something under his breath.

What the hell?

“Timur,” I say in a little voice. Who is this man, and what’s become of the man I’d actually grown used to and was looking forward to marrying?

The waiter comes back with a wine menu.

“I worry about you, you know,” Timur says as he butters a roll and places half of it on my plate. It’s a lot less butter than I would use and only half the bread, but the gesture seems almost sweet.

“Oh?” I take a bite even as my stomach clenches. The food tastes like ash in my mouth. “Why?”

“We’re getting married soon, and the weight of responsibility will fall heavily on you to manage our home, our social engagements, and eventually, our children. And the little hobbies you have aren’t becoming of the wife I know you could be.”

My little hobbies?

I drop the bread, my appetite gone. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I snap.

“There you go again,” he says, his eyes on me heated. “Losing your temper.” He leans in and rests his chin in his hand. “I’m going to be your husband. I’m only expressing concern for you, Lydia. There’s no need to lose your temper.” He gives a casual shrug, but his tone is anything but. “I’d hate to have to lose mine.”

Was that a threat?

I stare at him, my jaw slack.

The candle flickers between us. Beckoning.

“Look,” I say in a low voice so as not to draw the attention of everyone around us. “I don’t know what happened to you to cause you to behave this way, but I’ve had a few drinks and I need to use the bathroom. I’m going to just take a little break, and when I return, let’s have a civilized conversation, shall we?”

It's hard to issue an ultimatum to a man who has more power in his left thumb than I do in my entire life, but I’m over this.

I stand, but he grabs my wrist again, even harder than before.

“Sit down, Lydia.” When I don’t, he gentles his voice. “I’m sorry. I had a bad day at work. Sit down and tell me about your day.”

He almost convinced me. There’s something about that suave, persuasive voice of his that almost convinced me it was only a slip-up and my real fiancé was going to come back. But I need a little bit of a breather.

I jerk my wrist away from him, getting the attention of several people nearby.

“I’m just using the restroom,” I say. “Please let me go.”

He reaches for me, but a waiter comes by, so to save face, he plasters a smile on his face. For once, I’m happy he’s always more concerned with appearances than anything else. “Go. Come right back.”

A crowd of women passes in front of me. I take the opportunity to step right into the middle of them and head to the bathroom before he can pull me back.

What’s happened, and why is he behaving this way?

I feel sick to my stomach and wish, not for the first time, I had someone to confide in. I wish my sister and I were still close like we were when we were children, but now that she’s married into the Romanov family, that’s impossible. Timur has forbidden it.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror and take a deep breath.

He’s obviously in a bad mood, but he’s never been like this before.

I dab at my lips with lip gloss, trying to quell my rising nerves.

I reach for my phone, wishing again I could call Vera. I have no friends, and my mother and I were never close.

It doesn’t matter. So he was… what, impatient? Crass? A man’s entitled to the occasional bad temper, isn’t he? I’m certainly not a ball of sunshine every waking hour.

Up until now, he’s always treated me well.

Maybe I just have unrealistic expectations. It’s a fluke—a bad night.

It will be fine. I’ll go back out, and my charming fiancé will order dinner for me, and we’ll forget this ever happened. I’m starving. Maybe I’m exaggerating things in my mind.

I tap the screen and stare at five missed calls and as many missed texts.

What the hell?

My blood runs cold.

Vera: Lydia, you are in danger. Come home. I’m sending a car for you now. You have to leave. Please. I’ll explain everything.

Come home? I’m two hours away from home.

I’m in danger? I look around the spacious, luxury bathroom. It’s well-lit with marble flooring that gleams under soft, ambient overhead lighting. The walls are adorned with large, oval-shaped mirrors in gilded frames. The polished countertops boast bouquets of fresh flowers. It seems too elegant, too refined, for me to be here and in… danger.

Still, I walk to the stall and open it, sliding the lock in place behind me. I open my purse and eye the lighter and pepper spray I always carry with me. I have some measure of protection, anyway.

I check the rest of my messages.

Lydia, please call me. It’s urgent

And then another text from a number I don’t recognize.

Lydia, this is Nikko Romanov, your brother-in-law. It is imperative we secure your location and bring you to safety.

What the hell is going on?

I jump when the door to the bathroom opens, and I hear the click of heels on the tiled floor. I hold my breath as the footsteps approach. I reach into my bag and take out my pepper spray, my finger trembling on the trigger. But I only hear the door to a stall shut.

I’m losing my mind.

I put the pepper spray back.

I’ve made this into something much, much bigger than it actually is. I’m at a fancy restaurant. With the man I’m going to marry. Vera’s being dramatic or influenced by her new husband.

With trembling fingers, I text Vera back.

Okay what is going on?

It’s too much to text and something I don’t want to communicate this way. I don’t know if your phone is tapped. It’s important to come home so we can chat. Are you alright? Are you safe?

I blink. My phone… tapped?

I’m hiding in a bathroom stall. My fiancé is acting strange, and my phone’s blowing up with cryptic messages about my safety. No, of course I’m not alright.

I’m fine, don’t worry. I’ll call you after dinner, okay?

I slide my phone into my bag and leave the stall. The door opens again, letting in another woman dressed in a silky ivory cocktail dress, but I barely notice her. Timur stands outside the door, leaning casually up against the wall, his hands in his pockets.

I go to him.

“I need to call my sister soon. She said she needs to talk with me,” I tell him when I exit. The pinched expression on his face has vanished, and instead, he looks like the polished, civilized man who proposed to me while bathed in sunset hues on a beach in Maui. I breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Oh? Our first dish has arrived. Can it wait? You said you were starving. I’ll expedite the delivery of the rest of our food, and we’ll leave early so you can call her.”

He ushers me back to our table, matching my strides as we walk hand in hand. I wonder if I imagined the grumpiness from before. This is the Timur I can’t wait to be with.

“Thank you. I could tell she’d rather talk to me in person.”

Timur leans in and reaches for my hand. “I’m sorry, Lydia. I shouldn’t have been so rude before. I had a day from hell.” He smiles at me, his warm brown eyes crinkling around the edges. A little dimple in his cheek flashes at me. I’m not sure why something makes my stomach dip with nerves, and a prickle of fear skates across the back of my neck.

This is Timur. My future husband. He’s never hurt me. Maybe I had too much to drink.

“Forgive me?”

“Of course.”

My phone buzzes again, and Timur scowls. He hates cell phones and especially hates being interrupted.

“Sorry. She’s really worried.”

“About what?” he asks as he takes a stuffed mushroom and slides one onto my plate. I’d rather eat two, but he’s distracted.

“No idea.” I reach for another roll to go with the mushroom, but he scowls disapprovingly.

“What?”

“The wedding’s coming, and you said you were watching your carbs,” he says with a shrug.

My cheeks flush pink. “Eating low carb made me feel like I had the flu. I hated it.”

Why am I explaining this to him? Shouldn’t he accept me for who I am?

When my phone buzzes again, Timur looks near apoplectic. His eyes burn into me, his cheeks flushed.

“What the fuck is?—”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” I tell him, shaking my head. “I’ll shut it off.”

I polish off the wine in my glass to steady my rising nerves. In a normal situation, he would be sending me all kinds of red flags, but we’re not a regular couple in an ordinary situation, and I know that well.

“She’s just worried and said something about me not being safe.”

He nods but doesn’t look too bothered. “You’re safe when you’re with me. I stationed a guard here for you before I came. She should stop watching the news.”

“She doesn’t watch the news.”

Timur’s lips thin. He doesn’t like being contradicted.

My food feels too dry in my mouth. I swallow with effort.

A chill shivers down my spine, and I don’t understand why. I push my wine away. I don’t want anything interfering with my ability to think straight. It’s a strange, strange night.

I’m not in danger. I’m with my fiancé and bodyguards. “You’ll keep me safe, won’t you?”

Timur leans forward and holds my hand. “Of course I will, Lydia. Always.”