Chapter 8

Lydia

CHAPTER EIGHT

At first, I want to ask him to give me a minute to prepare myself for seeing Vera. My hair is a mess, I’m wearing no makeup, my clothes are torn, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there were smudge marks on my face or body from the fire.

I feel a little guilty about that. I wanted to take what I thought would be the one chance I had to get away, so I acted as quickly as I could.

Nikko marches over to me, tall and muscled and covered in tattoos. Phew. Nice job, little sis. His eyes burn into mine with an intensity that seems to run in this family. My heart thumps in my chest when I remind myself that I’m with Viktor, and he’s already made it abundantly clear no one touches me but him.

“Lydia’s safety is paramount, but she needs to understand the gravity of her situation.”

“Oh, I understand the fucking gravity,” I say, glaring at my new brother-in-law. “I was ripped from safety, drugged, held captive?—”

“Nikko? Is that true?” I hear Vera’s voice loud and clear on the line.

Nikko holds his phone up and shows me Vera’s picture. It’s dark where she is and hard to see her.

“Why would I make that up?” I snap.

“Here. Have a seat,” Nikko says, gesturing to a bench in the small garden outside.

I sit and reach for the phone.

“Vera. What the hell is going on here?” Tears spring to my eyes. I blink them away. “I was marrying Timur. He got all weird at dinner, and this guy—” I stab my finger at Viktor— “says Timur was planning on killing me and has manipulated the entire situation to make it look like a rescue.”

Vera, her large brown eyes magnified behind her round glasses, stares at me. “Do you have any reason to believe he’s lying to you?”

Always pragmatic, my scientist sister. I blow out a breath.

“Do I have any reason to believe he’s telling the truth?”

Vera nods eagerly. “Yes, of course. Because the Romanov family is much more reputable than the Yudins. Timur has a long history of fairly reprehensible behavior, Lydia.”

I cross my arms over my chest. Whose side is she on?

“If that were so, why would Father sign off on my engagement then?”

Vera’s gaze softens. “Because it benefitted him, Lydia. Because Timur may have protected you well financially, and you definitely would’ve been untouchable from any rivals as his wife. But the man has only served time once, and his record shows it was for a vicious assault on an innocent woman.”

I feel like the man who I knew and the man who they are talking about are two different people. But I saw that video. I saw how he treated Mom…

“Nikko, how did he react when he found out she wasn’t going to marry him?” Vera asks.

Nikko blows out a breath. “He took her out to dinner, and we have video evidence of him taking items that made it clear he planned on at least hurting and abducting her.”

“Oh God,” Vera says, her eyes wide.

“We have no way to prove that’s what he planned,” I snap.

“Lydia, these guys aren’t going to hurt you.”

I throw my hands up in the air. “They kidnapped me! Drugged me! Tied me!”

Vera bites her lip and looks over her shoulder. “Nikko?”

“It was essential to move quickly so we could save her,” Viktor interrupts. “Lev thought it expedient to get her cooperation in a way that made sense to him.”

I turn on him. “Is this how you gaslight all your captives? Hmm?”

“No, Lydia,” he says in a low voice. “You have the honor of being the first.”

That shouldn’t tickle me in any way, shape, or form, but I’m not above a certain level of depravity…

“Listen, Lydia,” Vera says. “I just want you—” The connection goes all gritty, and I can’t hear for a moment.

“Vera?”

“Shit,” Nikko mutters when the screen goes black. “We lost the connection. This is the last fucking time she goes to one of these things.”

He shakes his head, shuts off the phone, and turns to me.

“Does that appease you at all?”

I look away. I still don’t like how any of this went down, but it seems like I don’t have much of a choice. What else will I do? Who knows where Timur is now and even if a fraction of what they said about him is true… God.

I don’t want to go back to him.

But I don’t want to be manipulated, either.

Maybe they put Vera up to this. Maybe they didn’t.

The front door opens with a bang, and the tall man with tanned skin marches out straight toward us. Mikhail? I think they called him Mikhail.

Viktor bristles beside me.

“Are you going to deal with her?” he snaps, his attention on Viktor. “Or will I?”

Viktor stands, a low growl purring in his chest, and rises to his full height, which is impressively huge. He folds his arms across his chest.

“Lydia, meet my brother, Mikhail.”

I glare at him and grit my teeth. “How nice to meet you,” I snap, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Mikhail ignores me and stares at Viktor. He’s so close to us now I can see his flared nostrils. A vein throbs in his temple. “Don’t push it, brother.”

Viktor opens his mouth to retort when Nikko steps between Mikhail and Viktor.

I can feel the tension radiating off Viktor’s body. Heat emanates from him in waves.

“Push what? My duty to protect the woman who I’m going to marry?”

My heart does a little twist in my chest. There’s something about the way he says it that unnerves me.

Mikhail steps closer, Nikko a wall between them. I swear one of them is going to break a blood vessel.

“Alright, alright, settle down,” I say, shoving my way in between the wall of alpha man chest. “No need to fight, boys. Geez.”

Nikko’s lips twitch, and his brows rise. “You look nothing like Vera, but there are definitely some similarities.”

I shrug. “Yes, and suffice it to say, I could say the same exact thing about your brothers.” I quirk a brow at him. “You all look nothing alike but seem to subsist on shots of testosterone and self-assurance.”

I blow out a breath and roll my eyes. “Honestly. It’s a shame Vera and I haven’t chatted at length more recently.” I turn to Viktor. “Can we go inside now?” I look at Mikhail. “So he can ‘deal with me’?” I suffuse as much mockery as I possibly can in my tone.

Viktor hasn’t hurt me, and I’m starting to believe he wouldn’t.

“Guys.” The younger one, the asshole who drugged me, stands on the steps outside. “Just got a call. We’ve got the captain of the Ledyanoye Bratstvo hostage.”

“Where?”

“The Ironworks.”

I feel Viktor’s hand clamp on my arm. “You’re getting dressed, then you’re coming with me. I want you to see this. Every fucking second.”

They spring into action while I stare up at Viktor. Mikhail’s ordering things in Russian and obviously pissed, Nikko is busy on his phone, and the other guy is gone, probably because he doesn’t have a death wish, and Viktor might murder him if he breathes the same air as I do.

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that it pleases me a little.

“I need clothes,” I say to him, swallowing. Now that we’re alone, I’m starting to get nervous about the whole “dealing with me” thing.

He looks down at me, at my tattered clothes, and his perpetual scowl deepens.

He looks from me to the house and back again.

“There’s Harper, Aleksandr’s wife. Aria is Mikhail’s. Then there’s Polina, my sister. We could borrow something.”

I look down at myself. “Are they tall, curvy girls like me?”

The way his gaze glides down my body makes me swallow hard. His eyes smolder, and he licks his lips. We don’t exchange a word, but the palpable thrum of erotic attraction is very evident.

Shit.

He licks his lips. “No one’s like you, Lydia.”

I ignore the way my heart thumps. “They’re smaller?”

He shrugs.

Great. I’m marrying into a house full of supermodels. I cringe.

Viktor reaches his hand to my hair. A strand has crossed in front of my face, blurring my vision. He tucks it behind my ear. “Let them wait.”

“Who?”

His gaze burns into mine. “All of them.”

I stare, unblinking. “Your brothers?”

“The hostages. My brothers. We don’t need to take all day, but we can go get what you need while they wait.” He reaches for my hand almost casually. When our hands touch, a pulse of electricity skates between us. “I’ll go with you.”

“I can’t go into a store like this.” I shake my head. My mama raised me better.

“Then I’ll take you home. Your mother’s home is thirty minutes from here.”

I look away, strangely emotional. My mother is nice enough, but she and I haven’t been close in years. My father was the one who took me under his wing, for all the good that did. I suppose he fancied me the son he never had.

“I don’t have anything of mine there anymore.” I haven’t in a long time.

He looks down at me, stroking his chin. “I could ask Polina… she’s the closest and would be quickest at picking something out. Let me try her.” He pulls out his phone and sends a text.

A minute later, he shakes his head. “That’s not gonna work. She’s out and won’t be home for another hour.”

I look down at myself. I only have to look the fool in the first place we go. After that, it should be easy enough for me to find something to pull on.

“Wear my jacket,” he says at the very same time I say, “I could wear something of yours.”

My cheeks flush, and he nods. “It’s decided, then. Here.” Shrugging out of his leather jacket with one fluid motion, he removes it and holds it out to me. He doesn’t just hand me the jacket but holds it the way a gentleman would for a woman. He lifts it up so I can slide my arms in the sleeves.

It’s warm and smells like leather, snow-capped mountains, and the smoky, woodsy scent of fire. I turn away so he doesn’t see me inhale.

It feels so wrong to allow myself to be attracted to him at all, but I’m not a robot.

And he’ll be… my husband. I haven’t allowed myself to focus on what that will mean.

I walk side by side with him to the car. Wordlessly, he opens the door for me.

So many questions are teeming in my mind I barely know how to begin. Though Viktor scares me, and I have a feeling I haven’t even seen the half of it yet, I’m starting to feel a bit more at ease with him than the others.

We drive in silence until he pulls into a parking space just outside a strip mall. “Any of these places look good?” He gestures to a few boutiques. “We know someone who owns this one here.”

He points at a place with high-heeled shoes and purses in a large window. This shit’s pricey. My family was well off, but nothing like some of the families I knew. More to the point, I’ve been independent and haven’t taken their money in a very long time. I thrust my chin out.

“It looks fine, but I’m going to pay you back. Just because I don’t have money on me right now doesn’t mean I don’t have any.”

“Like hell, you’ll pay me back,” he says, shaking his head. He opens the car and comes over to my side, but I quickly open it before he can get the satisfaction of doing it for me. I still don’t trust him.

I step quickly out of the car and walk with him toward the little boutique. I’m nervous about what will happen next after I get dressed, and I want this part over with.

It feels a bit strange to be walking into a boutique with him. He isn’t the type who fits into a place like this. Men who go boutique shopping with a woman should be pretty and refined, well-manicured and shellacked. He’s so big he has to duck to walk through the door. A five o’clock shadow ghosts his chin already, and when we enter, a woman with a baby in a carriage draws in a sharp breath and takes off without a backward glance.

Yeah, he’s that terrifying.

“Mr. Romanov.” A tall, older woman, who could be my grandmother, approaches us on silver stilettos. Her hair’s trendy and short, a bit spiky, and she wears diamond studs that accentuate the crisp navy of her tank and pencil skirt. “Rosa told me to expect you. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve already taken the liberty of pulling out some clothes that might suit the occasion, as I know you’re pressed for time.” She holds out her hand to me. “My name is Opal. So pleased to meet you.”

I take her warm, confident hand and return the gesture. “I’m Lydia.”

“Pleased to meet you, Lydia,” she says with utter grace, as if I’m the Queen of England and didn’t just walk into her high-end boutique in a tattered dress covered by a man’s worn leather jacket.

“Rosa’s a family friend,” Viktor says in a low rumble.He places his hand on my lower back and escorts me to the back of the shop. “She’s the owner and a friend of ours. I texted her. She’s in Boston but said Opal will take good care of you.”

I nod, allowing myself to be escorted, as I do a quick sweep of the boutique and the kinds of clothes they have.

It’s filled with racks of beautifully crafted garments that smack of sophistication and comfort. They’re chic and timeless, with soft, high-quality fabrics and an array of earthy and neutral tones. These are not factory-made or fast fashion designed for skinny mannequins but garments that hint at understated luxury made for real women.

My kind of place, honestly.

In the back, the fitting rooms are roomy and private. There’s a small area with a coffee maker and mugs and a beverage fridge with chilled drinks. Viktor reaches in wordlessly and takes out two bottles of water. He twists the top off the bottle before he hands it to me. “Drink.”

“No wine? I’m disappointed.”

He only narrows his eyes at me. I’m not a fool, so I drink. I’ll need it.

“Please choose whatever else you wish,” Opal says. “You’ll find our clothing features a natural blend of luxury, comfort, and versatility, featuring diverse sizes and styles. I’ll leave you to it and be right outside this door if I can help in any way.”

My cheeks flush when she says diverse sizes.

We have plus sizes.

I sigh. Fine. There’s no need for me to try to squeeze into something that isn’t made for me.

I stare at Viktor, waiting for him to step out of the changing room.

“Well?” I say with a shrug. “Should I try these on or what?”

“Of course,” he says, holding my gaze with challenge in his eyes as he folds himself into a sturdy chair in the corner. I half expect it to snap in two. He looks like he’s trying to fit into a chair made for a child.

“Viktor.”

“Mmm?” He polishes off the water in the bottle. I must be out of my mind because the way his Adam’s apple bobs and the sight of his huge hand dwarfing the small bottle is so unapologetically masculine…

I look away.

“I don’t want you in here.”

I jump at the sound of him crushing the water bottle before he tosses it into a small wastebasket.

“I thought you might say that,” he says, his eyes as dark as storm clouds on a winter day. “I’ve been lenient with you, Lydia. I’ve given you lots of freedom. Unfortunately, you lost the privilege of privacy by setting a fire in our house.”

Not my house.

Our house.

He’s chosen his words deliberately.

“It’s not appropriate for you to watch me get dressed.”

“You’ve made it clear it’s not appropriate for me to step away.” He crosses his massive arms across his chest, his biceps bulging. “We’re wasting time, and it’s pointless. We’re getting married.”

“For God’s sake,” I curse. “Fine.”

I shrug out of his jacket and whip it at him as hard as I can. He catches it mid-air and casually shrugs it back on, his eyes never leaving mine. I swallow and turn to the mirror.

I hate these places. Mirror upon mirror under bright lights seems to highlight every flaw and bump and lump. I cast my eyes away and reach for a pair of jeans and a pair of black leggings. Black is forgiving.

“What was that?”

I turn in surprise to look at him.

“What?”

“That face you made. You looked in the mirror and made a face then turned away.”

“Did I?”

I’m focused on removing my fucked up clothes and not looking at him when I stand in front of him wearing only my underwear.

“Yeah.”

I shrug. “Don’t know. Maybe I’m uncomfortable getting undressed in front of a man I hardly know?”

“Mmm.”

He isn’t buying it.

I rip off the rest of my clothes and throw them into a heap. We’ll have to toss them out. I turn to face him. I want to take back some measure of control, and maybe standing in front of him wearing only panties and a shitty push-up bra under my ample breasts is one way.

I’m not wrong.

I intentionally bend over and pick a hanger off the floor. When I look up, his gaze is heated, his eyes half lidded, and a flush of color spreads up his neck, darkening his already rugged features. His jaw clenches, a subtle hint of his loss of control, and his breathing grows a hair heavier. The air around him seems charged. He shifts, his large hands flexed on his elbows as he seems to struggle to maintain his composure.

My heartbeat thunders.

It worked.

I do my level best not to wilt under the heat of his stare, fixated on me with raw, unhindered desire.

“You’re fucking gorgeous. Now put those on before I do something that makes us even later than we are.”

Oh God. Why does a part of me wish he would? Why does a part of me want him to?

I slide into the jeans, turn to the mirror, and try to button them. Too tight. My belly bulges, and the button doesn’t snap.

I turn away, mortified, and step out of them.

He watches me silently.

I reach for a second pair, and the same thing happens.

“Fuck those. Leggings,” he growls, handing me the pair of black leggings. “We’re out of time. I’ll pick out what you’ll try on.”

I’m not sure how that’s going to make us choose any quicker, but fine. I toss the jeans in a pile and step into the leggings. They’re soft and luxurious and fit me as if they were created for me.

“Alright, I’ll reluctantly give you that point,” I say with a huff. “But leggings are hard to fuck up.”

“That’s not what Polina says.”

I reach for a top when he smacks my hand away. I pull back as if bitten, my jaw unhinged.

“What’d I say? I told you I’m picking them out. Behave yourself.”

I open my mouth to protest, but instead, that isn’t what comes out. “Who’s Polina again?”

Am I jealous?

“My sister. She’s particular about things like leggings. She went on a rant about it a few weeks ago.” He chooses a dark, brick-colored fitted blouse for me to pair with the leggings. It’s sleek with long sleeves and would almost be conservative if not for the deep vee that accentuates my bust. The fabric is thick but has a hint of stretch.

I slide into the top and turn this way and that, checking myself out. “Damn, I look hot. Like, CEO-of-kickass hot.”

Wow.

Viktor nods, his eyes still intense and on fire. Approving. “This will do.”

“It better. We’re getting more of these.” I watch his reaction.

“I’ll be the judge of that. You can submit your requests, but I’ll handle procurement.”

I scoff, hands on hips, as his phone rings. It reminds me that Timur tossed my phone out the fucking window, and I need a new one. Why’d he do that?

He quirks a brow at me. “You can put in some requests, but I get the final say.”

“What is this, the 1920s? Should I light up a Pall Mall and wear some heels? Sir?”

Viktor takes a step closer to me in the small interior of the dressing room. Though it’s roomier than most I’ve seen, he’s the size of a bear, and I’m no pixie, so there’s not exactly wiggle room.

“We’ll skip the cigarette, but heels? Yeah. I’ll add those to the list.” He leans in and whispers in my ear. “You can wear just those heels and repeat that sir.”

Gawwd.

He glances at his watch. “But not now. We need to go. Wear the clothes out.” Leaning over, he plucks the tags off and answers his phone. “We’re on our way.”