Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Aria

Satin and lace,shimmering in the sunlight. An A-line silhouette that’s classy and gorgeous, accentuated with more delicate lace at the edges of a sweetheart neckline.

It’s a…whitedress.

A wedding dress.

I’m wrapped in a robe staring at the dress, my mind reeling with my options. Or…lack of options.

Why is there a wedding dress in this room? A gentle knock sounds at the door, immediately followed by harsh voices. I look around the room for Mikhail.

It’s happening. I’m looking for him for comfort and security.

I can’t let myself go there.

“Who’s there?” I ask.

No answer.

The voices rise and fall on the other side of the door. Still wearing nothing but a robe, I walk to the door and peek through the peephole.

I wish I knew the layout of his home. There’s a little hallway in front of me, and three armed men. I’m kind of honored they consider me so dangerous I’ve got security like that.

But standing right in the middle of them is a young, beautiful woman with long blonde hair that hangs all the way down her back. She holds her chin high and talks to the men fearlessly.

"Hello?" I say tentatively.

She snaps at them when she throws her hands up in the air. "I fucking knew you had her in there. You monsters. Open the fucking door. Now.”

The first shakes his head. “If your brother finds you came up here —”

It’s his sister. Oh thank God.

She defiantly sticks out her chin. “If you don’t open that door, I am calling him myself."

I’m…standing in a robe. Still, she’s a woman, she seems like she’s on my side, and I’m in severe shortage of people on my side right now. I go to open the door a crack. "Hello?"

She presses her face to the opened crack of the door. “I’m your almost sister-in-law, open the door and let me in, please. We have a lot to do.”

He didn’t tell me not to open the door, but I know in my gut obviously he doesn’t want me to do it.

What will he do? Kill me? It’s his sister.

I open the door amidst curse words and warnings from the security team. Yeah, whatever. The second she’s in, I hear one of them call Mikhail on his cell. We don’t have much time here.

She comes in, spins on her heel, and slams the door behind her.

Wow. This woman is stunning. Her long, flowing, platinum-blonde hair hangs down to her waist, and her ice blue eyes are framed with long, thick lashes. She’s graceful yet athletic, standing a few inches taller than me. With fair skin, she almost looks delicate, but there’s something about the way she holds herself that tells me that’s only an illusion. I get the distinct feeling she’s like tightly wrapped dynamite. A gymnast or ballerina or something.

She takes one look at me in my robe. “Hi, I’m Polina, and there will be hell to pay for me coming in here, but honey, we have to get you ready. The wedding’s in an hour."

I grimace but need to ask her. I need confirmation. My voice sounds as if it’s coming from somewhere else for the pounding in my ears.

“Whose…wedding?”

She stares at me, unblinking. "He didn’t tell you?"

I shake my head. “He told me a lot of things, but I don’t remember the word wedding coming into play. I’m guessing it’s…mine? The wedding? The...” I gesture toward the dress. “The dress?”

The impending sense of doom?

She whistles. “Yeah, honey.” She waves her hand at the dress and then gestures to a pile of accessories neatly lined up beside it that I didn’t notice before. Shoes, a small satin bag, a gauzy veil. “My brothers can do a lot of not-so-nice things, but this is pretty low. Wow. Alright then. We still have to get you ready." Rubbing her hands together, she blows out a breath.

I should’ve known this. I should’ve pieced it all together. He’d said I’d be punished, that I belonged to him now. How else would I belong to him?

Marriage to a cold, heartless criminal? I remember how he touched me in the shower, detached and cold, as if I were his…property.

Property.

Polina looks from me to the dress and back again. "At least I have to say I did pick one that’s going to look gorgeous on you."

"You bought that?"

“I did good, huh?” she says with a twinkle in her eye. “I’m really good at things like this. Explaining why my brothers do what they do? That, I’m not so good at.”

“But can you tell me what’s happening? Where am I?” I open my mouth to ask her more but can’t bring myself to do so. What happens after we’re married?

There’s a commotion outside the door. Voices rise and fall.

Uh oh.

Mikhail is back, and he’s furious.

Polina seems to realize this the same time I do.

“Hold your ground,” she hisses, just as the door opens. “He isn’t as scary as you think.”

Oh, really?

“Out, Mikhail!” She shouts. “Do not come in here. It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony."

He storms into the room, ignoring her.

"Who the fuck told you, you had a right to come in here?” His voice is a growl. I notice he’s lost the towel and has changed into a tux.

This is happening. We’re doing this. We’re going to get married.

“I asked you a question,” he growls at his sister.

“I did!” I stand between him and his sister. If I’m going to get married to this beast of a man, the least I can do is use that to my advantage. “I need a woman to help me get ready for this wedding, which, I’ll have you know, I didn’t even know was happening!”

He turns the full heat of his gaze on me, and I have to concentrate hard not to wither under his glare.

Instead of responding to me, he turns back to Polina. "I specifically told you not to come near my captive. You were told not to talk to her."

She stands her ground, her hands on her hips. “She needed help and you were nowhere to be found. Do you really want to get married with her wearing a robe?”

He responds with another growl.

“And by the way,” I say, asserting myself in an attempt to keep him on his toes. “When were you going to tell me about this wedding? On our honeymoon?”

"Very cute you think you’re getting a honeymoon."

“Like I want a honeymoon with you,” I mutter. Polina stifles a snort.

“Watch it, Aria,” he says in a warning tone. “You think I won’t pull you over my knee in front of anyone? Try me.”

I look away, my cheeks flaming.

“You are going to spend the rest of your life with this woman, Mikhail,” Polina says candidly. “I suggest you treat her nicely. You know literally nothing about makeup and bronzer and highlighter, you have no idea how to style her hair, and correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t it you who told me there’ll be photos we’ll have to publicize? It would behoove you to prepare her.”

"I’ll help her."

"You will not see your bride before the wedding, Mikhail! It’s bad luck.”

One of the guards stands tentatively in the doorway, another hovering at his shoulder. “Boss, I’m sorry, there’s a situation.”

Mikhail shoves me behind him. Shit. I forgot I’m still wearing a robe.

“Get the fuck out. If you look at her, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Polina’s widened eyes tell me this is no bluff.

They scurry out of the room like terrified mice. Mikhail blows out a breath and turns to Polina. He says something in Russian that makes Polina flinch before he speaks again in English. "You help her get ready. But this is not over. There are consequences for disobedience, and you know it."

He leaves, the scent of sandalwood and pine lingering in his wake. When the door shuts, she sticks her tongue out at it. Despite my pounding heart and shaky nerves, it makes me smile.

"I wish I could say he was all bluster, but he’s not.” With a sigh, she shakes her head. “He actually is quite terrifying. He’s lucky I love him.”

“What did he say to you just now?”

“Oh, it was just a string of curse words and promises to exile me to Siberia if I interfere. It’s fine, we’re good.”

Definitely not soothing my nerves.

“Are you in…trouble?”

I’m confused about these family dynamics, but I do know one thing: Mikhail is the one in charge of damn near everyone.

She rolls her eyes, but I can tell it’s only forced bravado. A part of her is scared.

“What will he do?”

“Oh, to me?” She reaches for the dress, her back to me, and waves her hand in the air. “Don’t worry about me.”

I do, though. I feel somehow responsible.

She quickly changes the subject. “Listen, I don’t know why you’re getting married, but I know why Mikhail is. You’re going to find this out soon enough. If he doesn’t get married, my entire family is fucked. That’s the short story. You’re getting married today. He’s all strung up and on high alert because there are people who very much want to prevent this from happening. You are in danger. That’s why you have like basically an entire squad of bodyguards outside the door. The last women he⁠—”

She suddenly thinks better of telling me this and shakes her head. “Never mind. We have to get you ready.”

“I see.”

Quirking a brow at me she tips her head to the side. “What did you do?”

I give her a wry smile. “I came to them for help and protection and just sort of…maybe hacked a bit into their database and, uh…maybe breached a little security.”

She turns to face me, a trace of a smile on her lips. “Wow. Seriously? That’s the most badass thing I’ve ever heard in my life. But didn’t anyone warn you what you were dealing with?”

Maybe?

“Girl, I could tell you stories...” She shakes her head. “There’s something he likes about you, which is the only reason you’re getting off easy.”

I stare at her as if she’s speaking a foreign language before I respond. “Listen, Polina, first, I hope to God he likes me because we’re getting married. And in what universe is getting married to a man like him getting off easy?”

Obviously, they live in a world that operates within a much different set of rules than I do.

“Aria, they let you live,” she says finally. “I know, you’re obviously normal and not related to a bunch of psychopaths, and this is all hard to understand. But I’m so excited. I knew you were brilliant. You and I are going to be very good friends. You’ll see. Now, let’s get you ready. He’ll probably be back here in like two minutes breaking the damn door down.” She rolls her eyes but doesn’t completely cover up her fear.

In a whirlwind that makes my head spin, I lose the robe and don the most luxurious undergarments known to humanity. She tones and moisturizes and primes my face, helps me into my dress, then applies makeup with expertise. I let her take the lead since I’m sort of in a state of shock and she knows what she’s doing.

“Wow,” I whisper, staring at my reflection. “You’re a genius.”

“Makes two of us,” she says with pride. “Oh, you look amazing. If my brother doesn’t swoon for you, I’ll marry you myself.”

“Now wouldn’t that be a plot twist,” I murmur. But I’m staring at myself in the mirror. I turn my head to the side, the logical side of my brain trying to make sense of the fact that this woman in the mirror is…me.

My almond-shaped eyes look mysterious without the shade of glasses, the deep brown almost black. My high cheekbones are tinged with pink, my lips a glossy rose. My long, jet-black hair flows past my shoulders with none of the frizz I’ve grown accustomed to.

“They say you can’t buy beauty in a bottle, but…” I murmur.

Polina snickers. “Girl, you can’t. You can enhance it, though. No wonder he got one look at you and made his move.”

My heart beats faster. I feel as if I’m an actor in a play, and I’m not sure what the next act is going to bring.

A fist pounds the door so hard we both jump.

“Time to go.”

“We’re not ready!” Polina says, even though we totally are. Apparently, she doesn’t like being told what to do. That makes two of us.

I give her a ghost of a smile, because I’m not sure that isn’t Mikhail, and if it is…

“You have three minutes or I’m coming in and taking both of you out of there myself.”

“That was Mikhail,” she says. "Something happened. Let’s finish getting ready. I was going to style your hair, but it’s gorgeous down. We’ll leave it down. Dear God, you really are stunning.”

That actually makes me laugh. It feels good to laugh. "How do you survive with all this testosterone?”

"Well, it’s a little bit of a secret. I might be Mikhail’s favorite.” She leans in. “Though something tells me you’ll be top of his list.”

I open my mouth to protest. He hates me. And I’m not even sure I want him to like me. But she leans in and kisses my cheek. “I can’t believe I’m going to have a sister,” she whispers. For one brief moment, I don’t regret hacking into the Romanovs’ databases.

The door opens and Prince Charming himself storms in. Polina groans. “For an otherwise superstitious people, it’s shocking to me that you don’t seem to believe in bad luck.”

“What I believe in is Volkov’s revenge,” Mikhail says in a tight voice.

He takes me by the hand and suddenly seems glued in position.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“There’s nothing wrong,” he says. “You look…beautiful.”

“Mikhail! You can’t look at her right now! I know, I know, you don’t trust anybody else to protect her. Guess what, we have an entire army of men ready to kill anybody that threatens her. Okay?”

I needed protection. Holy shit, I got protection.

It feels like forever that I’ve lived day by day for survival, letting go of anything and everything that had meaning for me. Here, I have a chance to start over. I can go into this kicking and screaming. Or I can put a smile on my face and make the best of it.

I’m safe for now. For the first time in my life, I actually feel like I can breathe.

“After the ceremony, I’ll touch up your makeup for the pictures.”

“Pictures?” I feel myself blanche. What will happen when my face is shown far and wide as the bride of Mikhail Romanov?

Polina goes on. “Mikhail is going to have to prove that he’s married. The pictures will go literally everywhere. We haven’t had a marriage in our family since my parents’."

“Polina,” he says in a warning voice.

How strange. Don’t they have siblings or cousins or something?

“And if I don’t want my picture published?”

Maybe I do? Do I?

“Don’t worry, little hacker,” Mikhail says in a low voice. “I’ve got it under control.”

Does he even know what worries me, though?

The last time I was outside of this room was before I was carried into the house, drugged and nearly naked and completely passed out. So I definitely don’t remember the sweeping staircases, the elegant flower arrangements on every table, or the lingering scent of vanilla in the air.

We’re on the second floor of what appears to be a huge house. I want to explore this house and see it with my own eyes. When I was a little girl, my mom had an extended family that was rich. We used to have holidays at their house, until there was some kind of falling out about money or something.

Oh, I loved that house. I’d never seen anything like it before. A sweeping garden out front, a three-season porch, a formal dining room, and an eat-in kitchen where the fridge made ice cubes and their stove had six burners. There was a large pantry filled with all sorts of snacks that I was allowed to eat, as much as I wanted, a study near the living room, and a finished basement downstairs.

Some of my fondest memories are of exploring that house, pretending that I was a princess and I lived in a mansion.

The touch of nostalgia hits me now. This house is much more modern than the one that I remember from my childhood, but there are nooks and crannies, carpeted rooms and hardwood floors, ceilings that reach to the heavens, and so much warm, bright light.

I walk down the stairs, and even though I’m not here of my own accord, even though I know this is part of a political act, a move that will advance Mikhail or whatever it is they do in their world…I kind of like feeling like a princess.

At the foot of the stairs, there’s a sprawling living room with a large, wraparound sofa in navy and a modern fireplace.

There’s a priest and only a small handful of people here. Polina sits beside an older, regal woman with silvery hair. Is that her mother?

Music plays, but the tension in the room is palpable. So tense, I feel the tension in my own body, and I find I’m practically holding my breath.

Outside this window, I catch a glimpse of the Manhattan skyline. Yes, we’re still in The Cove, nestled between Coney Island and Manhattan. His eyes follow mine, and he drags me across the room, planting us in front of the priest. No one speaks.

"Begin the fucking ceremony," he growls to the priest.

Wow. So he just went there. No respect for the cloth?

I hear the sound of a thump and a cry. I stifle a gasp, but no one moves. Another thump and another, followed by a muffled scream.

Someone…someone’s getting beaten out there. Maybe even killed. I glance out the window and see not one but three men on the ground outside the window, about twenty feet from where we stand in the living room. Blood pools on the concrete. I stare, stricken.

Oh my God.

“Aria.” Mikhail’s voice snaps like a whip. I look back at him. “Keep your eyes on me.”

I swallow, my heart pounding in my throat, but I do what he says. My adrenaline pulses so hard I feel dizzy. I stare into the depths of his dark brown eyes beneath slashes of angry brows. I stare at his eyes on me, unwavering, as he stands over me and reaches for both of my hands. “Nothing else matters,” he says in a low voice. “Nothing but keeping your gaze on me.”

I’m not going to be able to take these vows if I see people being murdered right outside. Polina told me what was at stake — if we get married, their enemies will revolt.

Even the priest’s hands shake as he goes about the ceremony. I stumble through my vows. I’ve never been to an Orthodox wedding, but this one is definitely an abbreviated form.

“Are you here freely of your own accord?"

Mikhail narrows his eyes. “That’s not part of the ceremony and you know it.”

The priest holds my gaze.

He’s trying to save me. He knows exactly who these men are and the chances of me being forced to do exactly what I’m doing.

The truth is, I could probably walk…and then deal with the aftermath of my choice.

Yes, I’m being forced to marry Mikhail, but do I truly have another choice?

"Yes,” I say in a breathy whisper and for a moment, it doesn’t quite feel like a lie.

Mikhail goes quickly through the vows, likely meaning them as much as I do, until we both get to “I do.” I half expect the priest to say that he may kiss the bride, but Mikhail doesn’t wait.

Right outside the window— as in right there, I hear a sharp cry and thud as Mikhail leans in to me. I can hardly process that he’s going to kiss me, right while someone’s being maybe murdered right outside this window. He presses me to him, one arm wrapped around me so tightly I can’t move. He yanks me closer with his right arm and with his left, drags me to his chest, effectively drowning out the rest of the world. Then tips my face, bends down, and claims my mouth.

My knees wobble from the intensity of the kiss. I feel vulnerable, as if he can feel the beating of my heart when we’re connected like this. I feel windswept, bared to him, unable to think beyond the feel of his lips on mine.

When he turns us around to face everyone, my hand fisted in his with triumph, I’m suddenly aware of all the photographers. Flashes blind me, seemingly coming from all directions. I’m trying to smile, but it feels forced, of course. I look at the cameras and remember what Polina told me. These pictures will be posted everywhere.

In my peripheral vision, I see two men in handcuffs right outside the door, another bloodied, and another one on the ground unconscious. Dead? Alive? And still, the cameras flash, a reminder that what you see in a photograph is only a very small part of the whole picture. The priest is behind us, wiping his sweaty brow when I turn to look at him.

Outside the huge plate glass window, it looks like a battle scene. Weapons are drawn, there’s still one man prostrate on the ground, his leg twisted at an odd angle. Another man holds someone still fighting, and while I watch, he slumps to the ground as well, choked out.

Whoever his enemies are, he has many, and they are vicious.

Mikhail leans in close. “Are you alright?”

I blink. I look up at him, and then comically look over my shoulder, wondering who he’s talking to.

“Aria,” he says sternly. “I asked if you’re alright?”

I shake my head. “It’s all a little much. But yes, I’m fine.”

“I know.” He reaches for my hand and gives it a little squeeze. Why is he being…nice to me now? Is he? He’s been downright mean and borderline abusive, but now…

Leaning forward, he whispers, “You do not leave my side today. If something unnerves you, gesture. Tell me. You’re mine now. We’ve made this legal and defeated Volkov.”

I don’t know what it means, but I can tell that something’s shifted in him.

He keeps saying things like…You’re mine.

"We’re heading out for the reception. I do not want Volkov to think I’m bowing to him or hiding. It’s just my family, nothing big. The most important part is behind us.”

I barely know where I am, or who he is, so I’m totally fine not traveling to some exotic location with this man that I hardly know.

"Why were there people who tried to attack us? I don’t understand.”

"I’ll explain everything later. For now, we’re eating dinner with my family. I know you may not have an appetite right now, but it’s considered rude for the bride not to eat on her wedding day, so do the best you can.”

Who is this man and what has he done with the grumpy caricature? Is it just the relief he feels having defeated Volkov? Or is it something more?

After a short drive, we arrive at the restaurant. He pulls a chair out for me at a table, and I sit down. "I feel like I need a bib or something,” I mutter to myself, looking down at my pristine white wedding gown. I don’t want to splatter food on it.

"You’re fine. I’ll send it to the cleaners. Eat if you’re hungry."

I look to see armed men, not even bothering to hide their weapons, standing at each entrance to the restaurant.

“Welcome, Aria.”

Beside me sits a man a bit older than Mikhail, well-groomed and intelligent looking with graying hair and glasses. He has gray in his beard and keen blue eyes. Like the others, he’s fit and healthy.

“Aria, meet Kolya, an old family friend.”

“Old? Touché, Mikhail.” He shakes his head and lifts a glass. “To the new couple! To the new era of the Romanov family.” There’s a solemn feel at the table, in the room, like we’ve just come to the end of a battle.

This is my exchange for protection and safety?

How naïve and foolish I’ve been, thinking that they only wanted my skills. They wanted much, much more than that.

The new era for the Romanov family.

That will involve…babies.

Of course. I mean, did I really expect I’d be married to him and not have his babies?

Everybody clinks their glasses solemnly.

“My mother, Ekaterina, and of course you already know Polina.” Ekaterina’s a timeless beauty with silver hair gracefully swept into an elegant up-do. Even her eyes are a steely shade of gray, reflecting strong, yet graceful features. She sits ramrod straight but gives me a warm smile.

"Welcome to the family."

There’s something about her that tells me this woman has experienced deep, abiding pain. How could she not have? Was she married like me, against her will? How did her husband treat her?

“These are my brothers.” Mikhail continues the introductions. “Lev, the youngest.” A quiet, unassuming, very attractive guy some years younger than Mikhail nods his head and raises a glass. His eyes are sharp and though he’s seated, I can tell he’s got an athletic build. Short, dark hair like Mikhail’s and deep blue eyes.

“Nikko.” An enormous man, heavily tattooed with a rugged, primal appeal to him, who appears to carry weapons. His large frame and menacing scowl make me want to hide.

“Ollie.” Ollie sits tall. Startlingly handsome with a beard and piercing green eyes, he exudes a rugged disinterest. His leather-clad appearance makes him look fully the part of the bad boy.

“Viktor.”

A hulking, muscular man with a shaved head and a scar running down one cheek who appears to favor black leather jackets.  A hulking, heavily tattooed man, also with a rugged charm. His strong, scarred features and imposing physique exude a magnetic appeal.

“And you’ve met Aleks.”

Aleks glares at me but looks away when Mikhail gives him a look.

Oh, right. I circumvented his shitty cybersecurity. Aleks maybe doesn’t like me.

“Now that introductions are over, let’s eat, Mikhail,” Ekaterina says. She gives me a smile. “My first son to get married won’t rob me of our family traditions. We’ll eat our traditional foods, son.”

It’s a midday meal, but still, waitstaff enter with a variety of finger foods and appetizers, pickled vegetables and dumplings. There’s caviar and salad, stuffed savory patties they call “shashlik,” and a creamy stroganoff served over thick noodles and roasted greens. I eat, but my appetite’s waning after all the festivities. My head is pounding and I want a nap.

“Are you alright?” Mikhail asks, concern etched in his brow. I’m almost touched he actually cares.

“Just a headache,” I whisper back. How much longer do I have to perform? Even though there’s only a small crowd here, I’m putting on a show and socialization is so not my thing.

“We’ll leave after dessert.”

It’s honestly refreshing that he doesn’t care about being polite. I never did like having to follow social conventions. It’s so fake.

Like this marriage?

And yet…what will happen when I’m back home with him? What’s next? How exactly will we…begin the next era for the Romanovs?