Chapter 39

CHAPTER 39

VIVIAN

I t was a wedding dress.

A freaking wedding dress.

No, not one.

Several.

I pushed the hangers along the brass porter rack.

There was something especially twisted about forcing me to choose my own wedding gown. As if I were choosing to get married.

As if I were choosing Var as my husband.

How had agreeing to paint a few lousy, knock-off Mona Lisas fucked up my life so quickly and so spectacularly badly?

Married was forever.

A life sentence.

Even if I'd been caught by the Feds for the forgery, the most I would have gotten was maybe five years.

My gaze traveled to the landline by the bed.

Was it too late to call the police? The FBI? The national guard?

I sighed, already knowing the answer was yes. I'd seen enough of Var's far-reaching influence not to trust any of those organizations.

I wandered into the attached bathroom. My makeup and hair dryer and hot rollers had been moved in there. It was almost creepy how quietly efficient the Four Monks' staff were.

With a resigned sigh, I sat on the plush vanity stool before the mirror and pulled the towel off my head. My scalp burned as I yanked the brush through the wet tangles a little too vigorously. I dried my hair as I stared at my reflection, lost in thought.

By the time my hair was dry, I still didn't have a plan on how to get out of this mess.

Selecting a section of hair, I rolled a heated roller and pinned it in place. As if on autopilot, I methodically put all the rollers into my hair.

Still no plan.

Opening the large professional makeup case, I spread the trays wide and selected a cream stick foundation and my concealer. As I applied my makeup, I continued to run through the different scenarios in my head.

After selecting my favorite Lanc?me pencil liner, I leaned forward and carefully ran it along my eye's waterline. I then selected a matching Lanc?me black eyeliner and traced my eye, making the usual thin line wider with more drama.

Brushing some translucent powder under my eyes to help get rid of any traces of eyeshadow, I added a bit more bronzer to under my cheekbones. Then a brighter pink blush with some iridescent flakes to the top of my cheeks to counteract the slightly pale and sallow look my skin had taken after my health scare.

Still no plan.

I lined my lips with crimson, then kissed a tissue and touched up the lip liner. Then, selecting my favorite Chanel color, I filled my lips in with a matte, classic red.

Taking out the rollers, I fluffed my hair and studied my reflection.

I looked more beautiful than the bastard deserved, considering the circumstances.

There was a soft knock on the bathroom door.

I pulled the robe up more securely over my shoulders. "Yes?"

It never even crossed my mind it might be Var.

That man didn't know how to knock.

A woman dressed all in black with the Four Monks gold insignia on her blouse entered, carrying an ornate silver tray. She placed it on the bathroom counter to my right.

"Var thought you might like some coffee."

Hiding my annoyance at not only his thoughtfulness, but insight, since that was precisely what I wanted at that moment, I nodded. "Yes, thank you. That would be lovely."

If it had been Var, I would have tossed the tray, but I would never impose on a staff member with such antics.

She smiled. "I'll pour."

"Oh, you don't have to."

"It would be my pleasure."

She lifted the heavy silver urn, and the bathroom filled with the enticing aroma of a dark French roast as she poured the coffee into a delicate porcelain cup with a gold rim and the gold Four Monks logo.

She lifted the cream pitcher.

I nodded again. "Just a dollop."

She then lifted the lid off the sugar caddy. Inside were cute little sugar cubes. It was a silly thing, but seeing the cubes and not packets made this all seem even more luxurious than it already was.

Damn the man.

I could definitely get used to this kind of life.

She lifted the cup by the saucer and handed it to me with an expectant look.

Knowing what was expected of me, I took a sip and smiled, showing her my pleasure.

"I'll leave the tray and come to collect it later." Then, with a quick curtsey… a freaking curtsey… she turned to leave.

With a gasp, she turned back to me and reached into her long, black apron pocket. "How terrible of me! I can't believe I almost forgot!"

She pulled out a red and gold Cartier jewelry box and set it on the marble counter next to me and left.

Don't open it.

Don't open it.

Don't open it.

Of course, I freaking opened it.

Sonofabitch.

It was gorgeous.

My fingertip ran along the stunning vintage Cartier diamond necklace. With the geometric interlocking chain pattern and the three massive emerald-cut diamond pendants, it gave off a 1930s Art Deco vibe. I was fairly certain Reese Witherspoon had worn something similar to the SAG awards a few years back.

With extreme care, as if I were handling a baby bird, I raised the necklace from its bed of red velvet and held it up to my neck.

Dammit.

With my pale skin, black hair, and red lips, it was like this necklace was made for me.

I stared down at the cool diamonds as they rested against my palm. There wouldn't be any harm in trying it on. Or even wearing it for a bit. It wasn't like I was truly keeping the gift… just borrowing it.

My mind went back to my haughty declaration at brunch that I couldn't be bought.

If Var kept it up, he was going to make me eat my words.

It wasn't something I was particularly thrilled to recognize in myself, but if I were truly honest, I wasn't exactly not thrilled, either.

I knew this was all bad for me, but it wasn't like the man was tempting me with half a pack of cigarettes and a bacon sandwich. These were diamonds! Really big ass diamonds.

Not to mention having a small army of staff at my fingertips and an expense account at probably all of the best stores in Chicago.

It was just soooo tempting.

Especially when it was all coming from a hot-as-hell, domineering, borderline feral man who had godlike skills in the bedroom.

I mean… a girl could do worse.

He was also funny, intelligent, and thoughtful in his way. He might act like a bull in a china shop at times, but it was hard to find fault with a man who moved mountains to get me to the hospital in time, arranged for a private room, and then paid the whole bill.

I'd also never had so much fun with a man in my life.

It was so rare to find a man who could match me in an argument.

There was no denying that Var was up to the task to go toe-to-toe. I had to admit, on more than one occasion, I'd been disappointed by an ex-boyfriend who simply couldn't hold his own against me.

It wasn't terribly feminist of me, but there was just something about a man who was stronger, more powerful, and at times more stubborn. A man who didn't take no for an answer and didn't shy away from taking what he wanted.

The way he liked to push me against a wall and kiss me senseless was fast becoming my favorite drug.

I was in my late twenties. It wasn't like I didn't know what kind of men were out there in the shallow dating pool. My choices were dwindling to either Grabby Hands from the club or Boring Bob.

It was getting exhausting and frankly demoralizing to play Bonnie Tyler's "Holding Out for A Hero" at full volume before I got ready to go out to a bar or on a date, only to be disappointed with the selection of males on offer.

There was something more than a little enthralling about being with the type of man I could envision running through a fire for me.

And without any doubt, Var was a streetwise god with a filthy mouth.

The man was almost always fresh from some fight.

Fuck…. the man was literally a Mongolian Russian who owned a horse farm, who was trying to protect me from a bunch of angry rival mafia syndicates.

I leaned my head on my hands as I stared at my reflection in the mirror.

Crap.

Var was quite literally my white knight on a fiery steed .

This type of thinking was dangerous.

I was supposed to be coming up with an escape plan.

Not talking myself into marrying the dangerous Russian Mafia boss I only met a week ago.

I swiped my hand over the counter, sending several makeup items skittering across the smooth surface before rising. Stomping out of the room, I put on the white lace corset and matching panties before moving over to the rack.

Not wanting to choose something too perfect for me, since that would imply I'd chosen my perfect wedding gown for the occasion, I selected a simple Vera Wang. It wasn't like I had a choice. There were no other clothes in the room.

Just as I was reaching behind me to zip it up, Var walked into the room.

Without knocking.

His warm hands covered mine. "Let me."

I bit my lip to keep from reacting to his knuckles caressing my spine as he zipped the dress up.

Turning my head slightly, I asked over my shoulder, "Isn't it supposed to be bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?"

He leaned down and kissed my bare shoulder. "Since you just called me the groom and acknowledged our wedding, I'll take it as a good luck sign."

I turned to face him. "Don't get too cocky. I have every intention of shouting at the top of my lungs ‘ I do not' the moment I'm asked."

He offered his arm. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you, krasivaya."

As we exited the room, he reached over and touched the diamond necklace. "I'm glad you approve."

My hand went to my neck. Dammit. I'd forgotten to take it off. "It means nothing."

"It means everything."

We slowly walked down the long penthouse hallway. At the end, backlit in front of the massive living room windows, I could see a man in a judge's robe.

Holy shit.

This was real.

Like real real.

The corset tightened around my ribcage as I struggled to take a deep breath. My cheeks burned as panic washed over me in a wave.

Then I saw it.

On the entryway table just ahead of us.

The holster with Var's gun.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at Var.

He was so tall and handsome and confident… and arrogant and cocksure of his control over me.

Without thinking it through, I lunged for the gun.

Tearing it out of its holster, I pointed it at Var.