Chapter 19

RAFAIL

Polina Romanova.

I watch my wife retreat.

I watch her hear me, listen to the words I whisper to her without responding. Something’s changed. I can’t counteract the growing doubt she seems to feel as her memories begin to surface.

We’re at a pivotal moment, and I don’t know how to stop this from happening. The more she remembers, the more I feel like I need to anchor her to me so she doesn’t leave.

It unsettles me. It’s then that I realize my feelings for her have put me in a place I fucking promised myself I would never be.

Vulnerable.

Weak.

At the mercy of someone else.

I clench my fist and shake my head. No, I promised myself I wouldn’t do this, and yet here I am, as vulnerable as I was the day she jilted me at the altar.

No. I won’t let it happen.

She’s mine, my bride, my wife… my everything. And I’ll do everything in my power to keep her safe. Everything.

No matter the cost.

I know I should reassure her. I should maybe convince her that everything’s as it should be, that nothing in our past is afoul. But the more I think about her growing doubt… the more my fear of being dangerously vulnerable surfaces.

“Rafail?” Anissa asks, her hand on my shoulder. And just like every time she touches me that way, my anger melts like snow under the blazing sun. I breathe more deeply. I feel… lighter.

I kiss her fingertips. “Yes?”

Her baby-blue eyes bore into mine with concern as she cups my jaw. “I think we’re both confused,” she says softly. She swallows hard before she continues. “Let’s make a pact.”

I nod, a lump rising in my throat. I didn’t know I could love anyone as much as I love my family.

I was wrong.

This woman has swept into my life—no, I forced her into my life and by my side—and yet, here she is, fitting in with the rest of us as naturally as could be. She belongs here. She is one of us.

“What’s that?” I ask, my voice strangely husky.

“We won’t talk about the past today. Not with your family at dinner. We talk about the future, but let’s make a pact that we don’t drag up the past.” She laughs, and something in my chest loosens a little. I love the sound of her laugh. I love everything about her. “Not that you can rely on my memory of the past anyway.”

I haven’t cried since the night my parents died, and even then, not until I held the small, sobbing frame of my baby sister in my arms—mourning the loss of her parents—to bring me to tears. But now… Christ, I’m two blinks away from losing my shit.

I kiss her forehead softly and hold her to me.

“Yeah. Alright, then. Agreed. It’s a pact.”

She lays her head on my chest as we approach the shops. Suddenly, I don’t want to be here with her, not out in the open. Every instinct inside me’s telling me this is the wrong thing to do.

I should run.

“We should go home,” I tell her. “We aren’t safe here.”

Her eyes twinkle mischievously. “Your aunt is at the house. We’re not safe there either.”

I playfully tug a lock of her hair as she leans in to kiss my cheek. “I feel safe with you,” she says simply.

And that’s all the convincing I need.

Even as my mind is occupied with thoughts about what could happen when she discovers the truth of our union… I can’t help it.

I spoil the shit out of her.

First, we head to the dress shop. She winks at me as she tries on dress after dress. I choose a selection of different styles—some elegant ones for dinners with the family and more seductive ones for dinner with me. “These are gorgeous,” she says, running her hand down the length of a few of them. I bought out the fucking dressing room so I could have her alone. “You seem to like the ones with slits.”

I shrug a shoulder and wink. I love the way it makes her blush because she knows exactly why I chose them.

Next, the jewelry store. “Your aunt will have a conniption,” she says with a giggle.

I growl at her. “My aunt can go fuck herself.”

“ Rafail ,” she says half-reproachfully as she laughs out loud. “You’re always telling me to behave.”

I shrug. “It’s good advice. Now get your ass in that store. I have money burning a hole in my pocket.”

She grins at me and walks in with her head held high. That’s my girl. She walks with the elegance of a queen. Royalty.

Because she is.

“I don’t even know where to begin in a place like this,” she says, tucking herself under my arm almost bashfully. She stares at the enameled jewelry, some of Moscow’s most famous. They’re vibrant and expressive, and Yana assures me that they are the most sought-after jewelry in Moscow. Looks like miniature pieces of artwork to me, which suits me just fine because I’d like to see my wife wearing something unique.

“May I help you?” A petite young woman with light brown hair gives me a winning smile, looking right past Anissa.

“Yes, I’d like to pick out a signature set for my wife.”

Her face falls. Jesus. I can tell Anissa notices the saleswoman’s chagrin when her eyes narrow. I tug a lock of her hair to remind her to behave.

“Your wife?” she asks, giving Anissa a not-too-subtle once-over. “What’s the occasion?”

“For behaving herself and being a good girl for me,” I answer, meeting Anissa’s eyes.

Her cheeks flush, but the brightness in her eyes tells me she likes that answer. Unfortunately, so does the sales girl. She giggles like a little girl and goes to the back of the room, bringing out a case that locks with a key. I lean in and whisper in her ear, “ Ya dam tebe nagradu za to, chto ty vela sebya khorosho .”

I’ll give you a reward for behaving so well.

“Then, in this case, perhaps something from our regal collection. We call these pieces our regal collection because they’re befitting a queen.” But she’s still looking at me.

She opens the case with a flourish. Anissa gasps. “Those are gorgeous,” she breathes out, taking in the intricate works of art. “You say they’re enamel?”

“Mmm,” the salesperson says with a frown. “But wouldn’t you know? You’ve been here before.”

Anissa flushes. “I’m sorry, I don’t—I don’t remember,” she stammers.

“But it was only last week. You were with another man,” she says, her head tipped to the side. “Does that trigger your memory?”

Rage tears through me. “That’s impossible,” I seethe, glaring at her. “We were married last week.” I turn Anissa away from the counter. “We’re all set, thank you.”

“But sir!” she calls after us, but we’re halfway out the door.

I’m breathing too heavily. Anissa’s holding onto my arm but hobbling because she can’t walk straight. Wordlessly, I lead us down the street. I don’t even know where I’m going.

“It’s alright,” she says softly after we’ve walked a block. “Really, Rafail. Remember what I said. It’ll turn right in the end.”

I blow out a breath. “I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “You deserved one of those gorgeous pieces.”

She laughs and waves a hand at me. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter, not really. They were gorgeous, but she wanted to sink her claws into you, so I’m happy she missed that sale. Too bad,” she says with a petty little upturn of her chin. “Could’ve made good commission on that and maybe invested in some etiquette school. God, what is it like?”

I give her my elbow and slow my walk before I open the door to a coffee shop and hold it for her.

She shakes her head. “Looking so much like a god that people treat you like one.”

I roll my eyes at her. “Exaggerating doesn’t become you, Anissa.”

Her giggle is worth the whole damn trip into town.

I order us coffees and pour cream into hers and take the paper bag over to where she sits, waiting, her hands folded in her lap with a look of unadulterated bliss on her face.

Jesus, I wish I could keep her there. Right there, unperturbed and at ease, without a care in the world.

“You got me a cupcake,” she says, clapping her hands together.

“Of course. You told Zoya they looked delicious when you saw it on that cooking show the other night.”

Her eyes twinkle as she takes a large bite, painting her upper lip with icing and licking the crumbs from her lips. “I didn’t think you were paying attention. You were too busy lecturing Rodion on not ignoring your curfew rules.”

I grunt and take a sip of my coffee. “I still paid attention. I’m so used to lecturing him on my curfew rules I can multi-task at this point.”

She snorts. “He really does push your buttons.”

I shrug. “More when he was younger. He does a lot better now.”

We lean back in our chairs. “You’ve done a good job, you know. I don’t know if anyone’s told you that often enough, Rafail. You’re hard on them but protective, and I don’t know how anyone would’ve handled what you did better. They’re close. Resilient.”

My chest tightens. She’s right. No one’s told me that at all.

“Thank you. But it’s far from over.” I sip my coffee thoughtfully.

Anissa’s eyes grow a little misty as she sips her mug in turn. “And that feels familiar too. What doesn’t feel familiar is knowing who I’m meeting tonight. You’ve got your Aunt Irma and Uncle Eduard, who, unfortunately, I know all too well…”

I nod. “The six of us. Vadka, who you’ve met. My cousin Gleb and his brother Matvei.”

“Are they Eduard and Irma’s boys?”

“Mmm.”

Anissa frowns. “Your grandfather?”

I nod. “My grandfather, yes. Maybe a few other cousins.”

“Good. I love your grandfather, even if he wipes the floor with me every time we play chess, and one day, I will convince him there’s more to the world of music than Tchaikovsky and Prokofiev. One day, I’ll introduce him to composers who aren’t Russian—and he might even like it.” Her eyes twinkle before she sighs. “There’s so much to remember,” she says. “How will I keep track?”

I lean forward and squeeze her hand. “As long as you remember what’s most important, baby.”

She winks at me as I settle the tab, oblivious, her back turned to the door. It's always my way—situated to see everything, to make sure nothing slips by me.

But then the door opens, and every alarm bell in me clangs. I sit as still as possible and watch.

Three men. I recognize them from somewhere, though I can’t quite place it. The first is tall and stern, his skin golden, his light brown hair slicked back with military precision. The second is a shadow to his light—dressed the same but even taller, with dark hair and a sharpness in his gaze that cuts straight to me. And the third, looming behind them like a storm, is all muscle, so massive he nearly fills the entire doorway.

Everything in me tenses. They’re not here by accident.

I don’t know who they are. I’ve never seen them before in my life. But for some reason, every instinct in me tells me to hide Anissa because other patrons in this place know exactly who they are. They give the trio a wide berth, and as the men approach the counter, the owner comes to the front, wiping his hands on a tea towel.

“Let’s go,” I tell Anissa, leading her to the door. I open it for her, my heart beating faster. I can’t understand what the fuck is going on, but every hair on the back of my neck stands up as one of the men growls something in Russian to the owner.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t worked the counter. I haven’t seen anyone who looks like that. Have you?” In my peripheral vision, I see the barista scrutinizing a cell phone the man holds up, presumably with a picture on it.

“I… wasn’t she just here?”

The door shuts behind us.