by Bella King
I don’t know why I still struggle with love. I’ve already been burnt by its flames once before, and that fire would be a thousand times hotter with all that’s at stake now. I can’t dance around the flames like some kind of reckless idiot. I’m better than that.
As the car rolls up to the first checkpoint outside of the Lauder estate, I smooth out my shirt and ensure that I’m as presentable as I can be. I’m going to enjoy a nice dinner with Cora. This will be the first casual outing I’ve had in a long time.
Chapter Seven
Cora
His eyes sweep me as I enter the car beside him, lingering at my deep neckline. I’m not wearing a bra, and I’m sure it’s apparent by how much of my breasts he can see. Maybe I should’ve worn something more modest. I’m starting to have second thoughts about this whole dinner date thing already.
“You look stunning, as usual,” Viktor says in his silky deep voice that I’ve already grown to enjoy. I like the way his vowels slur together from his thick accent.
“Thank you,” I say, a smile coming over my face. “You look nice too.”
Viktor nods at me, giving me a smile as though he has to force one out. I suspect he’s trying to look less serious than he usually is, but maybe he’s just nervous. I know I certainly am. This is already quite the adventure, and I’m not even off the estate property yet. Just being in a regular-looking car is making me giddy.
“You like whiskey, don’t you?” I ask, trying to make conversation. Viktor doesn’t know it, but I’m actually well-versed in my whiskey. I may be sheltered, but there’s enough whiskey at the house to get the whole of Ireland drunk. I’ve had my fair share of it.
He nods. “It’s my favorite drink, besides water.”
I laugh. “The drink of the gods, certainly. I have to drink water or else I’ll get headaches easily. I like whiskey too.”
He’s surprised, his thick eyebrows rising on his forehead at my words. “Is that so?”
I can tell that he doesn’t fully believe me. “You don’t have to take my word for it,” I say. “You can buy me a glass of your favorite, and I’ll tell you if you have the taste buds of a novice or if you know what you’re drinking.”
Viktor smirks, looking more natural once I get the banter going. He’s relaxing around me already, and I’ll be able to see his true colors after a few drinks. Maybe I’m not as innocent as people always seem to think I am.
Viktor straightens his back confidently and places a large palm on my bare thigh. “I accept your challenge. Let’s see if you can handle a stiff,” he pauses, giving me a sly look, “Drink.”
A shiver runs down my spine. I’m not one to jump to conclusions, but that seemed to me to be a pretty bold innuendo. I wonder if he realizes that I’m not going to give him anything sexual until after the marriage. I’m a virgin, and that’s how it will stay until I have legal commitment.
Viktor’s hand is still on my thigh. I look down at it, but he refuses to move. His eyes are piercing through my body like two spikes of ice, freezing everything inside of me. My heart dances all the way up in my throat as Viktor examines me again like I’m a doll in the shop that he’s considering buying.
“I’m really,” I start to say, but I cough mid-sentence. My throat is too dry to speak properly. I swallow, trying desperately to regain my ability to speak without sounding like I’m cracking under the pressure of a simple date. “I’m really glad to be out of the house. You can’t imagine being locked away for that long.”
A smirk pervades his strong jaw for a brief moment, telling me everything that I wanted to know. I don’t speak without ulterior motives. I know there’s something up with Viktor, and I want to know what it is. Viktor smirking at my claim that he doesn’t know what it’s like to be locked up may have been a coincidence, but I doubt it. This man looks like he may have had a stint in prison at some point in his life.
I hate to have to profile him in this way, but I’m not about to marry a man who is lying to me. Maybe my father didn’t see through Viktor’s smoke and mirrors, or maybe he did and just didn’t care. Whatever the reason, I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I want Viktor to be who he says he is, but the more I talk to him, the more doubts I have.
“Do you like pizza?” Viktor asks, finally moving his hand from my thigh.
“Pizza and whiskey?” I reply, giving him a shrewd look.
He chuckles. “This is no ordinary pizza, Cora. This is an artisan dish. Honestly, I wouldn’t believe it was worthy of a glass of whiskey either, but I’ve had it, and it’s fantastic.”
I shrug. “I’ll give it a try. I do like pizza, but every time I have it delivered, the bodyguards hold up the pizza guy for an hour, drilling him with questions and checking that the pizza hasn’t been tampered with. By the time I get it on a plate, it’s ice cold.”
“It comes to the table straight from the oven at this place. They even serve it on the wooden tray they pull it out with,” Viktor says.
“Sounds fancy,” I say.
“Somewhat. They just have very good pizza,” he replies.
“Is that your favorite food?” I ask.
“Kind of, yes,” he replies with a chuckle.
I can tell that despite being considerably older than I am, he has managed to retain some of his youthful personality. I like that about him, honestly. It makes him seem like a genuine person instead of the faceless politician he claims to be.
“Well,” I say as we glide down a road to leave the estate behind. “I’m a big fan of iced coffee, but I swear they always make it too sweet.”
“Americans like sugar,” he says.
“Aren’t you American?” I ask, tilting my head.
He laughs. “Alright, Cora. I can see that you don’t believe me that I am a citizen. I have a US passport, though, so that’s not something you can argue.”
I don’t want to ask him to see it, but at the same time, I do. Would that be rude?
Thankfully, I don’t have to ask. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls it out with a flourish, flipping it open in front of me. His picture appears recent, almost like it was taken just yesterday. His face in the picture is in his classic scowl, as though the photographer said something to piss him off right before taking the photo. I find it charming, but I’m still not entirely convinced by it. Something still seems off.
I don’t want him to think I’m questioning him, though, so I hold back with the interrogation and give him a pleasant smile instead. “I never doubted you, Viktor. I’m sure you like sugar just as much as any other American does.”
Viktor laughs and flips his passport closed again, tucking it back into his pocket. “No, actually. I take my coffee black, and I don’t drink this soda pop everyone likes here.”
Again, he’s speaking like he just landed in US soil yesterday. I’m almost certain now that something else is going on, but why on earth would a Russian man come into the states posing as an American politician. It doesn’t make sense to me.
“I can’t do black coffee. I like mine iced with milk and just a bit of sugar in it,” I say, keeping the conversation as innocent as I can while examining every word that leaves his mouth and every expression that graces his handsome face.
“I know a place that has good coffee,” Viktor says, leaning back in his seat and placing his arm around the top of the seat near the back of my neck. “Perhaps we could go there tomorrow morning.”
“I’d like that,” I reply.
“I thought you would,” he replies coolly. “I believe we’re almost at dinner now,” he adds, leaning toward the window.
I look out of it with him, seeing rows of old brick buildings packed shoulder to shoulder along the freshly paved road. It’s an astounding contrast of old and new, with the crumbling red brick bringing decades of personality to the strict and pristine new-age architecture that accompanies it.
I’m fascinated by the outside world and how many people are out in it wearing regular clothes, walking leisu
rely down the street, and not overcrowded by bodyguards. I hardly ever get to see such a thing, much less experience it myself.
“Are we going to be safe without guards?” I ask, keeping my eyes fixed on the world outside as the car slows down.
“You’ll be safe, Cora. You’re with me,” Viktor assures me, laying his hand against my thigh again.
I don’t react as strongly to it this time. I’m too immersed in the scene before me to think much about what Viktor is doing. If this will be my life from now on, I’ll happily marry Viktor, even if he is a tad suspicious.
The car comes to a stop outside of an eccentric building with neon letters swirled in a delightful manner to spell the name of the establishment out front. It looks like nothing I’ve seen before, and the warm energy it exudes beckons me in like a moth to the flame. I already like this place, and we haven’t even stepped foot inside of it yet.
Chapter Eight
Cora
My cellphone buzzes in my small silver clutch purse as we walk into the restaurant. I ignore it for now until I can be excused to a private place to check it. I might not know much about modern technology, but I do know that it’s not polite to check my phone at the dinner table.
Viktor guides me into the restaurant, and I’m immediately met with a wave of delightful smells and sounds. The smell of warm dough rising in the wood-burning pizza ovens, the slightly smokey atmosphere, and the gentle murmur of other customers enjoying their evening all cascade through the air around Viktor and me as we find a table against one of the exposed brick walls.
Viktor pulls out a seat for me before sitting across the dense wooden table.
A waiter appears by our side just as we are seated, holding a pen and pad in front of him as he looks upon us expectantly. “Can I interest you in any drinks to start with? Maybe an appetizer?”
Viktor smiles at me before looking to the waiter. “Two of your best Irish whiskeys, and a pitcher of water.”
“Very well. Anything else?”
Viktor glances at me as I sit with my hands gripped tightly around my handbag beneath the table. “That will be all for now.”
The waiter nods and vanishes as quickly as he came, leaving us alone again. I grip my handbag, trying to figure out if now is a good time to excuse myself to the bathroom to check my phone. It’s probably just Mrs. Johnson checking if I’ve arrived at the restaurant alright, but you never know. I should probably take a quick look at my messages.
Viktor can read me like a book. “Something the matter?” he asks, placing his elbow on the table and rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
I shake my head. “Nothing. I just need to use the restroom.”
“There’s one close to the exit. Just take a left down there,” Viktor says, pointing down the row of tables toward the front door.
My eyes widen as I witness a dark design on his wrist as he points. Until now, Viktor has been wearing a suit, but without it on, and with his arm outstretched, I can see more of his skin. He has tattoos all the way down to his wrist.
I try to pretend that I haven’t noticed, darting my eyes away from his pointing finger toward the restrooms he’s directing me to, but I’m afraid he’s noticed me looking. I can see his hand quickly move down out of the corner of my eye as I stand up.
I feel the blood rush to my ears even though I shouldn’t be embarrassed. I’m just thankful that Viktor won’t see how pink I am since I’m facing the opposite direction of him. I walk quickly down the rows of tables, observing the regular people eating their dinners. It’s quaint.
Now, there’s nothing wrong with having tattoos. A lot of our bodyguards have them, but that’s not the way a politician would look. I haven’t met a single one that had tattoos all the way to their wrists. Maybe some of them have tattoos on their torso, but they would be concealed and never shown to the public.
It’s odd that Viktor has them. It probably means that even if he’s a politician now, as he claims to be, that he wasn’t always in such a prestigious position. I’m dying to know what he’s hiding, but I don’t think I’ll find out just yet.
I arrive at the bathroom and push open the swinging door with my hand, making my way into a clean white stall where I can finally pull my phone out. I hold the smooth black plastic in my hand as I turn on the display.
There’s a message from Mrs. Johnson, as I expected, in my inbox. I open it, but it’s not the message I thought I would receive.
Be careful, Cora. Viktor isn’t who he says he is.
That’s all the information she gives me. My heart thumps wildly in my chest as I read and reread the message, trying to figure out what she means by this. Should I try to get home? It can’t be that big of an emergency because she didn’t tell me to flee.
This whole situation just turned incredibly awkward. How am I supposed to have a nice dinner date with the man I’m due to marry if Mrs. Johnson is going to tell me something terrible about who he really is. Has she put the pieces together any better than I have, or is she just looking at the clues and drawing a similar conclusion as me?
Viktor is a rogue player, possibly a criminal who has served time, and my father has given him his blessing to marry me. It’s crazy. One part of me wants to confront him and risk making a fool of myself, and another part just wants to go ahead with all of this to gain my freedom, thinking about the consequences later.
It’s a rightfully messy situation I’m in, and there’s not a clear way out. Life was simpler when I was sitting on the porch, complaining about how much sugar they put in my iced coffee. Now I’m trying to figure out if I’m about to marry a conman.
My fingers move over the small keyboard on the phone faster than I thought I could type, sending a message back to Mrs. Johnson.
We need to talk about Viktor when I get back.
I don’t have time to wait for a confirmation message. I don’t want Viktor to think that I’m on to him. I flush the toilet in case someone is listening, and step out of the stall, putting my phone on silent and tucking it back into my handbag. I’ll just have to enjoy dinner until I can get back to the estate and speak with Mrs. Johnson.
I splash my face with cold water in the sink before going out to dine with Viktor. My cheeks are still flushed from the excitement, and I doubt they’ll go all the way back to normal this evening. My body is in a mix of panic and anticipation, and my senses are overwhelmed.
I dry my face with a paper towel and exit the bathroom, taking a deep breath in as I walk through the restaurant back toward Viktor. My belly grumbles on the way there. I’m looking forward to a hot slice of pizza and a stiff drink for the evening.
Chapter Nine
Viktor
Cora saw the tattoos. I knew that I should have covered them with makeup, but I didn’t have the time. She already suspects that something is up, and I’m not doing a good job of convincing her otherwise. At this rate, I’m going to be exposed long before I have a chance to take her hand in marriage. I might not even have the opportunity to bed her if she figures out who I really am.
And that bitch, Mrs. Johnson. God, she does a good job of hiding her suspicion through pleasantries and fake smiles, but I can see a snake from a mile away, even if they’re dressed as an unassuming sheep.
This is going to get harder before it gets easier. Tonight, I’m going to have to get Cora to commit to me. After that, it will be much harder for her to leave, since she’ll be turned over to me by her father. There will be no more Lauder Estate, and no more Mrs. Johnson to poke her beak into my business.
I take a sip of the whiskey that’s arrived at the table. It’s one of my favorites since I enjoy Irish whiskey of many varieties. Cora will be pleased to know that I’m no whiskey amateur. I want to get along with her and make her comfortable with me again.
I see her coming down the rows of tables as I place my glass back down on the table. She looks like a goddess in the dress she’s wearing, so pure, and yet so sensual in her movement. The fact that she clearly d
oesn’t understand how attractive she is makes her even more irresistible.
I can’t fuck this up because I want to sink my cock into her untouched pussy the second that I get her into my bed. Business is quickly becoming an afterthought.
Cora’s braless breasts bounce satisfyingly beneath her dress. I’d give anything to grab them roughly, squeezing her soft mounds as I press my cock into her plump ass from behind.
I need to stop thinking this way, or I’m going to get myself into trouble. I’ve always had very little self-control around attractive women, but Cora is exceptionally divine. She turns me on in ways that I’ve never experienced.
“Have you order the food yet?” Cora asks, her voice high and cheerful as she plops down in the chair across from me.
I shake my head. “I wanted to wait for you first.”
“How sweet,” she says with a smile, reaching for the glass of whiskey in front of her.
“You’ll need to tell me how that is,” I say as she lifts the rim of the glass to her soft lips.
Cora blinks her eyes at me coyishly, but there’s nothing coy about the way she parts her lips and lets the amber liquid flow between them. I could be imagining things, but it looks like she’s flirting with me. For what reason, however, I don’t know. I’m not one to trust women, especially when they don’t seem to trust me.
Cora holds the whiskey in her mouth for a moment before swallowing, smacking her lips a few times and smiling. “Not too shabby,” she says, lifting the glass for another sip.
“They’re not going to serve anything bad here anyway, but they’re also not going to serve the finest whiskey either. You’ll have to come to my house for that,” I say, dropping the bait for her in hopes that she’ll bite.
Cora can sink her teeth into that. She perks up. “I’d love to go. I just have to get permission from my father first.”
I hold back a smirk. She has no idea how much power I already hold. Her father is nearly irrelevant now. Once I get her official approval for the marriage, he will be obsolete.