by Kate Stewart
“Whatever Nikolai decides,” she says, tearing her gaze away.
I feel the need to comfort her. But I don’t have the right words.
“I was collateral too,” I blurt.
She looks at me and smiles. “Yes, I know.”
“You do?”
“I overheard Nikolai mention you.”
“Oh.”
The conversation dies off for a moment, and when I look around, I see more than a few questioning gazes being directed our way.
“Don’t worry,” Tanaka says. “You will get used to it. They don’t like you because they will never be you.”
“I don’t understand,” I tell her.
“Your husband.” She nods to the other room. “He is the ah… councilor to Viktor. He outranks their husbands in every way. Which means that you do also.”
“Oh.”
My mouth is dry, and I seem to have lost all conversational skills. Tanaka is kind though, and she just continues to talk, seemingly glad to have company.
“They are very traditional,” she says. “You will be starting a family soon, yes?”
I wring my hands in my lap. “That is what Alexei says.”
Except, family isn’t what Alexei and I have. It is an arrangement. Which I can never forget. Even when I glance at him across the room and find him looking back at me, a slight tilt to his lips.
“He is handsome,” Tanaka remarks. “You are lucky. Nikolai speaks very highly of him.”
“He does?”
I find that odd since I noticed the tension between the two on the last occasion. Alexei never even introduced us.
“He does.” Tanaka nods. “I do find it strange though. How similar they look in some regards. Don’t you?”
I can’t read her expression. But I don’t think she finds it strange at all. I think she’s trying to tell me something.
But then the man in question is at her side, speaking to her in Russian. By all outward appearances, he seems indifferent to her. But his focus on her lingers a little too long for that to be true. And it breathes hope into me. That Tanaka will not be lost to this world that seems to have trapped her too.
“Talia.” Nikolai bows in my direction. “I haven’t had a chance to properly introduce myself.”
I’m not sure what to do. If I’m supposed to rise to meet him. Or shake his hand. Or any of the protocols, really. But Nikolai puts my worries at ease when he kneels so that he is on the same level as Tanaka and I.
He has a friendly smile on his face. But his voice is low and serious when he speaks.
“I need to speak with you,” he says.
I look at Tanaka, her gaze reassuring and steady. As though she trusts Nikolai implicitly. And I should do the same. It eases my discomfort a little as he presses on.
“Alexei will not listen to me,” he says. “He won’t speak with me. But I know he will listen to you.”
I shift in my seat and simply nod.
“Sergei is not going to let this go. Neither is Katya, for that matter. You should both be careful.”
“Nikolai…” Tanaka’s voice cuts him off, and then a shadow falls over us.
Alexei.
His gaze is fixed on Nikolai, who stands up to face him. Angry words pass between them, both of their hands gesturing in a way that signals a long history of bad blood between them.
Only when Nikolai’s shoulders fall in defeat, does Alexei turn to me. Gripping me by the arm and yanking me from the chair. Scolding me like a child for all to see.
“You are my wife,” he hisses into my ear. “You can no longer conduct yourself the way you did at Arman’s.”
His words are like acid to my insides.
“You mean like a whore?” I pull back to look at him.
His eyes are cold, filled with accusation and anger. No trace of the man who kissed me on the dance floor only thirty minutes ago.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” he answers.
My throat is clogged, and there are tears threatening to spill over. I don’t want him to see me cry. I don’t want him to see that he has that power over me. The power to hurt me.
“Go to the wash room and compose yourself,” he demands. “And when you come back, perhaps you can make it through the rest of the evening with better judgment.”
Tanaka stands up, her voice soft and quiet when she speaks. “I will accompany her.”
“You will not,” Alexei barks. “She must learn how to conduct herself at these events.”
And then he releases me from his grip, leaving the tears to spill down my face as I make my walk of shame down the hall and to the bathroom.
I lock myself in and cry for twenty minutes. I have not cried so much in as long as I can remember. Because I know now that all my bravado has been for nothing. Alexei does have the power to hurt me. Just as I do him.
But it will not change a thing.
I am still only his wife. And he is only my husband. And he will never let those feelings prosper. Because he is stronger than I am. And the weakness I swore I would never have is staring me right in the face again.
I am falling for a man who is using me.
Who will only ever use me.
When all of my tears have run dry, and the acceptance of my reality has settled upon me, I move to the mirror and glance at my reflection. But I can’t look at her. I can’t look at that girl right now.
The door opens behind me, and it confuses me. I thought I locked it.
“Sorry,” I murmur, without opening my eyes. “I’ll be out of here in just a moment.”
Strong hands come around my waist and pull me back into a hard body. I sigh and relax in those arms. And then blurt something honest and vulnerable.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you. Embarrassed you.”
“Hurt me?” dark laughter echoes through the cavernous bathroom, and dread crawls through my veins. “It has been some time, but I don’t recall you ever hurting me, Talia.”
My heart throttles against my chest. And I’m frozen. I don’t want to look. But I have to. Because that voice is the one from my nightmares. The one who betrayed me worse than any other before him. The one who changed my life forever and destroyed the last hope of human decency that I harbored.
“Dmitri.”
The word is like sandpaper on my tongue.
He kisses my neck, his breath hot on my skin. “Yes. Did you miss me?”
I open my eyes, and the room spins. But I can only focus on him. His reflection in the mirror. His body behind me, trapping me. With nowhere to go.
“Arman misses you,” he tells me, his fingers moving over my body like he still has that right.
And I’m too numb to move. To think. To do anything but let him. I wasn’t prepared for this. I’ve never been prepared for this.
“He wants you back.”
My legs wobble, and he tightens his grip on me to keep me upright. But he doesn’t stop talking. It doesn’t even faze him.
“You are just as beautiful as I remember.” He presses his nose into my hair and inhales, and my stomach roils at the sight of him touching me again. “Perhaps we could spend some time together before I must return you. I did always enjoy your company.”
And this is the thing that snaps me out of my frozen horror. I turn around and shove him away from me, and to my surprise, he does not argue. He simply laughs and moves towards the door, giving me one last lingering glance.
“Your new lover plays chess, yes?” he asks.
I don’t reply. But he already knows.
“Perhaps you should remind him that it is never wise to leave the queen unprotected, little one. En Prise, as the French like to say.”
He reaches for the door, and I crumple against the wall.
“Deliver that message for me, Talia,” he tells me. “And I will see you soon. Very soon.”
And then he’s gone.
Chapter Thirty-One
Talia
I move through the hall in a daze.
Adrenaline flooding my veins and making every shadow appear as a threat.
I have only one target in mind. I need to get to him. My safety.
Alexei.
I stumble into the room full of women, and they all stare at me in shock and disgust. My face is swollen. My mascara running. The whore that they all believe me to be. The imperfect match for Alexei.
I don’t care.
I only know that I need him. Right now. In this moment. And I haven’t needed anyone for a long time.
But when I find him across the room, it is not me he is thinking of. With Katya at his side, her hand on his arm as she smiles up at him with her beautiful and perfect smile. His attention is on her too. With no concern for me.
And just like Dmitri, I realize he has fooled me too.
Because this man is not my safety.
He is just like the rest of them. Only worse. Because I thought he might be real. I thought for a moment, he could have cared.
My knees buckle, and I collapse. Tanaka rushes over to me, swiftly followed by Nikolai. He glances around the room, worried. And then he sees what I saw too. Alexei and Katya together. And he makes a decision.
“Come.” He lifts me up in his arms and gestures for Tanaka to follow.
They take me down the hall and set me on a chaise. Tanaka sits beside me, taking my hand in hers while Nikolai kneels in front of me again.
They both ask me what is wrong, but I can’t answer. I can’t even look at them.
“Get Alexei,” Nikolai instructs Tanaka.
She squeezes my hand and then does as he bids. More tears spill down my cheeks while we wait in the silence.
Nikolai is kind. He does not press me for answers. He simply remains at my side, a comforting presence. Until Alexei is storming down the hall, and Nikolai rises to meet him.
More angry words fly between them, and so do one of Alexei’s fists as he tries to take a swing at him. It is Tanaka who intervenes, speaking to them calmly in Russian.
They are all looking at me now, but Alexei still has not calmed. He speaks to Nikolai again, something that sounds like a threat. But Nikolai looks to me, and replies in English.
“Do what you must. I was comforting her. As you should have been. Instead of playing this game you continue to play.”
Alexei is quiet, his gaze moving to me and back to Nikolai.
“If you wish to punish someone, Lyoshka, then it needs to be me. Not her. She has done nothing wrong, and yet you treat her as if…”
“Do not tell me how to conduct myself. This is my marriage. My business.”
“I am not telling you as a Vor,” Nikolai replies quietly. “I am telling you as your brother. This is not the man that I know.”
The room falls completely silent as his words settle over everyone. Even Alexei seems shocked by his admission although I cannot understand why. Why they don’t want anyone to know they are brothers. Which would make Sergei- the same man Nikolai warned me about- Alexei’s father.
Footsteps echo down the hall, and soon, Katya has joined in on my public shame and humiliation. Her eyes move over me, and she gives me a false sympathetic smile.
“Your wife looks ill,” she says under the guise of being helpful. “You must allow my maid to watch over her so you can come back and enjoy the party, Lyoshka.”
He glances at her and back to me. And there is a flicker of shame and remorse on his face as he shakes his head. He doesn’t meet Nikolai’s gaze again as he comes to lift me into his arms.
“I am taking her home.”
“But you can’t,” Katya insists. “There is still so much more to come. I have worked so hard on the planning…”
“My wife is more important than your party.” He meets her gaze and then moves towards the door. “She is the most important woman in my life.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Alexei
“What have you done?” Magda demands from her position across my desk. “She is wrecked again.”
I toss back the rest of my cognac and meet her eyes. “You knew that would happen. It was only a matter of time.”
She turns to leave, the frustration evident on her face. But then she pauses at the door and points a shaky finger at me.
“This is not the man I raised you to be, Alyoshka. This is not you.”
When she leaves, I move to pour another glass of drink. But she reappears before I can finish, and surprises me by grabbing the bottle from my hands.
“In case I did not make it clear. You need to go to her. Now. You need to fix this.”
This time, when she leaves, she takes the bottle with her. I don’t argue.
It has been a day. I have not spoken to Talia. Not fixed anything the way that I should.
Because everything Nikolai said was correct. It should have been me there to comfort her. Instead, I was the cause of those tears. He believes it is a game to me. That I do not care for her and simply wish to make Katya jealous.
When I went to Katya that night, it was with one intention in mind. To embarrass Talia the way she had done to me. With Nikolai.
It was too soon. To take her to that party. To expect so much from her.
To believe that I could trust her with Nikolai. It still burns me.
I want another drink. But since Magda has taken it, I have only one choice.
I walk down the hall and into her room. She is on the bed, curled on her side. Awake, but despondent. As though not a day has passed since her arrival. She has retreated to the identity she knows. The one that she believes will protect her. But it cannot protect her from me.
I am angry with her, still. And I want to claim her.
It’s exactly what I set out to do when I reach for her ankle and pull her slight body towards me on the bed. I spread her legs apart and lay myself between them, pressing her into the mattress as my fingers grab her face.
“You need to give me a baby,” I demand of her. “You need to take my come inside of you every day until you are swollen with my child.”
She meets my gaze, and there is nothing on her face. No emotion. No expression at all.
“I don’t want you.”
She could have said anything to me. Anything at all. Except for those words.
The effect is immediate, and I cannot contain the honest emotion on my face. I move off of her, and she flinches. Her hand reaches out to me, but it is too late. I am already gone.
I move downstairs and lock myself in the gym with a fresh bottle of cognac. I take to the bag, directing my aggression towards the leather. But it does not temper the feeling inside of me.
Neither does the drink, this time.
And when I glance in the mirror, it is my father’s voice I hear.
He is defective. And I do not want him. I don’t want either of you.
For all the days of my life, I will never forget the vacant expression on my mother’s face when he cast us out. And when I look in the mirror now, it is that same vacant expression staring back at me.
I tried to fix what I had done. With crayons and paper and gifts that promised her things I could not deliver at the age of ten. But that I someday would.
I did not get the chance.
I do not want your gifts, Lyoshka. I want nothing from you. You are my greatest shame.
My fist sails into the mirror. Over and over again. The blood pouring down my arm only serves to remind me of her too. Of that day. Of the last gift I tried to give her. Which she rejected. And then bowed out of my life completely.
The door opens, and when I look up, I am not surprised to find Franco standing there. He is always watching me. Looking out for me.
I don’t know why.
I don’t know what I ever did to earn his loyalty, besides paying off his debts in exchange for a job. One which, he returns to faithfully. Every day, he is by my side. Looking out for me.
He sighs at the sight before him although it is not a shock to him. This is not the first time my temper has bested me. The
first time the memories have come back.
But this time is worse. Because it involves her.
Franco shuts the door behind him and retrieves the first aid kit from a cabinet by the door. I watch through bleary eyes as he stitches me up and then helps me stumble upstairs to my room to pass out. Which is exactly what I do when my head hits the pillow.
A warm hand moves over my arm, rousing me from my sleep.
When I open my eyes, I’m not sure if it is an angel or devil I see.
“You’re hurt,” she says, her fingers tracing over the stitches on my swollen hand.
I pull her closer, wrapping my arm around her waist and trapping her body against mine.
“What are you doing in my bed?”
“I don’t want to sleep alone tonight,” she says.
Her eyes flutter shut as though it pains her to admit it. I know the feeling well.
She is still angry with me, and I with her. But I need to be inside of her. I need her to…
I just need her.
It hits me hard. And I swallow. My fingers move up to touch her face.
“You are my wife,” I tell her. “You should not be speaking with Nikolai unless I am present. You should not be speaking with him at all.”
She looks up at me, and my hope that those words would serve as an explanation for my behavior dissipates quickly.
Her eyes are glassy. Vulnerable. And soft.
“You let him touch me,” she whispers. “You didn’t protect me from him. Your star didn’t protect me either, and you promised.”
My hand shakes with the force of my anger as I examine her, digesting her words. “Nikolai touched you?”
“No.” She blinks up at me. “Dmitri did.”
I am certain I misunderstood her. Misread her lips somehow. But as I examine her, I know that is not the case.
Dmitri is Russian, but he is not a Vor. He could only be considered an associate, at best. He had no business being at that party. I only know of him from my research when I was searching for Talia. But I need her to confirm it. To confirm what it is I believe to be true.