by Bella King
I’m fascinated by the outside world and how many people are out in it wearing regular clothes, walking leisurely 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 tabl
e. 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 doesn’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.
“You can talk with your father, but he has already given me permission to take you there once you agree to the marriage,” I inform her.
Cora narrows her eyes at me, a smile still on her lips. “We’ll see about the marriage.”
She must be teasing me. I already know that she’s almost guaranteed to agree to it so long as I don’t stumble and reveal my true self to her yet. I didn’t pay her father millions to let her slip through my fingers. She’s mine, and I won’t let it be otherwise.
I take a sip of my whiskey, watching her as she mimics my movement. Once again, her perfect rose-colored lips part to make way from her drink. Her movements are so sensual that they drive me crazy with lust. She must know what she’s doing.
I reach beneath the table and adjust my cock in my trousers as the waiter arrives. It aches in the tight confines of my pants, begging me to let it loose on this woman sitting in front of me.
Patience. I must wait for my prize.
“Are you ready to order?” the waiter asks, leaning in with his ear pointing toward us.
Cora straightens up in her chair. “I haven’t looked at the menu yet. Viktor,” she says, looking at me. “Is there something you would recommend.”
Always so polite.
I nod at her, then look to the waiter. “A large quatro-fromage, please, and go heavy on the sauce.”
“Four cheese is one of my favorites,” Cora notes as the waiter leaves the table again.
“This is no ordinary four cheese, though,” I say, holding up a finger. “They use cheeses that you won’t find many other places. You’re going to like it.”
Cora’s blue eyes are wide with interest as I speak. She must be hungry, and so am I. Perhaps an extra-large would have been a better option, but they do tend to make them fairly large here anyway. She’s a small woman. How much can she eat?
“Where did you grow up?” Cora asks, tilting her head and letting her blonde hair fall over her shoulder.
The question is innocent enough, but I’m not going to let her catch me off guard. I know she’s trying to find holes in my story.
I clear my throat. “A was born in the United States, on the west coast. After that, I spent a lot of time in Russia, close to Abakslavia,” I say, making up the story and locations as I go. There is no Abakslavia in Russia, but she won’t remember what I say anyway. Most Americans are terrible at geography.
My story is good, and it explains my heavy Russian accent well enough, but Cora digs in, asking more questions. “Where did you go to school?”
“Harvard,” I answer, hoping my confidence is enough to silence her.
No luck. Cora leans in. “I received a private education, but I never went to college. I don’t really want to either if I’m being honest. You must be smart if you went to Harvard. What did you major in?”
What do politicians major in? I have no idea. Maybe I should have done more research before I decided to take on this persona.
“Political science,” I answer. That sounds accurate.
Cora nods, seeming satisfied by my answer. “That would make sense.”
“Yes,” I reply. “It would make a lot of sense.” I’m praying the pizza will arrive so that she’ll stop bombarding me with questions and start filling her pretty mouth with food instead.
“I wonder,” Cora says, continuing the onslaught of questions, “What would happen if someone were to go to jail for like, a minor crime. Could they still serve in office?”
“All politicians are criminals,” I reply smoothly, completely avoiding her laced question. I know what she’s getting at, but there’s no way that she knows I’ve been to prison. That was in Russia many years ago.
Cora leans in, propping her elbows on the table. I can see straight down her dress, into her cleavage, but I try not to stare. They’ll be plenty of time for that once she’s completely nude and at my disposal. I’ll teach her to shut her mouth and serve me instead of asking silly questions.
“Yeah, sure politicians are crooked, but they hardly ever get caught,” she says.
I nod, rubbing my stubbly chin. It’s a nervous habit I have, but most people just think I’m deep in thought. It works out to my advantage. “I don’t think they would let an actual criminal in office, though.”
“Of course not,” Cora replies, leaning back into her seat and removing her elbows from the table. “That would be preposterous.”
“Indeed.”
“But what if you committed a crime in another country, then came back to the US. What then?”
I shake my head. “Enough with these questions. I don’t know all the answers,” I say, tightening my jaw. I’m trying not to explode on her, but it’s difficult. If anyone else drilled me like this, I would have snapped their neck already.
Cora shrugs. “Just wondering. There’s a lot I don’t know about the world. I don’t get out much.”
“You’ll learn,” I say, glancing up from the table as I spot the waiter again. Thank god, the pizza is here. I wouldn’t last much longer having to answer the maddening string of questions flowing from Cora’s mouth.
Cora’s eyes light up when she sees the pizza floating toward us on a thick wooden platter. The waiter slides it onto the table between us and places two warm plates for us beside it. Cora is instantly captivated by the beautiful arrangement of cheese, sauce, and bread. I admit that I am as well, having forgone food for most of the day.
“Dig in,” I say, waiting for Cora to serve herself before I take a piece.
Chapter Ten
Cora
Viktor has managed to answer all my questions without hesitation so far, but I can tell he’s getting annoyed by them. I don’t want to piss him off, in case he is who he says he is, but something still isn’t right.
I take a bite of my pizza, tasting the fabulous flavo
rs of various expensive cheeses all at once. This is hands down, the best pizza I’ve ever had. I could fall in love with Viktor just for his refines taste in food.
It wouldn’t be just that, though. Viktor is incredibly handsome, and his voice alone is enough to make me feel strange in my lower belly. It’s not the hunger that’s making me feel this way. Even as I shove pizza down my throat, I feel the butterflies fluttering around inside of me.
Neither of us speaks while we eat, but I catch Viktor taking a peek down my dress several times. Good. I like it when he looks. It makes him seem more like a human and less like a sexless robot. I would hate to marry a man who won’t make love to me.
Maybe sex should be the last thing on my mind right now, but it isn’t. It’s rare that I ever see a man who suits my fancy, and this is the first time a man has made me horny just by existing close to me. I can still feel his warm hand on my thigh from the car ride here.
Ignoring Mrs. Johnson’s warning, this evening is turning out to be an absolute delight to my senses. If I were to tune out my worries, I might chalk this up as the best night out I’ve ever had. The company, the food, and the location are perfect.
My whiskey is already gone, but the waiter swings by and refills it without asking. I could blame my lustful feelings toward Viktor on the booze, but that would be a copout. It’s true that I find him attractive, and that he makes me feel as no other man has made me feel. It’s a dream getting to be the bride to Viktor.
I suppose I must agree to this. I mean, that’s once I hear what Mrs. Johnson has to say. I’ll be pressed to make my final decision soon, and I haven’t been able to poke any holes in Viktor’s story. The only thing I have left is the secretive advice of Mrs. Johnson when I get back home tonight.
It takes Viktor and me only fifteen minutes to devour the pizza in front of us, collectively drinking six drinks in the process. I feel pretty hazy by the end of it, as though I could fall asleep on the ride back home.
“Dessert?” Viktor asks with a silly grin.