“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize—” She takes a step back, her jaw hanging open.
“Is something wrong?” I leisurely pick up my joggers. I’m in nothing but my boxer briefs right now. Her eyes scan down my chest, along my tattoos, linger on my scars and my muscles. I like the way she looks at me. Like she’s a little bit hungry. She licks her lips and lets out a soft whimper.
Like she wants to sink her teeth into my chest while I pump my cock between her legs.
“Sorry.” She turns and scurries away like I’m carrying the plague.
I laugh as I pull on my clothes. God, this girl. She’s uptight, and I have no idea why.
The girl really is beautiful. There’s a spark too—I felt it in the church when I cradled her lap in my head and made her drink water. I’m guessing she feels it too.
Right now, probably, tingling between her legs.
Only there’s something going on. That whole hermit thing and the way her father handled her arranged marriage.
A fucking surprise on her birthday.
I should’ve strangled that piece of garbage back in the chapel.
But I can’t judge. She’s got her issues, and I’ve got mine. Better we’re two people with separate problems.
“I’m decent,” I call out once I’m fully clothed. “You don’t have to hide. You didn’t see the good stuff.”
“I’m not hiding.” She strides out of the back room and gives me a haughty glare. “And I think you did that on purpose.”
“How could I have possibly timed that so perfectly?”
“You were standing there showing off.”
My eyebrows raise. It takes a lot of effort not to laugh at that. “Showing off… as in, you liked what you saw?”
“Don’t misread what I said.” Her jaw works, and frustration’s written all over her body. I think she’s about to lay into me—when she suddenly deflates.
It happens fast.
One second, she’s a spitfire about to tear into my goddamn throat.
And the next? A meek little doll.
Prim and proper, but submissive.
Why the hell is she doing that?
Hiding the little beast she’s got chained inside?
Forget it. This night’s a mess. Everything’s gone spectacularly wrong, and now I figure is as good a time as any to make it worse.
“Listen, we have to talk about this marriage.” I gesture for her to come sit next to me on the bed.
Instead, she opts for the nearby table. Smart girl, putting space between us. That, or it’s not proper to sit next to me.
Her own husband.
Possessive desire flickers through my chest. I want her here, right here, her leg pressed to mine, close enough to grab and bury with kisses.
Got to take it slow, though. Her pace, not mine.
“What’s there to say?” she asks. “Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice in the matter.”
“Actually, there’s something else you don’t know. I’m guessing your asshole father didn’t mention the stipulation?”
She pales slightly. “What… stipulation?”
I rub the bridge of my nose. I knew it already, but god, what a terrible situation. “This marriage is political. We’re the bridge bringing together your organization and mine. But if you didn’t know already, our two groups have been fighting and killing each other on and off for a very long time.”
“I’m aware of the bad blood. I’m a hermit, not an idiot.”
“Didn’t say you were.” I clear my throat. Why am I hesitating so much? I know it’s going to scare the hell out of her, but why do I even care?
I came into this thinking I’d hitch myself to some random Russian girl, fuck her a few times, knock her up, and send her away. That’s still the plan—but things changed when Dasha collapsed walking down the aisle.
The second her knees buckled, I ran to her.
Little pretty Dasha. So damn small and pretty. I couldn’t help but want to protect her and help her in that moment, and that’s not like me at all.
I’m the enforcer. I’m the killer. I’m feared throughout my family and beyond.
Why would I care about some random Russian? Even if she’s my wife, that’s just some paperwork, and everyone knows it.
So why do I keep wanting to spare her feelings?
I shove down this protectiveness and lean toward her. She shrinks back slightly as I let my guard fall completely.
No softness. Nothing gentle.
This is who I am: a brutal thug.
“What are you trying to tell me, Tigran?” she whispers, her hand trembling slightly as she pours herself more champagne.
“By the end of the year, I have to get you pregnant, or else the alliance means nothing.”
“What?!” She turns, spilling champagne all over the table. It trickles down into her lap, and she jumps to her feet, brushing it away. “Oh, shoot, shoot, darn it, shoot.”
That girl’s so buttoned-up she can’t even curse properly.
“Let me help.” I grab a towel from the bathroom and go to wipe her off.
“I can handle it,” she says, swiping it from me. There’s a furious note under her voice. “What are you talking about, you have to get me pregnant?”
“I told you, our families have a long history of very bad blood. Our marriage is one step toward ending all that, but it isn’t enough. We need to prove that we’re long-term, and that’s where babies come in.”
“Babies,” she says, slumping back down into her chair. She throws back her glass of champagne and tosses the towel onto the table. “How many babies?”
“Only one.”
“Great. Just one.” She squeezes her eyes closed. “I can’t believe this.”
“There are other families that want to see our alliance fail. The Irish and the Italians most of all. They stand to lose if we can suddenly muscle into their territory. The baby will ensure that, no matter what happens, our two families are tied together forever.”
She hunches into herself. I’m tempted to go comfort her, but I hold back. Rip off the bandage. Get her used to the idea from the start. I’m not going to be her father and lie to her about this deal.
I don’t want kids. Never wanted a baby once in my life. I’m not the kind of man that would make a good father. My own dad was a piece of shit who brutally abused my brother, Arsen, and treated me like an afterthought at best. There’s not an ounce of anything nurturing in me.
But this has to happen. It doesn’t matter if I like it, and it doesn’t matter if she hates it. We’re going to make a baby sometime in the next twelve months.
I hate the way she’s staring at the floor, though. I can’t blame her for being fucked up. This day’s been bad enough already, and I just dropped a nuclear bomb on her life. Surprise, you’re married, and now you’d better be ready to get impregnated by a stranger.
That protective instinct flares again, even though I try to shove it back down. I open my mouth before I think about it.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” I say, trying to make my voice soothing. “We make the baby. We go through with it, get you pregnant, make everyone happy. And then, after the baby’s born, you can move back to Philly. I won’t force you to stay in Baltimore. Move back in with your father if you want.”
She raises her face to me. Her eyes are watery, and it’s clear she’s fighting tears. “Why?” she croaks. “Why offer that?”
“Because you didn’t ask for any of this. We can do our duty, but we don’t owe them anything else.”
“I don’t know. I can’t go back to my dad. Not after what he did.”
“Then I’ll buy you a fortress you never, ever have to leave, as comfortable as you want it, back in your own hometown. Raise the baby there with a fleet of nannies. We’ll split the baby’s time when they’re older. We’ll figure it out. But if you do this, I’ll let you go.”
She hugs herself. Pretty and small, and all I want to do is make her feel better. But that’s not me. I should be crushing her, dominating her, making her understand that she’s my wife and she’ll do what I say.
Instead, I want to keep her safe.
I must be broken.
“Let me think about it,” she says, sounding hoarse. She pushes up from the table. “I’m going to bed.”
I want to tell her there’s nothing to think about. This is happening whether she likes it or not. But I decide to keep my mouth shut.
She’s been through enough.
“You can pack your things tomorrow. After that, we’re heading back to Baltimore.”
“Great. Okay.” She drifts to the second room. “I’ll sleep in here.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“And I’m locking the door.”
I smile slightly. “Dasha, if I wanted to fuck you tonight, a door wouldn’t keep me from your bed.”
