That night, he didn’t touch me.
I couldn’t sleep, haunted by the thought of Ignat in agony, all because I trusted him as my dance tutor.
Why wouldn’t Gleb consummate this marriage? What was he waiting for, my complete surrender?
Even if Italy felt tainted now, my father’s betrayal, keeping me immobile for five years, I still ached for it.
Two uncles and a brother had vanished sneaking into Russia years ago, likely dead or captured. Gleb knew. That’s one of the real reasons why I was sent here, a pawn to uncover their fate.
I glanced at him. His eyes were closed, face tormented, sleeping or resting, I couldn’t tell. “Hey,” I said, desperation sharp. “When will you fulfill your duty? It’s our third night.”
“You want it that badly?” he rasped, eyes half-lidded.
“Huh?”
He sat up. “I haven’t slept in weeks. Let me rest, girl.”
‘Anna. That’s my name.’ I snapped.
I reached for him. He grabbed my hand. “What are you doing?”
“Why does it look like?”
He grunted. “I hate nagging women.”
“I’m not nagging. I don’t plan to stay forever.”
“And I don’t plan to keep you forever.”
“Then do it. Get it over with so I can go. Or are you unable to perform as a man?”
His expression darkened. “Touch and see.”
I boldly unzipped his trousers. He caught my wrist. “You are twenty years old, no?” He zipped up.
“I’m past eighteen, legal and grown. Why agree to my family’s proposal if my age is of concern to you?”
“The agreement was for your sister. You were merely a quick replacement.” He hissed. “I agreed to have you sent over because you are your mother’s seed too. You’re not just my wife, you’re her penance. I’ll consummate this marriage when I am willing. Until then. Continue to suffer in uncertainty.”
I slammed a pillow into his face. “Fuck you!”
“Language.” He growled.
“To hell with you!” I wanted to claw his face. How long would this psycho trap me? This wasn’t a marriage, it was a kidnapping.
“What if I demand a divorce?”
“You’d get it only in your fantasies. You belong to me. Preserve your energy for what’s coming.”
“I’m done. I’ll have to tell my family you aren’t keeping to your own end of the deal.”
“You are too trusting,” he said quietly. “Your father knows of Elisabetta’s death. He’s furious, but he’s stuck in Italy, too scared to face me.”
“He’s angry, and he’ll retaliate for what you did to Elisabetta.’
‘You overestimate your father,’ he said, reclining as his eyes drifted shut beneath the sheets.
I stared at him, stunned.
My father was my only way out, strained ties or not. I grabbed my phone and called my mom. “Did you know Elisabetta’s dead?” My stomach turned to ice.
“Yes. Her head arrived in a package, signed by your husband.” My stomach lurched.
“Why didn’t Father want me to walk?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart.” Her tone was vague, lying or resigned, I couldn’t tell.
“Gleb Romanov is not consummating this marriage. I’ll never escape this hell.”
“I’ll talk to your dad and we’ll see what we can do,” she said softly, then hung up.
I glanced at Gleb, still as stone, and muttered, “Demon.”
I curled beneath the duvet, my chest tight. The sheets smelled like him. Cold spice, danger, steel. I hated that my body noticed.
Then, the mattress shifted behind me.
I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
A hand brushed my hair back. Calloused, too gentle for a monster.
“I killed Elisabetta to protect you,” Gleb murmured, so quietly I almost thought I imagined it. “Don’t make me regret it.”
I rolled over, staring up at him. But he was already gone. Just the ghost of warmth where his body had been.
I didn’t sleep. Not really. The silence was louder than screams. I watched the ceiling until dawn crept in, coloring the room in sickly gold. Another day in this prison. Another chance to pretend I had control.
At 10 AM the following morning, I retreated to the library, a haven of old Russian novels and cherished Italian favorites.
I picked a new book with an attractive cover and, as always, flipped to the end to check for a happy ending, something I desperately needed. When I saw the final words promise a blissful future, I sighed and settled in, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Who is it?”
“Zoya,” came the reply.
“Come in.”
Zoya appeared, saying, ‘Mr. Romanov wants you in for dance class.’
I remembered his 10 AM threat. “Tell him I’m not interested. I’ll dance again in Italy.”
“Anna,” she said gently, “are you sure?”
“He hurts me every chance he gets. I’m his wife, but I have my will. Tell him I’m busy.” Zoya nodded and left.
I’d barely read two pages when the door slammed open, jarring my heart. Gleb stood there, breathtaking in tailored elegance, his presence igniting a maddening thrill despite my hatred.
“Time for dance class,” he said, gaze piercing.
“I’m not interested.” He walked up to me with cold strides and seized my hand, pulling me close.
“No,” he commanded.
“Let me go!” I struggled as he carried me to the living room, setting me down gently.
A woman in a tutor’s outfit smiled politely nearby. “I’m Galina. Shall we begin?”
“Anna,” I said, forcing a smile.
“I’m Moscow’s best classical dancer. Google me. I’ll make you world-class. I was informed your legs are weak, so sit when you need to. I’m here to serve.”
“Okay.” My dream still burned, despite Gleb.
“I’ve learned these steps…” I recited them, then performed, panting by the end.
“Impressive,” Galina clapped.
“I need to sit,” I gasped, but Gleb’s hands lifted me onto his lap. Confused, I buried my face in his shoulder, his aftershave intoxicating. I stopped myself from touching his hair, this wasn’t real.
His arms around me felt too sure, too familiar. I should’ve pushed him away, screamed, anything, but my body betrayed me, melting into his warmth. The scent of his cologne… It shouldn’t have comforted me. And yet…
Minutes later, I felt better. “We can continue,” I said, standing.
I mouthed “Go!” at Gleb.
“No,” he replied firmly. I turned to Galina, catching her seductive glance at him. My stomach twisted, unprofessional and infuriating, though I shouldn’t care.
Gleb stood beside me. “What’s wrong,?”
“Nothing,” I lied.
He pulled me against his chest.
“Speak!”
“Not that I care, but the way she looks at you…”
His eyes gleamed with something like pride.
“Do I hate you? Yes. But I’ll never be unfaithful. You’re my wife.” He turned to Galina. “Return the money I wired, or I’ll kill you and your mother. Scram!”
She nodded, fleeing.
Shock hit me. He fired her… for that?
Butterflies stirred, his loyalty, however twisted, echoed in my head: “I’ll never be unfaithful.”
“I’ll get another tutor,” he said, checking his watch. “I have places to be.” He walked out.
I nearly stopped him. Nearly. My heart leapt despite myself.
