I drum my fingers on the table, glancing at my watch for the third time in five minutes.
Anastasia is late.
Not that I care. I’d rather be anywhere else but here—specifically, I’d rather be with Rowan, figuring out why the hell she’s been avoiding me.
Something’s wrong with her. I can feel it in my gut.
She’s pulling away. Creating distance between us. Acting like we’re nothing more than boss and employee again. It’s driving me fucking insane.
“Mr. Akopov.” Anastasia’s cool voice snaps me out of my thoughts. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
I stand, buttoning my jacket. “Ms. Kuznetsov.”
She looks impeccable as usual—designer dress, perfect hair, cold beauty. The ideal Bratva wife on paper.
She sits across from me, studying my face. “You look terrible.”
“Flattery gets you nowhere.”
“I mean you look distracted.” She signals the waiter for wine. “Where’s your assistant tonight?”
The question hits closer to home than I’d like. “Ms. St. Clair sends her regrets.”
“Interesting.” Anastasia smiles thinly. “Trouble in paradise?”
“Let’s keep this professional,” I say sharply.
“By all means.” She leans back as the waiter pours our wine. “Shall we discuss how convincingly we’ll pretend to fall in love before our inevitable engagement?”
I take a long sip of my wine. “You’re in an especially blunt mood tonight.”
“I had a fight with Daniel.” Her perfect facade cracks just slightly. “He thinks this whole arrangement is insane.”
“It is insane.”
“Yes, well.” She shrugs one elegant shoulder. “Insanity runs in both our families, doesn’t it?”
I actually laugh at that. “I can’t argue with you there.”
We order food neither of us particularly wants, going through the motions of this farce.
“How is your father?” she asks after the waiter leaves.
“Controlling. Demanding. Threatening.” I swirl my wine. “The usual.”
“Mine suggested I should get pregnant as soon as possible after the wedding,” she says with an amused chuckle. “To ‘secure the union.’”
The word “pregnant” makes me think of Rowan again. Why has that word been floating in my head lately?
“My father had similar suggestions,” I admit.
Anastasia studies me over the rim of her glass. “You don’t want this marriage any more than I do.”
“It’s not about want. It’s about duty.”
“Bullshit.” She leans forward. “If it were just about duty, you wouldn’t look like you’re being tortured right now. This is about your assistant.”
I feel my jaw tighten. “Leave her out of this.”
“I can’t.” She sets her glass down carefully. “Because she’s the reason you’ll never be able to commit to this arrangement in the way our fathers want.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” Anastasia’s perfectly manicured nail taps against the tablecloth. “I’ve seen how you look at her. I recognize it because it’s how I look at Daniel.”
An uncomfortable chill settles deep in my chest.
“You’re in love with her,” Anastasia states.
“I’m not—” I stop myself, the denial catching in my throat.
Am I? Is that what this constant preoccupation is? This need to know where she is, what she’s doing? This rage I feel when I think of her with anyone else?
This pain when she pulls away?
Fuck.
“You are,” Anastasia says, not unkindly. “And that complicates things.”
“It changes nothing,” I say firmly. “I have responsibilities. Obligations.”
“To the Bratva. To your father. I understand.” She nods. “I have the same obligations.”
“Then we understand each other.”
“We do.” She takes a delicate bite of her salad. “Which is why I’m proposing we modify our arrangement.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”
“We get engaged as planned. We present the perfect couple to our families.” She sets down her fork. “But behind closed doors, we continue to live our separate lives.”
“We discussed this already.”
“Yes, but before it was theoretical.” She leans forward. “Now, I’m proposing something concrete. I want specific terms.”
“Such as?”
“I maintain my relationship with Daniel. You continue whatever you have with your assistant.” Her eyes are sharp with intelligence. “We keep each other’s secrets. We protect each other.”
“And when your father expects grandchildren?”
“Modern medicine provides options.” She waves a hand dismissively. “The point is, we can both have what we want while giving our families what they need.”
I consider her words, turning them over in my mind.
“Why are you suggesting this?” I ask. “You could find someone else. Someone more willing.”
“Because you understand the world I come from. You won’t judge me for loving someone my father considers beneath our station.” Her expression softens. “And I think you need this alliance as much as I do.”
She’s right. As much as I hate to admit it.
I’ve been fighting my feelings for Rowan for too long. Pretending they’re just physical. Just temporary.
But they’re not.
Every day she doesn’t smile at me feels like a fucking knife wound. Every day she keeps her distance makes me want to tear the walls down between us.
I miss her warmth. Her humor. Her ridiculous stubborn streak. I miss the way she looks at me—not as the Bratva heir, not as the Akopov scion, but just as a man.
“You don’t have to decide right now,” Anastasia says, noticing my silence. “But think about it.”
“I’ll consider it,” I respond noncommittally.
Our main courses arrive. We eat without really tasting the food, both lost in our own thoughts.
“Tell me about him,” I say finally. “This Daniel.”
She looks surprised, then cautiously pleased. “He’s a trauma surgeon. We met when I was doing research for my dissertation. He’s brilliant, kind, and best of all, completely oblivious to who my family is.”
“He doesn’t know?”
“I’ve kept that part of my life separate. Protected him from it.” She sighs. “He thinks I work in international finance.”
“That’s a dangerous game.”
“I know.” Her eyes meet mine. “Almost as dangerous as falling for someone inside your organization who knows exactly who you are.”
Touché.
“She’s not what I expected,” I muse. “Rowan. She’s… different.”
“How so?”
I struggle to put it into words. “She sees too much. Cares too much. Takes too many risks.”
“Sounds exhausting,” Anastasia says with a small smile.
“It is.” I find myself almost smiling back. “But also…”
“Also?”
“Also, I can’t imagine my life without her in it anymore.” The admission costs me something to say out loud. “And that terrifies me.”
“Welcome to the club.” She raises her glass in a mock toast. “To loving the wrong people.”
I clink my glass against hers. “To impossible choices.”
We finish our meal discussing the practical details of our arrangement. But beneath the strategic planning, I feel something unexpected: a sense of relief. Of possibilities opening up where before there seemed to be none.
“So we have a deal?” Anastasia asks as we prepare to leave.
I consider her extended hand. Once I shake it, there’s no going back. I’ll be engaged to this woman while secretly pursuing another.
It’s dishonest. Dishonorable, even.
But it might be the only way to have Rowan in my life.
“We have a deal,” I confirm, taking her hand.
Her grip is firm, businesslike. “I’ll inform my father we’ve come to an understanding.”
“I’ll do the same.”
She studies me for a moment longer. “For what it’s worth, Vincent, I hope your assistant knows what she has in you.”
I think about Rowan’s recent distance. Whatever is happening with her, I need to know. I need to understand why she’s pulling away.
Because the truth I’ve been fighting for so long is finally clear to me.
I’m falling in love with Rowan St. Clair.
Against every instinct of self-preservation.
Against every lesson my father taught me.
Against everything I once believed about myself.
And I have no fucking idea what to do about it.
