Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Startled, I comply, showing him my wrist, where the skin is red and blotchy. To my shock, he gently takes my hand, a frown gathering between his eyebrows as he turns it this way and that. His touch jolts me with its warmth. His hand is dark against my pale skin, his fingers long and powerfully masculine. My narrow palm and slender fingers look child-like in his grip. An electrifying tingle runs up my arm as he lightly rubs his thumb over the stinging skin, soothing the hurt, and my breathing quickens as the heated sensation spreads through my body, culminating in a pulsing, oddly pleasant ache between my thighs.
Oh, fuck. Is this what it feels like to be turned on? Is arousal what I’ve been experiencing around him?
I’m not ignorant about sex—we’ve had Sex Ed in school, and I’ve seen porn online—but I’ve never dated or had a boyfriend. Have never wanted to, no matter how much my friends make fun of me for finishing ninth grade without so much as kissing a boy. Natasha has already gone to third base with her boyfriend of six months, and a couple of my friends at school have had full-on sex. But I’m not ready. I don’t want high school boys with their sloppy kisses and greedy caresses. Maybe it’s because I’ve been gawked at by males of all ages since I turned twelve, but I’ve never been particularly eager to let anyone with a Y chromosome near me. I’m still not—but for the first time, I understand why other girls are.
If kissing is anything like the sensations Alexei’s touch is evoking in my body, I might want to try it sooner rather than later.
But not with him. Never with him. Even if he hadn’t killed my tutor, the Leonovs’ reputation alone would make this a no-go.
I yank my arm back. “It’s fine.”
Alexei’s gaze snaps up to my face. “It’ll bruise.”
“I’ll put ice on it.”
His expression smooths out. “As you wish. Now, let’s talk about—”
“This insanity? Yeah, let’s.” I jump to my feet as fresh adrenaline floods my system. I don’t care what kind of reaction I have to his touch or his nearness. I’m not marrying him, or anyone else my father picks for me.
My husband, if I ever have one, is going to be my choice and no one else’s.
I begin pacing in front of the table. “This is total bullshit, and you need to tell them that. They seem to listen to you, so you have to speak up and say that it’s not happening, that it’s a ridiculous, barbaric thing they’ve come up with, and that neither of us wants it.” I glance at Alexei and find his gaze tracking me with that indecipherable expression. “Right?”
He doesn’t answer.
I stop, suddenly way less certain. “Right?”
“Sit,” he says, gesturing to my chair. “There’s something you need to know.”
“What?”
He raises his eyebrows and gestures again.
Huffing, I plop into the damn chair. “What?”
“The betrothal agreement has already been signed.”
“What? No. No, that’s not true. They can’t do it without us agreeing to it. They—” I stop at his sardonic smile. “They can?”
“Our families can do anything,” he says softly. “You know that.”
A chill spreads over my skin. He’s right. I know he’s right. In Russia, the Molotovs and the Leonovs are close to omnipotent. Maybe if we were in the States or someplace like Germany, I could hope to find a judge or a police chief who hasn’t been bought by one or both of our families, but not here in Moscow. Not anywhere in Eastern Europe, probably.
“Don’t panic,” Alexei says, correctly reading the expression on my face. “This isn’t happening today or anytime soon. I have no interest in a fifteen-year-old, for marriage or for dating. For the foreseeable future, we’ll carry on as we always have, leading our separate lives.”
“Except we’ll be betrothed.” The very word is foreign on my tongue, as medieval as this whole arrangement.
“That’s right.” He regards me from underneath hooded eyelids.
“No, it’s not right! Tell them to go fuck themselves.” I can hear my voice rising, like that of a petulant child, so I clamp my lips shut. As much as I don’t want this, the knowledge that he thinks of me as a dumb kid not even worth dating stings in some perverse way.
A sardonic curve touches his lips again. “You still don’t understand. It’s done. We are betrothed. Breaking the agreement now would only create fresh discord between our families. You don’t want that, do you?”
I blink. “No, but—”
“Then we go along with it,” he says with finality. “We take it one day at a time. Who knows where we’ll be in a few years? Life isn’t a static picture on a screen. It changes all the time, in ways we can’t even begin to predict. You can spend all your energy fighting the future today, or you can wait and see if a fight is worthwhile.” He leans in, eyes gleaming. “In fact, when the time comes, you might find you’ve changed your mind about that future altogether.”