Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Not me. Even if your dad hadn’t been chosen as a presidential running mate, I’m out this year.”
Her eyes narrow. She’s bright enough to need to understand everything at play. “Why?”
“I’m married.”
Her jaw drops at that. “What?” She looks offended, which makes me frown. I never gave her any reason to think she had a claim on me. But I don’t think she’s attached to me that way. It’s only ever been transactional between us. I hurt her because I enjoy honing my practice on a willing partner. She craves it for the endorphin release. Nothing more, nothing less.
“My bride flew in from Paris this week. She transferred to Thornecroft.”
Melinda cocks her head. “Bullshit.”
“Truth. I had an arranged marriage to a Russian bratva princess.”
I know part of the mystique of Baranov House is that everyone knows or believes we’re bratva heirs. I play it up when I can, not because I’m a tough-guy but because that reputation does more to spark business and alliances and command respect than me trying to prove we’re legit.
Besides, we’re not legit. We may not be in our parents’ business, but we created our own enterprises.
Now Melinda’s sure I’m lying to get rid of her. Her nostrils flare. “Fuck you, Baron. You’re an asshole.”
“It’s true,” I say mildly.
A flash of uncertainty shows under her mask.
I don’t want her to think I’m playing games with her–that’s not my style. “It’s the truth, Melinda.” My tone is gentle. I show her my hand with the shiny new gold ring.
This time, my words seem to settle over her and land, lowering her shoulders and relaxing her face. “Seriously?”
I nod. “Yeah. It’s been arranged since we were babies, but the timeline got moved up.”
“Why?”
“She had interest from another party.”
I probably shouldn’t have shared that part, but Melinda can be counted on for discretion. I know many savory secrets about her that she wouldn’t want discussed on campus.
“That’s just between you and me,” I say to be sure.
She relaxes a bit more now. “Yeah, I’ll be sure to keep my mouth shut around all my other Russian bratva contacts.”
“I mean it.”
She mimes zipping her lips and throwing away a key. “All right. Well, I would never mess with a married man, so no worries.”
I nod. “Glad you understand.”
Hearing the voices of my friends, she tries to look past me into the house. “You can’t come in here,” I reiterate.
“What about for parties?”
Ugh. I don’t want to ruin her social life, but I also don’t want any attention on Baranov House. I relent. “Twice a semester. For the biggest parties only.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re a dick.”
As she turns to walk away, the part of me that needs to protect everyone around me surfaces. “If you’re ever in trouble–”
She looks back over her shoulder and sends me a forgiving smile. “You’d be the first guy I came to.”
I enter the house and find Lara stationed in front of the large picture-glass window. She’d seen everything.
Had she overheard? No. No way. We sound-proofed the house for parties. Sound wouldn’t carry in or out.
“Who was that?” she demands.
I hide the satisfaction her question brings. She cares. I doubt she’s jealous–she doesn’t care about me enough for that yet–but she staking her claim.
I walk over and lightly rest my hands on her waist. She skitters to the side but then settles, letting me touch her. “That’s Melinda Tracy.” I know the more truth I can offer Lara, the sooner she will learn to trust me.
“Her dad is running for Vice President, so I banned her from the house this year. She was pissed off about it.”
Lara stares up at me. Her eyes are the most stunning shade of blue, enhanced by the dark brown shade of her hair. I want to kiss her again.
Desperately.
I want to break down her walls as much as I want to strip off those clothes.
“Because illegal things happen here,” she surmises.
I shrug. “I don’t want undue attention on us. I would also hate for anyone to draw connections between her father and mine.”
“You’ve slept with her.”
“No,” I answer instantly to put her mind at ease.
Lara’s eyes narrow. “You showed her your ring.”
Right. She saw that. I consider my next words. While truth is the best policy, I’m not sure she’s ready to learn about the dungeon and the things I do–or used to do–down there.
“I did. She wanted something from me. Something I’ve given her in the past. But as you saw, I showed her my ring and ended things. You’re my wife. I’m not going to fuck around on you.”
Confusion scrambles her forehead. “What did she want from you?”
Gah. I hesitate.
She pushes my chest, and I drop my hands from her waist. “Hang on,” I say, but she’s already moving away from me.
She marches up the stairs, her perfect ass swaying with each step.