Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Evie snorts, and I cut her a warning look.
Papa sounds delighted. “That’s the spirit, honey. I knew you’d come around. See? I told you this wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Oh, it’s going to be unforgettable,” I say.
The machine beeps again positively, showing the transaction approved. The saleswoman slips the dress into a thick, dustproof garment bag and hands it over, still looking dazed.
Evie coughs into her hand, trying not to laugh.
“Good girl,” Papa says proudly. “I’ll let you go. Have fun shopping.”
“Will do.”
I hang up, slide the card back into my purse, and sling the dress bag over my shoulder.
I flash a venomous smile. “He’s going to be blown away. I just know it.”
Evie’s grin mirrors mine. “You’re evil.”
“I prefer unpredictable.”
She links her arm with mine as we head for the door. “Whatever you are, I cannot wait to see Isaac’s face when he lays eyes on that dress.”
I adjust my sunglasses and step out into the sun, already imagining it.
9
ISAAC
The tailor cinches a tape around my waist while I stare past my reflection. The tuxedo is nearly finished, jet black with sharp lines and knife-edged lapels. It isn’t my first bespoke suit, and it won’t be my last, but knowing I’ll wear this one on my wedding day lands like a punch. Pins-and-needles nerves prickle under my skin, yet my attention drifts miles from this room.
All I can picture is Katya gliding down the aisle toward me.
I saw the invoice for her gown. I can only imagine how extravagant it looks. She’s trying to bait me with the price, convinced I’ll blow a fuse. Even after our talk the other night, she still refuses to trust me.
Mikhail’s voice drifts from the far side of the room, hijacking my wedding fitting for an impromptu briefing. I don’t hear a single word, yet I nod at the right moments and hum so he assumes I’m listening.
My mind is miles away. I replay the way Katya looked in my office the other night, vulnerable and almost afraid. She bared her soul, confessed why this marriage hurts her, and it took everything in me not to drag her into my arms and swear I’d fix it all.
She isn’t what I expected. At first, I assumed she was bratty for the sake of it, defiant simply because she could be. I didn’t know how deep her layers ran, how much she wants from love and marriage. Her concerns are legitimate, even if her own father refuses to acknowledge them.
That’s why I swore to show her how good marriage can feel. My care won’t stop at the bank account. I want to honor her dreams, prove I hear every word she says, especially the part about owning her own gallery. She thinks marrying me buries that wish but I intend to prove the opposite. Whatever her heart names, I’ll give it, whether she dares to ask or not.
That doesn’t mean I won’t tease her mercilessly in the meantime. She keeps tugging on my chain, but she’ll be the first to discover how deeply I can burrow under her skin. I’ll woo her, seduce her, rile her. Honestly, it’s the part of this marriage I’m looking forward to the most.
Before Katya, marriage never crossed my mind. I couldn’t picture a wife, let alone how to treat one. I didn’t want marriage, certainly not children. My life was the business, full stop. Carving out space to make someone else feel chosen had no place on my calendar.
In our world, family is a liability. Even Viktor knows that. Maybe that was part of his motivation for arranging this marriage. If I’m married to his daughter, I can’t use her against him, not that I ever would. That isn’t the man I am, and it isn’t how I run my organization, even if it’s exactly how Oleg would do it.
And it doesn’t hurt that Katya already steals the air from my lungs. She strides into any room and tilts the world off its axis, gliding through my house as though she owns the deed while daring me to push her out.
She needles my limits just to gauge my temper and every time I refuse to snap, her frustration morphs into fascination. I wonder what she’d do if I shoved back, let her believe she was under my skin. She’d probably crank the heat even higher.
Ours will never be a soft, gooey sort of marriage. That’s not who we are. We’re gasoline and the match. One of us will spark, the other will feed the blaze. Sooner or later we’ll blur together, unable to tell who struck first or who fanned the flames. All I know is that I want to burn with her, for her, because of her.
Mikhail clears his throat, and I realize he’s waiting for me to respond to something. Damn it, I haven’t heard a single word. Even the tailor is staring at me, expectant. Shit, what did I miss?