Chapter 2
Natasha
Ialways hated dinners at the Volkov estate.
They were too formal, too quiet, too heavy with expectations I’d never agreed to carry.
But Cori, my best friend and the head of this family now, insisted I come tonight, said it was “important,” which usually meant someone needed something from me.
That was my life in a nutshell, doing favors for people who assumed I owed them one.
I parked outside the estate, staring up at the sprawling mansion like it was a living thing watching me.
I hadn’t been here in a while. Even when I did it was a quick in and out.
I hadn’t stayed for longer than a few minutes in years.
Not since... I swallowed, trying not to let the sensations overwhelm me now. Not since Dmitri had kissed me.
God. Even thinking about it made my skin heat.
I’d spent seven years trying to pretend that moment hadn’t mattered, that it wasn’t seared into my memory with embarrassing clarity.
The shock of it. The fire of it. Then, him slipping that ring onto my finger like he owned me, like the world belonged to him and I was part of the spoils.
He’d crushed my hopes and dreams of some sweet man coming along and sweeping me off my feet.
No, instead, I had the bad boy of the Volkov lineage barging into my personal space and declaring that I was to be his damn wife.
I’d laughed it off. What else was I supposed to do?
He was getting hauled off to prison for a crime his brother committed.
It felt like a cruel joke of some twisted proposal meant to lighten the worst night of his life.
His saving grace. Something for him to hold on to and masturbate at night with.
Or maybe he wanted to do something right, and his declaration to get married was it.
Either way, he’d have to do much better than “you’re mine” to get me onboard with his sorry ass plan.
What was it with Russian men who thought that they could demand something and it would happen at the snap of their fingers.
No, sir. Try somebody who wants absolutely no romance and to have to spend their lonely days shopping and going to day spas. I wasn’t that woman. Not at all.
It was a joke, had to be. Except it hadn’t felt like it.
Not when he kissed me. Not when he looked at me like he meant every single word.
Especially when he pulled me close. Having nowhere to put my hands, I put them around his neck, and that was the biggest mistake that I could make.
Because he deepened the kiss and made me promises with his wicked mouth.
Dmitri was tall, at least 6’4” and lanky.
His hair was a weird brown color that wasn’t dirty blonde but not quite light brown either.
My favorite thing about him, I’d wondered what it was called.
It was freakin’ sexy. He’d told me once that it was called ‘rusiy’.
Whatever. It was chef’s kiss. And his lips.
.. a deep red undertone, not too thin or too thick.
He had a goatee and kept it clean. Neat.
I could tell them he groomed everything from the way he wore all the other hair on his head.
Neatly rugged, and it was the same on his chest. I owed finding out that information to his mother when she threw a pool party the summer before he left.
God that man wore sweat like body mist. I’d been tempted to lick it off him, too.
I shook it off. That was seven years ago. Dmitri Volkov hadn’t crossed my mind in… Okay, that was a lie. He crossed my mind more than I’d ever admit. Often enough that I’d awakened soaked with sweat and needing to have sex because he’d invaded my dreams. Damn if he wasn’t fine as hell.
Easy, girl.
I smoothed down my dress, exhaled heavily, and headed up the stairs, taking another breath before the front door opened.
A house servant nodded and led me inside.
Everything looked the same: dark wood, expensive art, the faint smell of cigar smoke soaked into the air like history.
Courtesy of the boys’ father, who still hovered over Cori like he didn’t trust him to breathe in any direction.
“Natasha!” Cori rushed toward me, pulling me into a too-tight hug. “Thank God you’re here. Now the real fun can begin.”
“Fun? You said we were having dinner. What’s the big deal?” I asked, glancing around. Something felt… off. Not wrong, just different. Like the air itself was wound tight.
Cori hesitated. “Well… everyone’s here tonight.”
Everyone? What did that mean? Before I could ask, someone stepped into the dining room doorway. And I forgot how to breathe.
Dmitri.
He wasn’t supposed to be here. Dmitri wasn’t supposed to be out.
He wasn’t supposed to look like that—bigger than I remembered, harder, more carved muscles than flesh.
Hotter than he once was. How was that even possible?
His eyes locked on mine immediately, like he’d been waiting at that door just to see my reaction.
I froze. Every sound in the room disappeared.
My heart went straight into my throat. He stepped forward slowly, deliberately, predatory in a way that made my spine tremble.
I was only 5’7” and he towered over me so much that I had to tilt my head up to look him in the eye.
Gray eyes assessed me, and I swore they looked into my soul.
Shit. My stomach turned into putty, and I swore he was claiming me even in silence, untouched, and in front of everybody.
Why was he so damn intense all the time?
His eyes lowered to my lips, and I almost moaned, hoping he’d kiss me again.
My body swayed forward, and I straightened quickly, regaining my composure.
“You’re early,” he murmured.
I blinked. “You’re… out.”
His mouth curved, not quite a smile. More like arrogance rearing its second head.
“You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?” he asked softly.
I swallowed, needing him to be talking about something else. Anything else but marriage. “Forget what?”
He reached out and tapped the finger where a ring had once sat.
He then pulled my hand into his, and heat enveloped each of my fingers before quickly engulfing my palm and wrist, then my arm.
I pulled it away as if burned by his touch.
Well, that was partially true because it was hot as hell in here now. Could somebody open a window?
“The promise I made you.”
My stomach dropped. My chest burned. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I hadn’t prepared for this. I hadn’t prepared for him.
“What promise?” I whispered, captivated by his eyes.
He lifted my chin with a sole finger, lowering his face until his breath brushed my cheek.
“You said you didn’t take me seriously.” His voice was quieter, darker. “I’m here to change your mind. Uphold us both to that standard, baby girl.”
My pulse hammered so hard it hurt. I took a step back—instinct, panic, disbelief—but he followed with the same controlled intensity, and his finger never left its place. He didn’t waver. Didn’t blink. Didn’t…
In that moment, one thing was painfully clear: Dmitri Volkov wasn’t joking then,
and he definitely wasn’t joking now. I was beginning to think that I’d underestimated not only his intentions but the man too.
Cori cleared his throat loudly, breaking the tension like he was hacking through it with a dull axe.
“Okay, who wants... wine?” he asked too brightly, clapping his hands together.
The sound jolted the room back to life, and suddenly I remembered other people existed.
His mother—Regina Volkov, the ice queen of Moscow elite—slid into view, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp as knives.
Dmitri’s father followed behind her, tall, broad, stern—his presence sucking the warmth out of the air like always.
And behind them, Cori’s fiancée, two distant cousins, and a couple of familiar faces I hadn’t seen in forever. A small crowd. A trap.
Regina spread her arms gracefully. “Natasha, darling. How lovely to see you.”
I stiffened, giving a polite nod I’d learned years ago. “Mrs. Volkov.”
“Oh, please. Regina.” She kissed both my cheeks, her perfume wrapping around me like expensive suffocation. “You look beautiful. Doesn’t she, Dmitri?”
His father made a noise beneath his breath. Cori mouthed sorry. Dmitri? He didn’t say a damn thing. He didn’t have to. His eyes said everything—slow, smoldering, claiming in a way that made my knees wobble.
“Dinner is served,” one of the staff announced.
Perfect. Now I could pretend to focus on food instead of the six-foot-four beautiful man-problem breathing down my neck.
Everyone filed into the dining room. The table was ridiculous—long enough to seat twenty—but somehow I ended up right next to Dmitri.
Of course, Cori had orchestrated this. He’d never been subtle.
I shot him a glare across the table, and he grinned like the little bastard he was.
I sat, making a mental note to kick his ass later.
The entire invitation to be here was a setup, and we both knew it.
Then Dmitri sat so close our chairs nearly touched.
My dress wasn’t meant for defense—it was light, silky, and suddenly I regretted every fashion choice I’d made for today.
I’d worn it to be polite and in good taste for the dinner invitation.
Had I known that Dmitri was going to be here, I’d have worn a turtle-neck sweater and an oversized long skirt.
As demented as he was, he’d probably think that was sexy too.
Dinner began with quiet clinks of silverware, murmured conversations, and the soft shuffle of staff moving around us.
I took a big sip of wine to help calm my nerves.
Shocking them with a quick rush of alcohol to stun them stupid.
“Relax,” Dmitri murmured beside me, voice brushing my ear like an acquainted lover. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”