Chapter 16
Brielle
I saunter into the house, pretending like I don’t have a care in the world, even though, deep down, I kind of feel guilty for buying Nicole a new car with Kane’s credit card.
The idea popped into my head when we left to go shopping and Nicole mentioned that her father had taken her car back, stating that her choosing not to fall in line with his expectations meant she needed to do it all on her own.
I commend her for doing what she wants, regardless of the consequences. I wish I were as strong as she is. She knows what she wants, and she’s going after it—hence her following her dream of opening a coffee shop and bookstore.
In Harbor Point, you need a vehicle. We don’t have public transportation, like the big cities do, and getting a rideshare is ridiculous.
So, rather than go to the boutiques to buy more clothes neither of us needed, I asked her what car she loved and then took her to the dealership to buy it for her.
She argued, but I was persistent, and when the dealership said they had to get approval, I figured Kane would refuse, but when he approved the purchase, I told Nicole even Kane wanted her to have the new car.
She cried, and I was glad to have given her something she needed—not that she needed a two hundred-thousand-dollar car, but now, at least when her shitty father sees her, it’ll be a slap in his face because fuck him for trying to screw over my best friend.
“Good evening,” Kane says calmly, making me jump.
He’s changed out of his suit into a pair of gray sweats and a T-shirt, and I hate that he looks just as hot dressed down as he does dressed up.
When I glance behind him, the table is set up for two, complete with candles in the center.
“What’s this for?” I ask carefully, trying to gauge what kind of trap I’m walking into.
“Dinner.” He grins. “I’d like to say I made it, but I’m not the best cook, so I had the chef from The Terrace make it since you’d seemed to enjoy the food there.”
“Why?” I blurt out.
Kane quirks a brow. “Can’t I have a romantic dinner with my future wife?”
He steps over to the chair and pulls it out for me, and I walk over. Since I haven’t eaten dinner, I give in and have a seat, letting him push my chair in.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” Kane asks, lifting the bottle.
“Is it poisoned?”
“No.” He chuckles. “Not unless you consider a bottle of 2009 Chateau Lafite Rothschild poison.”
He pours us each a glass and then takes a sip to prove I won’t keel over if I drink it.
“So, how was your day?” he asks, lifting the metal lid off his food.
It’s filet and lobster with risotto and it looks mouthwatering.
“It was good,” I tell him, playing along.
I’m starved, and I’d like to eat this delicious meal before we ruin it with an argument.
“What did you do?”
I glare his way, and he chuckles.
“Fair enough. You bought a new car. Though I’m surprised you bought a Nissan when you love your Porsche.”
“It wasn’t for me,” I admit, preparing for an argument. “I told you I was buying Nicole a maid-of-honor gift.”
Kane glances at me, his fork stilling. “You bought that car for Nicole?”
“Yep, she didn’t have a car, thanks to her asshole dad taking hers back, so I bought her one.”
A small smile graces Kane’s face. “That was very nice of you.”
He takes a bite of his food, and I balk at him in confusion.
“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say? That was nice of me? I spent a quarter of a million on a car, and you’re not upset?”
“Princess,” he drawls, “I’m a rich man. I don’t give a shit what you spend my money on.
If the credit card company hadn’t contacted me, I wouldn’t have even noticed.
But the fact that you bought it for your friend, who needed a vehicle, instead of yourself shows me the type of person you are. You’re a good friend to Nicole.”
Uncomfortable with his compliment, I simply nod and start eating, unsure how to respond to him. He’s acting different tonight, and I don’t know what to make of it.
“Did you do anything else today?” he asks between bites.
“We, um … we looked at a wedding venue, at Nicole’s insistence, and then we went to Pilates.”
“One day, I’ll have to tag along and see what Pilates is all about,” Kane says conversationally.
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?” Kane tilts his head to the side. “You attend classes almost daily and clearly love it, so I’d like to know what it entails.”
I swallow a large sip of my wine, taken aback. Theodore never once took an interest in my love of Pilates. He just thought it was something rich, bored women did during the day.
“I have actually thought about owning my own studio,” I admit, unsure why I’m confiding in Kane.
But since he’s here and—from what my brothers have mentioned—a good businessman, maybe he can help guide me in the right direction.
“The Pilates studio I go to is for sale. When I reached out to the management company this morning, they told me they were accepting offers, so I had my attorney draw up a contract, not wanting to chance someone else buying it first. But this afternoon, they called to tell me it was no longer available.”
Sure, I can open my own, but having two Pilates studios in the same town would make it difficult, especially since the one I go to has such a good reputation.
“Did they counter?” Kane asks.
“No.” I take a bite of my filet, and it practically melts in my mouth.
I wash it down with a sip of the wine, which is equally good.
“They just said that they were no longer interested in selling it to me. I looked, and it’s still on the market, so maybe they realized who I was—that I was related to the Antonov brothers—and changed their mind.
” As much as I love my brothers, sometimes, being linked to them kind of sucks.
“Have you spoken to them?”
“I was trying to buy it on my own, without their help.”
Kane hums and then says, “Can you forward me the info? I’ll look at it for you. See if there are any red flags.”
“Really?” I ask. “Why would you do that?”
Kane locks eyes with me. “I could be wrong, but part of being married means having each other’s back. Besides, if that body is from Pilates, the last thing I want is for you to give it up.”
I roll my eyes, but deep down, butterflies attack my belly. I love that Kane sees the hard work I’ve put into making a healthier version of myself.
“Now, about that venue,” he says. “Is it available for Valentine’s Day?”
“Yes, it’s available, and it has been booked.”
“Good.” He nods. “I’ll handle the engagement party.”
The rest of the meal is spent enjoying our food. And afterward, Kane insists the housekeeper will do the dishes, so I go upstairs to shower.
I’m looking for my leave-in conditioner in the cabinet under the sink when I notice a pharmacy bag. I open it and find my birth control refills in there.
“Huh.” I don’t remember picking these up, but it’s been a crazy month, so I’m not surprised that my brain is foggy.
Since my pills are set to run out tomorrow, I grab a packet from the bag and set it on the counter, then take two more packets and stow them away in my makeup bag. I close the pharmacy bag that contains the other four months’ worth of birth control pills and place them in the cabinet.
Kane hasn’t brought up me getting pregnant, and I’m glad for that. I might be marrying the man, but there’s no way I’m having his babies. I’d rather never have children than have them with a man who will never love me.
“Please,” I beg, unsure if anyone can even hear me. “Please don’t take my baby.”
“You did this,” Andrey hisses, coming into view.
He towers over me, a look of disgust marring his features. “You’re a whore who chose to spread her legs, and now I’m forced to fix the problem you created.”
“Please,” I say again. “I’m sorry. The baby might be Anthony’s—”
“Enough!” he barks and then leans in close to my face. “No daughter of mine will have a bastard born out of wedlock. It’s bad enough you’re now damaged goods.”
“He … he raped me,” I whisper.
“Because you’d spread your legs for another man!” His hand connects with my cheek, and I choke out a sob. “You’re a disgrace to this family, and when they’re done taking the bastard out of you, you’re coming home.”
I close my eyes and blink back my tears, not wanting to give him any more of myself. Only when I open them, rather than the doctor standing over me, it’s Kane.
“Come back to me, Princess. Whatever’s going on in that head of yours, it’s not real. You’re having a nightmare.”
My hand flies to my stomach. Is this real? Am I still pregnant?
“Brielle … Brielle, wake up, baby.”
My eyes snap open, and instead of lying in a medical clinic, I’m in Kane’s arms, nestled against his chest.
Instinctually, my hand goes to my belly, but it’s flat. I’m not pregnant. Because Andrey took my baby from me.
My heart is pounding in my chest, and when I suck in a harsh breath, I’m met with resistance. I’m having another panic attack.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Kane says, his words soothing. “Focus on your breathing.”
With me still in his arms, he manages to turn on the tub water and pour bubbles into the water. The lavender scent fills the room, and I snuggle closer into his hold.
He should be the last person I turn to for comfort, but I’m drowning in the past, and he’s the only life raft I have.
“Here you go,” he says, lowering me into the tub. “This should help.”
“No, please,” I beg, not caring how needy I sound.
Every time I have a nightmare, I handle it alone. Body sweating, heart racing. It takes hours to compose myself. But in his arms, my body is already calming, and I don’t want him to let go of me.
I expect him to get annoyed, but instead, he steps into the tub, still dressed in his sweats, and holds me, like I’m precious to him and not the woman he’s forcing to marry him to help his agenda.
Between his warmth, the hot water, and the calming scent, within minutes, my heart rate slows down significantly.
I’m so exhausted from the nightmare that I can’t keep my eyes open, so I let them fall closed, doing something I haven’t done in a long time—trusting someone to keep me safe.
When I wake up, I’m back in bed, under the covers, with Kane’s arms protectively wrapped around me from behind. His hard chest is pressed up against my back, and his face is nuzzled into the crook of my neck.
The last man I was this close to was Owen—
“I know you’re awake,” Kane rasps. “Your breathing changes, and your body tenses up.” Instead of rolling me onto my back, he rolls onto his and pulls me with him so I’m spread across his body. “Wanna tell me what happened?”
Unable to make eye contact, I lay my head on his chest, using the rhythm of his heartbeat to steady mine.
A part of me wants to tell him what happened, but another part of me doesn’t want to give him any more of myself than I’m being forced to.
Not fighting Andrey harder was the biggest mistake of my life. I’ll always wonder if I had fought harder, screamed louder, found a way to run faster, if my baby—and possibly Owen—would be alive. And when I think about it or talk about it, I feel like a stupid, weak little girl all over again.
“It was just a nightmare,” I mutter.
“It was more than that,” he says, seeing through my half-truth. “After my father was murdered and my mother almost died, she’d wake up the same way, having a panic attack from her nightmares.”
“Did she take a bath to calm herself down?”
“Yeah.” He glides his hand along the curves of my body, and for some reason, his touch helps to relax me further. “She said the warm water would soothe her.”
“Where is she?” I ask, wondering why I haven’t met her yet.
“I sent her on vacation while I figure things out. I didn’t want to risk your brothers going after her. I’m hoping once we’re married, she’ll move here and live in the in-law suite in the back.”
My body tenses, and Kane notices. Palming my cheek, he lifts my face so I’ll look at him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Do you not want my mom to live in the back? I can get her a condo somewhere—”
“No.” I shake my head. “I just figure she won’t like me since I’m an Antonov and all.”
“She doesn’t agree with my marrying you,” he admits with a shrug. “But she doesn’t have an issue with you. She knows you’re nothing more than a casualty in this war of life, just like she was.”
Kane runs his fingers gently through my tresses, and I lay my head back down on his chest.
For a little while, I pretend like I’m in bed with a man who genuinely loves me and wants to marry me.
It’s not forced. He courted me for months, and when the time was right, he picked out the perfect ring and told me he wanted to spend his life with me, that he couldn’t imagine going another day without making me his wife.
When the sun starts to shine through the blinds, I pretend like this is how our life is supposed to be.
Cuddled in bed because he needs to be close to me.
Only, instead of me awkwardly climbing out of bed, he makes love to me and then carries me to the bathroom, wanting to start his day buried deep inside me.
But once I’m in the shower alone, the pretend morphs into reality.
I’m alone. And the man who’s going to marry me doesn’t love me—and never will.