Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
VIKTORIYA
T he platter of food is enormous. A steak, potatoes, broccoli, and dessert. More food than I’ve eaten in … I can’t remember the last time I’ve eaten this much food.
At first, I hesitated when Aleksander set the food on the table, but once I started eating, it was too good to stop.
Now, he watches me.
“Are you not going to have something?” I ask.
“I ate at our wedding.”
Right. Our wedding. I got so caught up in the food I almost forgot Aleksander and I are married now.
“How is it?” he asks, nodding at my steak.
“It’s one of the best steaks I’ve had,” I admit, taking another bite. It feels so good to be full.
“Good. I want you to eat all of it, and you’re not going to throw it up once you’re done. You’re so skinny. You need to gain weight.”
For a moment, I blanch. “If I’m not thin enough, I can’t return to ballet.”
“Who told you that?”
“My dance instructor back in New York. I used to work for her ballet company, but then I broke my ankle. I haven’t been able to return since then. But my ankle is almost healed, and once my rib is healed as well, I can dance again. I just need to be thin enough.”
“You’re already thin enough, Viktoriya. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“I doubt it. My face is hideous.”
“Why do you put yourself down like that?”
“Like what?” I take a bite of the potatoes. They’re creamy and mushy in my mouth. God, I haven’t tasted food this good in a while.
“You act like you need to be perfect all the time. You don’t need to be perfect for me, Viktoriya.”
Aleksander’s words make me … uncomfortable. He’s clearly trying to reassure me, but it only reminds me I’m not perfect.
And I have to be if I’ll ever dance again.
I push my plate away. “I’m done.”
His eyes flick down to the half-eaten steak and veggies. “You’re not done yet. You haven’t eaten everything.” He places the plate back in front of me.
I push the plate away again. “Listen, I don’t need your pity. I don’t need you telling me that I don’t have to be perfect. I want to be perfect. I’m going to do what I want. I don’t know why I listened to you. Now, I’m going to have to work harder to burn off the food I just consumed.”
“Viktoriya,” he says sternly, making me sit up straighter. I wince from the pain in my side. “You’re hurting. I can tell. That’s why I wanted to marry you.”
“I thought you wanted a challenge.”
“That, too. But I could tell you were in need of a stern hand. You need permission to eat because you’re not granting yourself that. So, eat. Eat everything on your plate.”
“No.”
He leans in close to me, but I don’t lean back. Aleksander doesn’t intimidate me. “You will eat.”
“I’m not going to take orders from a poverty-ridden man.”
His lips quirk up. “I have money now. I have more money than most men in this world do. That makes me powerful. I’m going to make you submit to me, Viktoriya. You need to eat. So, eat.” He moves the plate closer to me. “If you don’t eat, I will feed you myself.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Without responding, he picks up the fork, jabs it into a piece of meat, and holds it to my lips. It smells heavenly. I know how good it tastes. I know how good it feels in my stomach. For once, I don’t feel the constant ache of hunger.
But I cannot let Aleksander take control of me. There’s no one I trust more in this world than myself. Aleksander could hurt me like Gleb did. Like Akim did. Like those guards did.
I am not safe.
I face him head-on and give him my best sneer. “No.”
“You will eat, Viktoriya. You want to. You need to. You’ll feel much better once you do. So, eat.” He doesn’t lower his hand. The steak is still so close to my lips. I could just lean over and …
I let myself give in and take the bite. I almost moan from how good it is.
“Good.” He cuts off another piece and holds it up to my lips. “Again.”
I can fight him. I can argue until my face turns blue. It’s my specialty, after all.
But if I’m being honest with myself—I want to eat.
I take the bite and chew it slowly, savoring it, while Aleksander cuts off another piece for me. Once again, I let him feed me. I tell myself he’s forcing me so I don’t have to feel bad about this. It’s not my own fault—it’s my husband’s.
Husband. Aleksander is officially my husband, and already, he’s shown himself to be someone I cannot trust. He wants me to give in to my baser desires and not be perfect. How can that be good for me?
I don’t stop eating, though. I don’t stop until all the food is gone and in my stomach.
“You did good,” he says. For some reason, his praise feels … good.
Then anger rushes right into me. “I don’t want your praise,” I mutter, standing up and hurrying to the bathroom.
Aleksander follows and grabs my arm before I can reach the toilet. “You will not throw up any of the food you just ate. You will never throw up any of your food again. Is that clear?”
My eyes linger on the toilet, aching for the release throwing up will give me. I can feel the food settling in my stomach, weighing me down, already making me gain weight.
“I’ll never be able to dance again if I’m not thin. You have to let me do this.”
He tightens his grip on my arm. Jolts of electricity are coming from his touch. “No. I will not let you do this. If you dance again, it will not be because you’re making yourself throw up. It will be because you get on a stage and dance. You’re not going to hurt yourself anymore, Viktoriya. Never again.”
I’m hit with a sudden emotion I haven’t felt in a while—pure and utter relief.
Tears form in my eyes, and I can’t stop them from falling, even though I don’t want Aleksander to see me this way. As they spill down my cheeks, I can taste the salt in them.
The weight that has been sitting in my chest has eased somewhat. For once, I feel like I can breathe again.
Aleksander looks me over and nods once before opening his arms. “Come on.”
I could let myself lean into him. Soak up his warm scent. Feel his strong arms around me.
But that would make everything too easy. Aleksander cannot do this to me. If I don’t stop this right now, he’ll always have control over me, and that’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever thought of.
Even more terrifying than being sold to the highest bidder.
My independence—the thing that makes me me —is something I cannot let go of.
Not even when it would be so easy to let myself be comforted by him. To not feel the weight of the world on my shoulders for just a moment.
“No,” I say, wiping my tears away and brushing past him into the bedroom. “I don’t want your pity.”
“It’s not pity, Viktoriya.”
“It feels like pity to me. I’m tired. I want to go to bed.” All that food is making me sleepy. This is what it’s like to feel full—it’s an addicting sensation, I’ll give it that.
That’s why I can’t eat like that again. I can’t gain weight. I cannot.
“I want to change into something more comfortable.” I grab my pajamas from my bag. I don’t want to ask this, but I have to. “I need you to unzip my dress for me.”
“You seem capable of making your own decisions in life. You can unzip your dress yourself.”
My jaw drops. “I have a broken rib. It hurts to even stand right now. Unzip my dress.” My tears are completely dried up. I can’t believe I let myself cry in front of him. Bastard.
He stares at me with his intense eyes, like he can see into my soul. “I would love to help you, but you’re so keen on avoiding my help. It’s one or the other, Viktoriya. If you want me to help you be happier, I’ll gladly do it. But if you don’t want me at all, then I can't help you with your dress.”
“What about common courtesy? You know I’m hurt. This is unfair.”
“No. What’s unfair is you hurting yourself. Maybe you need to be taught a lesson. Not everything in this life is about you. I wanted you to eat. You ate. I’m proud of you for that. But I am not your errand boy. I will not help you with your dress.” He gets under the covers and lays down, no longer looking at me.
“So, you’ll only do things for yourself, then?” I ask. “You want to control me, but only when it suits you. You really aren’t worthy of me.”
“Goodnight, Viktoriya.” He turns off the light, plunging me into darkness.
Well, two can play that game. I march over to the wall and turn the big light on.
He sits up and smirks. “What are you doing?”
“I was getting undressed. You rudely turned the light off on me.”
“So, then, get undressed.” He remains seated, eyeing me over.
“I can’t get undressed with you looking at me like that.”
“Why not? We’re married now. I should see you naked at some point, shouldn’t I?”
My hands hang awkwardly at my side. I don’t usually feel awkward, but Aleksander makes me, which only makes me hate him more.
“Unless you really do need my help,” he continues. “If so, I’d gladly offer it. But only if you stop punishing yourself.”
“I’m not punishing myself.”
“Then why do you always have such a hard exterior?”
I scoff—my rib groans in pain. “Do you not know my nickname? Ice Queen? I’ve always been this way.”
“No. I don’t think you have.”
I inhale sharply. How does Aleksander know to say the one thing that rocks me to my core? “Just help me with my dress.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, which only makes his pecs look more defined. “Only if you’ll promise never to throw up again.”
Can I promise that? It’s the only release I’ve had these past few weeks. Losing that will mean giving up my dream to dance again.
“I can get my own dress,” I mutter, reaching my arms behind me.
But, of course, a sharp pain radiates through me, and I buckle over, trying to take in a deep breath but unable to.
Aleksander gets out of bed and rushes to my side. “Viktoriya?”
“I’m fine,” I groan, forcing myself to stand back up. “I don’t need your help.”
“Oh, now, you don’t? Then why did you ask before?”
“Can you not be an asshole about this? I’m in pain, you know.”
“I know,” he says in a softer tone. The way he looks at me makes me want to cry all over again. No one has ever looked at me like that before—like they truly care about me.
But that’s fucking nonsense. Aleksander doesn’t care about me. He only wants to make me break for him and gets a kick out of how challenging I can be.
He’ll hurt me just like Gleb did. I know it. No man can be trusted.
“I can do this.” I reach behind me to unzip my dress, and once again, I’m brought down by the intense pain in my side.
“Let me do it,” Aleksander says, helping me stand straight. “If I don’t, we’ll be here all night, and you’ll be stuck in your dress forever.” He places his hands on my zipper, so close to my neck. Goosebumps rise on my skin. He unzips the dress and helps pull my sleeves down. The dress falls at my feet.
I’m suddenly fully aware of how naked I am. Well, not naked. I’m wearing underwear and a bra. But I’ve never been this exposed to a man before.
I force myself to face him because I won’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he has any effect on me. Aleksander rakes his eyes up and down my body. I know I look good. That’s not a surprise.
What is a surprise is that I don’t mind him looking.
He smirks again and, without a word, heads back to bed. My jaw drops. Not even a compliment?
Rolling my eyes, I get into bed and lay down, careful not to hurt my rib. Aleksander and I are side by side. So close. I can feel the heat from his body.
I’m in a bed with a man who’s in no way, shape, or form worthy of me.
So, then, why do I feel … excited?
I’m more aware of my skin and body than I’ve ever been before. Aleksander could so easily lean over and touch me. I don’t want that, of course. Not after Akim.
It’s just that maybe it wouldn’t be … unpleasant .
No. I push that from my mind. “Goodnight, Aleksander.”
“Neither of us turned off the light.”
He’s right. The overhead light is on, and the only way to reach it is to get out of bed and turn it off.
“I’m in pain,” I say.
He glances over at me with a small smile and gets up, exposing his hard, muscular chest, and turns off the light. Once again, I’m plunged into darkness, but this time, I’m grateful for it.
I don’t want Aleksander to see the blush on my cheeks.
MILA
The wedding reception ends, even though the bride and groom have long since left. I wonder how Vik is handling being married. I know it wasn’t something she wanted.
Meanwhile, I’ve been dreaming of my wedding day since I was a little girl. My prince charming is out there. I have to believe it.
Mikhail, Sofiya, and I leave the hotel, and as we reach the car, a man walks out of the darkness.
It’s the same man from the party—Damien, I believe.
Mikhail tenses. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s a public street. I can walk here.” Damien’s eyes slide over to me and linger for a moment. I blush. He’s handsome, but there’s a darkness to him that’s scary. I’m not sure I want a man looking at me like that. Thankfully, he looks back at Mikhail. “I heard about the wedding. Shame I wasn’t invited.”
“Of course, you weren’t invited,” Mikhail growls. “Your father killed my son.”
“But I didn’t. I was just a kid myself, Mikhail.”
“Just go. I have no desire to kill you right now, Damien. But if you continue to bother me, I can’t promise what I’ll do.”
“How’s the bride? I heard she went through a whole ordeal.”
“She did,” Sofiya says, stepping forward. Mikhail places his hand on her arm, holding her back. “No thanks to you. You saw Vik there and did nothing to stop it.”
A slow smile spreads across his lips as he glances at me. “Are you as feisty as your two older sisters?”
I gulp and step back. Mikhail moves slightly in front of me. “Just leave, Damien.”
He nods once and walks away, slipping back into the darkness.
His words leave me rattled. Why would he ask me that?
And as Sofiya said, why didn’t he try to help Vik from being sold? A man like Damien is bad news.
Nothing like the Prince Charming I have in mind for myself.
I quickly get in the car, where at least I’ll know I’ll be safe. My eyes go up to the hotel. Vik is in there—married. She’s now a married woman in the Bratva. First Sofiya, then Vik.
Soon, it will be me. I can feel the vise of the Bratva closing in around me.
Sofiya survived it. I hope Vik will survive it, too, but I think she’ll have a much harder time with her strong personality. Though, if there’s anyone capable enough of surviving anything, it’s Vik.
As for me, I’m worried that someday I’ll get swallowed whole, and I won’t be able to stop it.
VIKTORIYA
For the first time in weeks, when I wake up in the morning, I don’t feel like throwing up.
I also still feel full from my meal last night. Normally, my hunger pains are torture by now, but not today.
And it’s all because of Aleksander.
I hate him for it. I hate how already he has control over me.
For some reason, though, I don’t want to stop it.
When I roll over, I find myself face-to-face with him. “Hi,” he says in his deep voice. A shiver goes over my body.
“Have you been watching me sleep?”
“Just for a moment.”
“That’s not creepy or anything,” I mutter, sitting up and holding onto my side to keep myself from screaming in pain.
“You look so peaceful when you sleep. I’ve never seen you look that way.”
For once, I don’t have a snarky reply. “Shouldn’t we get going? I’m ready to leave this hotel behind.”
“Desperate to get home? You do know you’ll be living with me, correct?”
“I figured as much. Lucky for you, I’m in too much pain to actually run away.” I stand up and remember I’m only in my bra and underwear. I was in too much pain last night to actually put my pajamas on.
As Aleksander settles his eyes on my underwear, a flash of heat goes through my core. I quickly turn away and grab a fresh, clean dress to slip on that will be easier than that damn wedding dress.
“You didn’t have to get dressed on my account,” he says, getting up and showing off his bare chest.
“I did, actually. I don’t like you looking at me.”
“Are my eyes not worthy to look at you?”
“Yes.”
He chuckles and shakes his head as he dresses. I find myself strangely disappointed not to see his bare chest any longer.
I sit down and slip on my high heels.
“You’re really going to wear those?” he asks, nodding at my shoes.
“Why wouldn’t I? I look good in them.”
“Don’t they make it harder to get around with your broken rib?”
Yes. “No.”
“Viktoriya, you don’t have to torture yourself.”
“I don’t have any other shoes,” I admit.
“I can buy you other shoes.”
“And then what?” I stand up and wobble on my feet, which only sends a flare of pain through me. “I’m indebted to you? No, thanks.”
He slips his finger under my chin and makes me look at him. “You will not continue to hurt yourself. No more high heels. At least until your rib is healed. No more throwing up. When we get to my house, we’ll have breakfast, and you’ll eat every bite. Is that clear?”
The Viktoriya I used to be would have spit in his face for telling me what to do.
But his words make my head feel clear. He’s removing my worries, and it’s up to me to listen.
“Ok,” I say, fighting the urge to cry. Why, though, I have no idea.
His eyes flick down to my lips and back up to my eyes. Would I be mad if he tried to kiss me? A man like Aleksander is not worthy of my body.
But …
I feel my eyes flutter shut, waiting to see what he’ll do.
Except no kiss comes.
Aleksander pulls back and grabs our bags. “Let’s go.”
I scowl behind his back as I follow him out the door.
Aleksander lives in a mansion decorated in brown and red brick. It looks like something out of a Russian fairytale.
“Huh.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Huh? What does that mean? Is my house not up to your standards?”
“I just expected you to live in something more … modern. This house looks so …”
“I’d be careful what word you use. You don’t want to offend me.”
“Old,” I finish, flashing him a smile. “And I’m not worried about offending you. Your feelings don’t matter to me.”
He sighs and doesn’t respond as he opens his door. I wait for him to come around and open my door, but he doesn’t. He just stands there, staring back at me.
I point at the door. He shakes his head. Why is he trying to punish me? What have I ever done to him?
Other than insult and degrade him and …
You know what, it doesn’t matter.
“Open the door,” I demand.
“No. I want you to open the door for yourself. You’re no longer a princess, Viktoriya. You’re my wife. You’re going to learn to do some things for yourself.”
I narrow my eyes and cross my arms. “I can stay here all day.”
“So can I.”
I stare Aleksander down. My pride is too important to me to give up by opening my door.
My stomach rumbles, signaling to me I’m hungry again. It’s a feeling I’ve gotten used to.
But is it one I want to feel ever again?
Aleksander gave me permission to eat. My stomach rumbles again.
With a sigh, I open the door and get out. “Happy?”
“I am,” he answers in a sincere tone. “Come along.”
I follow him inside, where his housekeeper greets me. She’s an older woman named Nika. At least she’s old. If Aleksander had a young woman as his housekeeper, I’m not sure I would’ve been fine with it.
The foyer is grand, with marble floors and a large chandelier overhead. It all screams “new money.” The house I grew up in was understated because my parents—who were born into wealth—knew not to flaunt it.
I guess Aleksander didn’t get the memo.
“You look disgusted,” he observes. “Don’t like what you see?”
“I don’t. It’s all so … gaudy.”
“I can assure you, it’s just the foyer that’s like this. The rest of the house isn’t so … loud. The bedroom is quite calming.”
My face turns hot at the talk of “the bedroom.”
Aleksander leads me into the kitchen, where a large spread of food is already on the table. “Eat,” he orders.
For once, I don’t hesitate to dig into the food, and I eat and eat and eat until I can’t eat anymore.
Once I’m done, Aleksander sits back in his seat and eyes me over. “How do you feel?”
I don’t like how he thinks he has any power over me. In fact, I hate it.
But if I’m being honest … this was one of the best meals I’ve had in a long time. When I was eating, I wasn’t thinking of anything else. Not Mila or Sofiya. Not what Gleb did to me. Akim.
Not even dance was on my mind.
I felt free for just a moment.
So, I answer Aleksander’s question. “I feel perfect.”