Chapter 6 Sienna
Sienna
Ben doesn’t say much during the drive.
Not that that’s unusual. Silence might as well be his love language, but there’s a weight to it tonight, like every thought in his head is running calculations, and I’m the variable that doesn’t fit the equation.
The closer we get to his father’s mansion, the more my stomach feels like it’s folding in on itself.
I’ve seen rich before, but not this rich.
The kind of money that doesn’t have to show off but still does, just because it can.
The car turns through tall, wrought-iron gates and into a long, tree-lined driveway that curves like it’s being coy. Each lamp post along the path glows a warm gold, like we’re heading toward a royal ball instead of Friday night dinner.
And then the house comes into view.
No. It’s a mansion.
Nope, a castle.
Three stories of stone and glass, with sprawling wings on either side and windows that are lit up from the inside like a hundred watchful eyes.
I try to keep my face neutral, but I know my eyes widen a little.
“Impressed?” Ben asks without looking at me.
“Trying not to be.” I adjust the strap of my bag and glance out at the fountain in front. A marble sculpture of a man holding a sword with water spilling down the blade.“That’s subtle.”
“Subtlety’s wasted on my father.”
The car stops at the base of wide marble steps. There’s already someone waiting at the top. A tall man in a black suit who looks like he could break my neck and then politely offer me dessert.
Oh, I can’t do this.
There is no way I’m going to be able to pull off that, not only do I adore the man who forced me into this agreement to marry him, but sit and eat food with a mob family.
Ben pops the door open and gets out, slowly straightening his jacket, before holding out a hand for me.
The gesture is smooth, practiced, like it’s second nature for him to guide a woman into a world that doesn’t belong to her.
I don’t want to take it. Everything screams in me to stop doing this or something bad is going to happen to me.
However, I signed up for this—literally.
The memories of ink dried from last night fill my brain as I take Benedikt’s hand, trying not to think about the fact that his hand is warm and firm and somehow grounding in all this grandeur.
It’s disgusting.
Benedikt’s hand suddenly comes up to my face. His fingers skimming through my hair like he’s fixing a loose strand, before leaning closer.
“Calm down,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing near my temple in a slow, deliberate move. “My father can smell nerves and lies from a mile away. He’s made a lifetime out of it.”
Alright, that’s not helping.
If anything, my pulse jumps and spine locks up with tension.
Ben notices, and his mouth curves slightly. “Breathe, princess.”
“I’m breathing,” I whisper back, though it comes out sharper than I mean.
“Barely. Nothing bad is going to happen to you here. I’ll handle all the talking.”
I’d love him to.
However, that’s not going to help his cause.
“Wouldn’t that look suspicious?”
“As hell.” His eyes dip to my mouth. “But you might need the help.”
“I don’t need—” His lips steal mine without warning, cutting into my limited air supply and shocking me into stillness.
His mouth is warm, firm, and gone in the span of a heartbeat as if it didn’t happen by the time I blink my eyes open.
He’s straightening, wearing an expression like nothing happened, and he didn’t just fry my nervous system.
His fingers lace with mine as he guides us up the stone stairs and past the linebacker bodyguard.
The second we reach the doors, they open without anyone touching them. Inside, it smells faintly of expensive cologne, polished wood, and something savory cooking.
The foyer is the size of my grandmother’s entire apartment, with a chandelier dripping crystals. The floor is marble with veins of gold streaking through white, and my shoes click against it in a way that feels too loud.
Then he’s there.
Tall, silver hair perfectly combed back, dark suit that probably costs more than anything I’ve ever spent in my life. His eyes are the same icy blue as Ben’s, but sharper, somehow. Like if Ben’s gaze cuts, his father’s gaze pierces straight through and takes inventory.
“Son,” he says, his voice smooth with a faint Russian accent. They clasp hands in that half-handshake, half-grip that’s more a test of strength than a greeting. Then those eyes turn to me. “And this must be the young woman your brother told me about.”
“Sienna,” Ben says, almost casually, but I feel his hand at the small of my back. “My father, Ivan.”
I step forward and shake his hand. His grip is firm, while his expression is curious in a way that feels more dangerous than friendly. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Volkov.”
“The pleasure is mine, Miss Graves.” I tense because Ben didn’t say my full name. He already knew it. “You’re lovely. How did my son manage to sweep you off your feet?”
“I—I…delivered a cake to his office. To him, actually. I work at a bakery.”
Ivan perks a brow and glances at his son. “You eat sweets now?”
“No,” I reply for him, gaining his father’s steel expression as if liking them is a sin against humanity. “It was a prank, I guess, which is why your son looked at me like I had two heads. Our first meeting…was a lot of me talking and a lot of him being silent.”
His father’s smile sharpens. “Sounds like him. Benedikt doesn’t…show emotion often.”
“Which is why I was surprised to hear from him.”
Ben’s father tilts his head, suddenly seeming interested. “And did he charm you right away?”
“No. I thought he was a pompous asshole…sir.”
Ivan barks out in laughter, causing me to jolt from the sudden gesture echoing off the walls, but Ben’s hand presses firmer into my spine.
I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
“Come,” Ivan orders gently, offering me his arm. “Let me take you to the dining room so you can sit and relax. I have a whole meal planned out that I hope you’ll enjoy.”
He takes me toward the entrance, six steps, and we’re into a space that looks like it belongs in a palace or a high-end interior design magazine.
The table is long enough that you could host a small wedding on it, polished to a mirror shine with tall candles flickering between crystal vases of white roses. There are only six place settings, which somehow makes the whole thing feel more intimate…and dangerous.
Almost like an interrogation paired with Jedi mind tricks. He wants us to be comfortable, but he’s aiming to call out all the lies.
Ben moves ahead, pulling out a high-backed chair at the head of the long, gleaming table. He doesn’t look at his father, he looks at me, and there’s an unspoken sit here, now command in those dark blue eyes.
I obey, lowering into the seat. His hand lingers on the top of my chair for a moment before sliding away. Ivan takes the seat at the head of the table while Ben sits to my right. His knee brushes mine beneath the table, light at first, then stays there.
Ivan gestures toward the space between us. “You didn’t mention her to me. You don’t usually keep company and, when you do, you don’t keep it for long.”
What in the world does that mean?
Ben’s voice is steady. “No.”
“No?” Ivan repeats flatly. “And why is that, Benedikt? She’s beautiful. She seems to have a bit of fire to her. She doesn’t seem to take your bullshit. Sienna seems…almost too good to be true.”
Ben leans back slightly, one arm resting along the back of my chair. “Because I don’t date.”
I fight the urge to glower at Benedikt because he’s not helping his case here.
However, it’s his funeral if he can’t pull it off. I’m doing my part, I can’t carry us both.
“And you date now because…”
Ben doesn’t flinch when he says, “Did you take a good look at her, father?”
Ivan doesn’t look convinced or buying into my his son’s possibly lust-filled state with the opposite sex. “How long have you been…dating?”
“A few months.”
“That’s a long time for you.”
“Long enough to know what I want.”
There’s an unspoken exchange between them, something I can’t quite read, but it’s like they’re speaking in a language I don’t know.
Ivan leans back. “And what is it you want, son?”
Ben doesn’t look away from his father, but his fingers trail a fraction higher on my thigh, his knuckles brushing the hem of my dress. “Stability. Legacy.”
The word makes my stomach flip, but neither of them looks at me when it’s said.
Ivan’s eyes gleam faintly, almost satisfied. “Good. A man should think of the future.” His voice is casual, but it feels weighted. “A man like you…especially.”
Ben’s grip firms just enough to make my pulse jump. “I am.”
Ivan smiles faintly, but I can tell it’s the kind of smile that comes with expectations. “Then I hope this future of yours…knows what she’s in for.”
I swallow, my heart pounding so loudly I swear it fills the quiet room. But when I speak, my voice is steady. “I’m a quick learner, sir.”
Ivan chuckles low. “I’m sure you are. Benedikt’s life is not…ordinary.”
I offer a small smile, unsure what else to do. “I’m getting that impression.”
Ivan chuckles low, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes, directed at his son, that I don’t fully understand. Ben doesn’t break eye contact with him, and whatever passes between them feels layered.
Like they’re talking about something without saying it aloud.
“So when are you getting married?”
Geezus.
There’s literally no cushion room or working up to questions with this guy. It’s straight to business with small tidbits of politeness.
“Sienna hasn’t given me a date yet,” Ben replies casually. “She won’t make up her mind between fall and spring.”
Ivan looks at me as if that decision is trifle as crap, but he still plasters on a fake smile. “I’d say the sooner the better.”
I bet you would.
“Funny,” I vouch simply, keeping that fire he mentioned earlier that I have. “Your son was saying the same thing to me the other day. You can’t rush these things. I want the wedding to be perfect.”
“Perfect,” his father mutters. “You women put so much pressure on these things.”
“It’s a big day. I don’t expect to get another one.”
Ivan perks a brow. “Of course. ‘Till death do us part and all that.”
“When you married Benedikt’s mother, how long did you wait?”
I see his expression soften a bit when he reaches for his wine. “Nine months. She had similar tribulations with dates like you are.”
“They may seem silly to you, sir. But every girl dreams of their wedding.”
He bows his head. “Well, we wouldn’t want to take that away from you. If you need help with venues or the like, let me know.”
I don’t.
He won’t be included in anything as long as I have something to do with it. However, if I do solicit his help, he might buy into how committed I am to this marriage and that Ben and I are serious.
“Flowers,” I blurt out, stopping Ivan from taking a sip of his wine. “They’re a rip off and I need someone who’s going to give me a fair price.”
Ivan steals a look at Ben, as if I’m asking him the stupidest thing imaginable when he lays on another smile. “I can do that. I’ll send you a few options by the beginning of the week.” He takes a small drink from his glass before asking, “Where’s your engagement ring?”
I’m not surprised that he noticed.
But I am a bit surprised at how well I’m able to lie in this game.
“I won’t wear it,” I deadpan, meeting his gaze with one of nonchalance. “Your son is too flashy and spends an ungodly amount of money, Mr Volkov. Since I bake for a living, I can’t wear a rock the size of my head while trying to mix and cook.”
“So…he’s buying you another one to your standards?”
“Not yet, to my knowledge. He’s still trying to get me to wear the one he bought.”
Ivan sends a raised expression to his son. “When did you ask her to marry you?”
“Three weeks ago,” Ben answers.
“And this beautiful creature is still not wearing a ring.”
That’s what I just said.
I chuckle softly, which gets me Ivan’s attention again.
“You’re helping my cause, Mr. Volkov. Thank you.
” His lips part, to say something stupid, I’m sure, when I tack on, “I just want something simple. If he wants a diamond, fine. However, I’d like something petite and pretty.
Not abundantly flashy where I can blind someone with it. ”
“Might pose as a good weapon.”
“Might,” I agree. “But, if we’re to have children in the future, I don’t want to cut them with it.”
Ivan seems immediately fascinated by the talk of children. “You plan on having some?”
I grin and tuck my chin in a little to my chest. “Yes. God willing.”
“How soon after…”
Never.
That’s what I want to say. I’m a breeding tool, and these men seem to love that idea, which is sickening. We’re in the twenty-first century, and they’re acting like women are only good for that one thing.
“I don’t want to jinx anything, Mr. Volkov.” I glance up innocently at him, knowing how dangerous a game I’m playing. That he doesn’t buy this. That I haven’t once looked lovingly at Ben while talking about marriage.
It’s written all over his face.
We’re not in love.
This is fake.
I’m full of it.
And Benedikt doesn’t care about me.
I can work with the latter. I can act like I don’t see it, and Ben asked me to marry him, and I’m so enamoured with the idea of weddings that I’m blind to it.
Grandma is safe with this agreement.
Dad is alive, which he doesn’t deserve to be.
I’m getting my own bakery, where Lucy and I can thrive.
“What do you mean?” Ivan asks me suspiciously, gripping his wine glass a little tighter as if I’m going to wipe his empire out in one word.
I’m not only going to wipe it out.
I’m handing it over to Ben so that, hopefully, once he gets it, he’ll leave me alone because he’ll be too busy.
Stealing a bashful glance at Ben, he stares at me openly with a flat expression, not helping at all with everything I’ve said, with making his father buy into this whole charade.
“I didn’t…know how to tell you, Ben. I’m not sure…”
His brows clip together. “What’s wrong?”
His question actually sounds concerned when he asks, fueling the horrific thing I’m about to do for him.
Something he doesn’t deserve.
“I…” I press my lips together as if the words are too hard to get out.
They are.
I’m about to lie for this man. A man who forced me into this. A man who doesn’t care. A man who’s going to use me for his heir.
“I don’t know for sure, but you know how I haven’t been feeling well?” Ben immediately nods. “I think I might be pregnant.”