Chapter Two The Performer
Chapter Two
The Performer
Awkwardness is to be expected on your wedding night, my mother would say. Though I never imagined how truly gauche it would be to bring a stranger into my home.
“It is . . . nice.” Mr. Kamenev slid his finger over the surface of a table in the hall, dust pushing into a small pile.
“Let us not begin our union with lies. You can say it.”
“Do you not have staff?” He pretended to admire some of the art on the wall.
“No.”
“Why is it that you live so differently from your family?”
“Blood will not determine how I live. I am comfortable.”
“I see . . .” His voice trailed off.
My fingers hovered over the hallway table for a candle, brushing against the blade of the letter opener and some loose change before grasping the box of matches.
My fingers shook as if my bones would rattle and fall apart if I pushed them to be occupied any longer.
The match struck once, twice, too many shaky times, with no light in sight.
As I went to strike it again, his hand stopped mine, his arms reaching around me from behind.
His fingers trailed down the back of my hand and pinched the match from me, plucking the box soon after. The match lit with ease. The glow of his hand appeared in the darkness, and he carefully lit my candle.
I gripped the side of the table, unsure if I was embarrassed or bashful. Hosting had never been my strong suit.
“Take a seat, get comfortable.” I gestured loosely toward the living room, slipping from him as I cupped the candle. There were no gas lamps in the home; it was too old for that. I never liked the harshness anyway.
He sat down at the small table by the window, placing a bottle of wine from the reception in the middle.
I gathered some glasses from the kitchen and sat across from him, sliding one over along with a corkscrew.
“At least it is quiet,” he muttered as he began to drive the screw into the seal.
“Good riddance. I don’t think I could have taken any more shrills from my mother.” I placed my cheek in my palm as I watched him pour the wine.
“An occasional occurrence, hopefully.” There was humor in his tone as he picked up his glass and held it to his nose.
The night was quiet in the street, only the sound of summer insects and the occasional bark of a faraway dog. The cobblestones and footpaths glistened with the memory of rain that had passed not an hour ago.
“Mr. Kamenev, I have a question.”
“Arkady,” he corrected. “I would say ‘Mr. Kamenev’ is my father, but I don’t even know if that is true,” he joked.
“Arkady.” I squinted at him, taking a moment to think. “What kind of man are you?”
“Well, what did your father tell you?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” I took a long sip of wine, letting it tickle my sinuses and dry my throat with a single swallow.
“I saw your back more often than your face as you worked on their home. You were there almost as often as I was. I didn’t know your name until this morning, your face until the evening. ”
“You were fine with that?” he prodded. “Marrying a man you don’t know?”
“I could ask the same of you?”
“A fair question. Though I suppose the next question would be why?”
“Because, why not?” I shrugged. “You should spend less time asking why and more time telling me I won’t regret it.”
“Wouldn’t it be more fun to see for yourself?” He raised a brow over the rim of his glass.
“No, I prefer a more direct approach,” I declared, finishing my wine and pushing the cup back to the middle of the table. “What kind of man marries a stranger?”
“Well, then, I can start with an introduction.” He filled my glass once again. “I am organized, messy when I need to be, I don’t like fish, and I hate the smell of burnt cinnamon.”
“Any habits I should be aware of?”
“An introvert, frugal, and a terrible, awful crook.” He smirked, pushing the glass my way. “All these questions are about me. What about you? The princess who married the pauper?”
“I’m greedy, selfish, possibly a glutton. Best to be careful, or I may eat you for dinner.” I raised my glass, my best attempt at sincerity.
“Now you are the one being dishonest.” He leaned back in his chair. “Your mother said something during our arrangement.”
“She never stops talking. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“She said you handpicked me.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Did I really not need to have a single conversation in order to entice you?”
“I saw you working on the house.”
“It’s an odd choice, you have to admit.”
I twisted the wineglass stem, leaning back in my chair in thought. “You were the first person I thought of when they said they didn’t care who it was as long as I got married. So why not the faceless man always in the background?”
He was silent. I glanced up. His face held a look of understanding and patience, but the way he was gripping his glass gave away his distaste.
“I wanted to spite them. The choice of man who would hurt them the most is—”
“A poor man.”
“A nobody,” I finished. “I needed them to lose.”
He nodded in understanding. I’m sure it stung more than he let on.
“What did they lose, aside from a daughter?”
“Opportunity,” I said plainly, snatching the bottle and pouring more for myself. “A marriage they can’t leverage.”
“Were your prospects that good?” he teased.
“Only on paper,” I mumbled into the glass, drinking down the rest of the wine.
We shared a brief moment of amusement, the tension and awkwardness evaporating the more we drank.
He finished his glass, and the bottle was empty now.
I rose from my seat and reached for his glass, but his hand met mine, and I flinched away.
His eyes flicked from the glass to me, a slow grin playing on his lips at my reaction.
“Are you scared of me?”
“No.”
He grabbed my wrist. “You’re trembling.”
“Iron deficiency.”
“Is that so?” Arkady stood suddenly, pulling me close. He leaned down to speak into my ear. “You are like a bird, ready to fly as soon as the cage is open.”
“Should I consider fleeing, Mr. Kamenev?” I looked up; he was closer than I thought. His tall, lean body was pressed against mine, leaving barely room enough to turn around. He loomed, like he was waiting for something. Expecting.
“I guess it makes sense for such a frail thing.” He didn’t answer my question. “Maybe you will wither away before you are able to fly.”
“Already comfortable enough for insults, are we?” I swayed, and his grip on my wrist tightened.
“Oh, no, I promise I say it endearingly.” He rolled his eyes.
“What are you running from, stranger?” I asked, playing with the collar of his shirt. “Debt? Bad habits? Escaping your first family? Murder—”
The pads of his fingers cut me off when they dug into the sides of my neck. My throat bobbed against his palm, my eyes only able to focus on him. My wineglass tipped, shattering under my palm, the shards hot as they threatened to pierce the skin.
If my eyes opened any wider, they might fall from my skull. The grip on my neck was firm, steady, completely secure. His eyes were cold, fixated.
This was when I realized my previous inclinations were correct. I suppose I should have known better. The most dangerous man is an unassuming one.
He smirked, leaning in so that his face hovered over mine. The flickering of the candle dancing around his features.
“No, keep going, I want to hear it,” he whispered.
“I knew you would be no different,” I spat.
“Different than whom?” He cocked his head, his eyes dark, but I could still see them wander to my lips. “You’ve got a sharp tongue for a failed dollar princess.”
“And you are the fool who fell for it,” I scoffed. “Did you really think a family like mine would welcome someone like you without strings attached? You are simply the first needy fool they stumbled upon. Just another man.”
“Someone like you,” he repeated, a cruel smirk pulling at the corners of his lips, his free hand moving a stray piece of hair from my face.
The gentle touch was more jarring than the slight grip on my throat.
He leaned in to kiss my cheek delicately.
“My dear, you are going to learn very quickly that I am most certainly worse than any man you know. Take comfort that you have such a force on your side.”
“For your sake, I hope that is true,” I whispered, my head feeling a bit light. “I was wondering when you’d take off the mask.”
“I didn’t think your father would appreciate such a personality.” He sighed, his heavy hand on my hip, fingertips pressing into the skirts. “Rest assured, I’m good at keeping up appearances—as will you be, if you know what’s good for you.”
A laugh burst from my throat, almost joyous at his proclamation. “Aren’t I the one who’s better for you? Given that you have no wealth of your own?”
“Will it matter at the end of the day?” He dragged his thumb over my lip, smearing it past the corner, glaring as if to dare me to do something.
“It will.” I picked up one leg, trailing my heel up the back of his thigh. “Because if I’m stuck with you”—I hooked my leg behind his, jolting him toward me—“you have to remember that you’re also stuck with me.”
His grip on my neck softened, letting me lean into him, but the closer I got, the more he leaned away. Such a gesture brought me joy, to scare even the most callous of men. How foolish of him to think he could just walk in here and claim what he wanted.
“Aren’t you going to do it? To force me? Make my poor little frail body submit to whatever power you feel entitled to?” I mocked. “You were so eager to get your hands on me. Why stop?”
He simply stared, his hand slipping from my throat to my collar, then down to my chest, before falling at my waist. His eyes trailed the path his hand blazed, but he wasn’t fully there. He was physically with me, but his mind was somewhere else.
“Make no mistake, Mr. Kamenev”—I sighed—“I do not care about your hunger for money.”
“Why doesn’t it bother you?” His question seemed genuine, and his brow twitched, the tension in his shoulders looking more uncomfortable by the minute. His gaze didn’t even return to me.
“You are doing me a favor as a placeholder”—I played with a piece of his hair—“as I am sure that’s all I am to you, anyway.”
“So we have an understanding, it seems.”
“For now.” I smirked and lifted a shoulder. “I would like to be left to my own devices. As long as you can play the fool, I will play the virgin. Do not make demands of me, and I won’t make any of you.”
He shoved my leg abruptly, my body jolting forward.
All too casually, like we didn’t just have that exchange, he retreated.
He even took his time digging for the matches as he sat down on the sofa.
Even knowing I was right there, he didn’t speak a word, he didn’t look at me, he didn’t acknowledge anything.
He simply tucked a cigarette between his lips and nursed the flame from his match.
“Nothing?”
He shook his head, reclining against the sofa as he blew out smoke from his nose.
Leaving me alone, as I wished.
I see your wit, Mr. Kamenev.
I stepped back, unsure of how to feel about my fulfilled wish, and retired to my room in silence. I got my deal, that’s all that mattered, but I was left wondering if it was wise to antagonize the snake in my nest.