Chapter 31
“I’d like to introduce you to my wife.”
VALENTINA
I’m still pacing outside the room, my heart in my throat, until the door opens. When I see Sasha’s warm smile and Roman’s easy posture, relief floods my chest.
Overjoyed, I throw my arms around my husband’s neck while eyeing Sasha from the side. “Da, Valya, all is well,” Roman assures me, stroking my hair before taking my waist and turning me toward my brother.
The moment I saw him, I knew, I remembered who he was and how we’d cuddle up in wool blankets and watch a movie on the projector.
Unlike Roman and his ostentatious ensemble that matches my gown, Sasha’s costume is far more understated. A dark velvet frock coat with a high-collared dress shirt, a Slavic belt, and slim tailored trousers. His silk ascot makes him seem more sophisticated.
“Forgive me for my lack of contacting you earlier, Sasha,” Roman says as I squeeze my brother’s hand.
“Following the crash with the revelation of Valentina’s memory loss, I thought it best to keep her home and safe as much as possible, allowing her to return to her routine.
When she shared some less-than-pleasant memories of her past, I did not want to trigger her and bring her more needless trauma.
” His eyes flick to mine, and my cheeks burn. Not in shame but gratitude.
A longing ache settles in my chest. I can’t blame Roman.
It’s only been two months since the crash.
We’ve come so far. And after my nightmares, I didn’t want anything to do with my past. A few positive memories couldn’t tempt me compared to all the found family at Roman’s estate and how I’ve ruled the manor.
Roman cups my bare shoulder, lowers his head, and kisses my cheek.
“I have some business to tend to before we leave, Moya Samotsvet. I will give you some alone time together. Sasha, if you would like to accompany your sister to the sitting room just down the hall, I will send a server with some tea and appetizers.”
“When do we leave?” I wonder, touching the back of his hand.
“Two A.M.”
A half hour.
“May Sasha come with us?” I stare up at my husband, holding my breath, hopeful, pleading.
He glances at Sasha. My brother asks for no favors or special treatment. He simply bows his chin in respect. After an eternity of a heartbeat, Roman nods firmly. “He may.”
“Spasibo, Roman,” I say, kissing him back.
And just before he departs, I take his arm, halting him.
He glances down at me, tilting his head, and while the gold skeletal mask may make him look like a predator, his eyes are deep, protective emeralds.
“Spasibo,” I repeat, knowing he understands it’s for everything.
My eyes stay on my husband until he disappears around the hallway corner.
“Are you happy, sestrá?”
I turn at the sound of Sasha’s voice. I grin, mouth parting to answer—but he lifts a hand with a soft chuckle. “That’s all I needed to know,” Sasha says.
I pause, my smile faltering into something quieter. “What?”
“The way your eyes lit up just now, like a winter sun turning the snow to silver. Val, I’ve never seen you smile like that.”
My cheeks overheat. “He’s an obsessive bastard,” I murmur fondly. “But he doesn’t treat me like some shiny thing to be used and silenced. Oh, he loves to show me off—like he did tonight—but not like a trophy. Like a…”
“Like a queen,” Sasha finishes gently.
I nod. “Exactly.”
We make our way to the sitting room Roman referenced.
“How did you find this place? How did you get here?” I ask.
“It took much doing with some deception, I’ll admit.
Mr. Makarova knows this and has given me leniency for your sake.
After everything that happened, I spent a lot of time and money reaching out to some of our family’s more nefarious connections until I found a distant cousin twice removed who was invited here.
I paid him a good sum to trade places. I wore a prosthetic mask to fool the security cameras. ”
“But there’s a DNA authentication test,” I point out, scrunching my brows as we enter the sitting room. “The thumbprint and the finger-prick blood test.”
He nods and looks down as we take our seats by the fireplace. “That took a bit more doing. Like a small synthetic blood blister hidden under the fingertip.” He wags his index finger. “Black market biotech. But it was worth it to see you.”
A chill prickles my spine as I stare at the firelight, lost in my thoughts. Why? If Roman doesn’t see my brother as a threat…
“Sasha…” I begin, flicking my eyes to his while rubbing the goosebumps on my arm. “Roman and I have been married for two years. I understand him wanting to protect me after the crash, but didn’t he send word to you? And couldn’t you have contacted him at all? Have you never been to the island?”
Something dark flashes in my brother’s eyes, but it’s so brief before the soft warmth returns. “Roman cut off all communications after the crash, which I understand, Val. He needed to make sure you were safe and no enemies were targeting him.”
Like the trespasser I killed.
“And no. We’ve always met outside the island, at functions like this, parties, or restaurants. From what little I know, Roman is very private, and he guards his home like a dragon with its treasure.”
We share a smile. Heat fills my chest, thankfulness rising again because the island is a treasure to us all. His methods might be extreme, but I trust Roman. Everything he does is to protect me, everyone.
And I’ve never been more grateful, never been prouder to call myself Valentina Makarova.
ONE WEEK LATER
By the seventh day of Sasha’s visit, I’ve had enough of Roman and his bullshit excuses for avoiding me.
Like how I go to sleep every night utterly alone because he’s “working late”. Or how I’ve been sharing all my meals with my brother. Or how Roman says he’s giving us time to spend together before Sasha leaves.
Clearly, my husband is an ignoramus when it comes to scheduling. I’ve barely seen his face—much less his dick.
I’ve tried sneaking into the gym and pool, hoping to catch him mid-workout. But apparently, he’s been doing most of his exercise off-site. What the fuck is he doing in the middle of an Alaskan fall for exercise? Polar plunges? Wrestling bears? Dragging boulders with his teeth?
Desperate times call for scheming measures.
So I asked Father Mikhail and Zina to meet me in the sitting room.
My sweater wrap dress swishes as I go, the bold black hem ending at my mid-thigh, showing off my long, lithe legs and cunning black pumps.
The deep plunging V-neck practically screams for Roman to throw me over his shoulder, take a belt to my ass, then fuck me senseless and boneless.
I’m pacing like an anxious cat when Zina and Mikhail peek their heads in together, timid and wide-eyed—like mice tiptoeing into a cat cafe.
“Aww, look at that,” I coo, pointing at their clasped hands. “You arrived as a pair. Progress.”
Mikhail blinks. Zina frowns. But they don’t drop each other’s hands, and I catch them eyeing each other.
“I assume this is not regarding any marital exorcisms?” Mikhail asks dryly.
“Nope.” I lean forward with a devilish grin. “This time it’s your turn to play matchmaker.”
Two blank stares.
I sigh. “I need your help breaking into Roman’s office.”
Their jaws drop in perfect, synchronized horror. Zina’s crow, Shalun, gives a sharp caw, as if scandalized.
I roll my eyes. “He’s avoiding me,” I explain, flopping onto the fainting couch for dramatic effect. “My husband needs a lesson in the opposite of personal space. I’m positively wasting away.”
Father Mikhail shakes his head with an airy laugh and mutters something about confession and plagues, but then rubs his jaw thoughtfully. “His office is too obvious. He might suspect something. And we can’t access it.”
Zina hums, tapping her nails against her skirt. “We could opt for the supper hall or study or—”
Mikhail holds up a hand. “The chapel.”
I sit up, brimming with curiosity. “The what?”
“He trusts me. If I send word he’s needed in the chapel, he’ll come.” A wicked glint dances in his eyes. “We’ll lay some blankets down. Light some candles. I’ll bless the union in advance.”
I stand as a heated thrill pulses in my blood. But I raise a brow. “Won’t God have an issue? You know, with the whole fornicating-in-a-house-of-worship thing?”
Mikhail chuckles. “As long as you clean up after yourselves, I suspect God has more important things to worry about.”
“You’re the coolest priest ever,” I squeal, twirling like I’ve just won the sinner’s lottery. I kiss his cheek and skip to Zina. “Now tell me what to wear.”
Zina squints at me, one brow raised. “You want to look like sin.”
I set one bold hand on my hip. “I want to look like all seven sins wrapped in sex and silk.”
She hums, eyes scanning me like a tailor planning a dress for an execution. “Crimson velvet corset,” she says finally. “Boned within an inch of its life. Bare shoulders. Garter belt. Black lace gloves. No panties. And you wait on the altar—lying across it like a damn icon of temptation.”
Mikhail coughs. Shalun caws again. I grin.
“Perfect.”
“Exquisite and decadent,” Zina assures me.
I nod, saying nothing because I’m having a little trouble breathing. My blood races.
The chapel is quiet. Dozens of candles flicker, casting golden shadows across the altar and the marble floor like molten lace.
Zina even had the foresight to warm the oil before massaging it over my skin in the small study next to the chapel.
I couldn’t have made it into this sinful, little corset without her.
She helped with the utmost respect. It’s one heave away from exposing my whole damn chest. And why it’s hard to breathe.