Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sasha
We stop for lunch at the cutest French bistro and then get back in the car. I haven’t had an outing like this in forever, and it’s so nice to get out. It’s been nice to be on Ryker’s arm too.
He’s been attentive, protective, and even…touchy.
I relax back into the seat, not sure where we’re going next, but also content to wait and see.
When we went to get my clothes, I grabbed my passports and what little money I still have.
With a night’s sleep, I’m feeling pretty good about the idea of staying with Ryker for the year he’s requested and then collecting my money.
Being out like this makes me feel way less like I’m in jail and way more like I’ve entered into a bargain that is mutually beneficial.
But I grabbed my stuff as a back-up plan.
We pull behind a nondescript building that is too small to be a clothing store. “Where are we?” I ask, sitting up.
“Jewelry store,” he answers, pulling into a space. “It won’t take long. I called ahead.”
My brow furrows, as I tease out all the information he’s just dropped. Am I more surprised that a jewelry store is on the agenda or that he’s concerned about it being quick? “Called ahead for what?”
He looks over at me, one brow quirking up. “Your wedding ring.”
Right. We got married yesterday and I don’t have one. But also, the fact that we’re going for brevity is the reminder that this is not a real marriage. Brides don’t pick out their engagement rings they plan to wear for life on budgeted time. “I don’t…”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re a Smith now.”
“A Smith?” That one rocks me. Because just when I’m reminded this is fake, something very real hits me.
Sasha Smith. I test the name in my head and then whisper it out loud. I can’t deny, it has a certain appeal, the way it sounds. Feels on my tongue.
“You’re married to a man who drips his woman in jewelry. It’s expected.” He turns off the car and looks over at me.
I give a quick jerk of my chin, but the words don’t actually make me feel great.
I’m sure most girls would stop thinking at the word “dripped…”
But I am caught on the word “expected.” The kiss. The chivalry. The shopping. They are all expected and I need to remember that. “We don’t need a ring. I can just—” The marriage is fake. I need to keep the feelings from being real. But a day in and it’s already growing difficult.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We need more than just a ring,” he answers as he pops open his door.
My lips part as I reach for his arm, stopping him from getting out. “What else would I need?”
He frowns at me, his eyes travelling up and down my frame.
“Diamond stud earrings for everyday wear, fun necklaces that have some funky flare because they’d suit you, sedate ones for benefits, tennis bracelet for the same.
Do you fancy a set of bracelets? Like bangles?
I feel like you’re the sort of woman who should ring like a bell when she walks. ”
“Ring like a bell?” If the quick stop to the jewelry store had made me feel like a ready-made bride, the details he’s tossing out make me feel…seen.
I do like funky necklaces and bangles and other types of jewelry that are tactile instead of just pretty.
But he’s not done. “A whole set of matching gold bracelets might be a nice thing to play with when you’re nervous. Instead of just tapping.”
“Like a fidget,” I say softly, my eyes filling with tears again. But these aren’t sad. I’ve been waiting for someone to see what I need and actually care about giving it to me for so long, I don’t even know what to say.
“That’s a good word for it. Not that I care if you tap. But it would be nice for you to have more options. Something you can fidget with that will distract you without drawing attention—why are you crying?”
“I’m sorry,” I swipe at my eyes, willing the tears to stop. “I’ve always been terrible at controlling my feelings. It’s just, no one has offered to buy me fidgets. I…” I had a necklace with spinning parts. My father took it away to punish me when I was thirteen and never gave it back.
Instead of answering, he gets out of the car and comes around to my side. Opening the door, he offers me his hand. “Come on, Princess. Let’s drip you in jewels.”
I will not repeat his words again, but I want to. Instead, I flip my hair over my shoulder as I lace my fingers through his and let him pull me into the store.
An hour later, I leave with a bag filled with boxes, the value too staggering for me to even consider.
I might be able to escape with the value of what I have just in this bag. It’s a stunning amount.
But leaving has never been a dimmer desire than it is right now, as Ryker takes the bag from my hand, pulls out a box, and slips a diamond ring on my left ring finger.
I never saw a price tag, but I know it’s large and it sparkles on my finger.
“Tonight, we’ve got a monthly family dinner.
My family won’t mind if we skip, we did marry yesterday,” he says to me as he gets in the car.
“But it might be nice if we go. Triston and Killian’s wives are both lovely women, they’ll be very nice to you, I promise, and I think you’d enjoy having a few friends. ”
“I would,” I answer, watching my hand sparkle in the sunlight as another wave of emotion washes over me. Clothes, jewelry, and now friends?
For me, this is the closest I’ve ever come to someone actually caring about things that I might like, that make me feel seen and supported.
I try to repeat the word again…expected. He’s treating me the way he’s expected to treat me. It’s not that he wants to make me feel this way.
But still, in my wildest imagination, I never expected this kind of treatment from him, and I don’t even know what to say to him to thank him what’s he’s given me today.
It isn’t real emotion. I try to remember that, but it is comforting, and it honestly feels far less like I’m trapped and far more like I’m cherished. How did I not realize the difference?
I’m overwhelmed into silence. I drop my hand into my lap as he backs out the car and then pulls forward. I’d like to find some words that would tell him how I’m feeling, how much I appreciate his kindness.
I feel the car stop, but as usual, I’m lost in my own thoughts, so I don’t look up.
“What the hell?” Ryker growls, bringing my attention back to my surroundings.
Which is when my gaze clashes with a set of piercing green eyes that are all too familiar.
He stands in front of the car, legs spread wide, hands balled into fists at his sides.
I gasp in a jagged breath, my hands flying to my face.
“Drive,” I choke out between my hands, the fear nearly stealing my breath.
“What?” Ryker looks at me for one second before my command registers and then he hits the gas, the car rocketing forward.
Sver dives out of the way, but the hitman’s point has been made.
Ryker screeches the tires, making the right turn as he guns the car down the road. “Who the fuck was that?”
“That,” I feel tears in my eyes again, but for a totally different reason. My limbs begin to tremble as I take several deep breaths. “Was Sver.”
“Sver?”
“The Beast,” I answer, my whole body shaking now.
My father is as mean as a snake, his selfishness making him as unpredictable as he is dangerous.
But Sver, my father’s hired hitman, is a cold-blooded instrument of death and destruction.
“My father’s head of security if you want to be technical. Really, he’s...” I choke on the words.
“What?”
“A merciless killing machine.” If I’d taken a moment to consider, I would have realized that my father would send Sver to Las Vegas instead of coming himself.
My father is smart enough to not put himself in danger.
And Sver is paid to take all the heat.
“Why is he here?”
I shake my head. “Bring me back? Kill my brother?” I start spinning the new ring on my finger. “Both. More.”
Or, and this is a distinct possibility, make the Smiths pay for what they’ve bought from Dimitri.
“Fuck,” Ryker spits the word through his teeth as he accelerates through traffic.
“I hope Katarina is all right,” I whisper, and I mean it. The last twenty-four hours have been so crazy, I’ve been trying to find my own feet.
But with Sver here, real worry slides down my spine. She might be free, but that would mean she’s unprotected too. And against Sver, she doesn’t stand a chance.
Then again, I probably should be worrying about myself. If the Beast is presenting himself to me, that means I’m the one who is in trouble. “How much do you trust that building you’ve got us all living in?”