19. Laila
19
LAILA
“Who’s getting married?”
I heard Arsen, but I must have misunderstood. There’s no way he woke me up in the middle of the night to get married.
But he’s pushing me towards what I’m now realizing is a makeshift altar in the middle of the living room. White sheets draped over a hastily-constructed wooden frame. Someone even took the time to place vases of white roses on the dais. How thoughtful.
“Us,” Arsen rumbles. “You and me.”
I glance at Dominik, who is once again utterly fascinated by tile grout. Then I burst out laughing. “Okay, right. Ha-ha. Very funny. What are we really doing here?”
“Repeating ourselves, apparently.”
I take in the room, the decor, and the suits again, and it hits me like a blow to the chest. I can barely breathe.
He’s serious .
I tear myself away from him. “You’re out of your damn mind.”
“This is about your safety, Laila. I’m trying to protect you.”
“That didn’t turn out so well for your first wife. Is her body even cold yet?”
“She was born cold.”
My eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of their sockets. “You’re making jokes? She’s dead, literally not even in the ground yet, and you’re insulting her?”
Is anything sacred to this man?
“Take a breath?—”
“No, you take a breath! You’ll have plenty of time for deep breathing starting right this very second, because I’m not marrying you.”
I turn to run out of the room, but as I pivot, searing hot pain shoots down my leg. I wince and clutch my thigh as I fall to my knees, cracking hard against the stone floor.
Of all the times my broken body has betrayed me, this has to be one of the worst.
Instantly, Arsen is there, grabbing my elbow to keep me from face-planting as a fresh wave of muscle cramps tear through me. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything.” I shake him off and grit my teeth against the pain.
I know I won’t make it all the way back up the stairs—not without a good stretch and a roughly eight-hour nap—so I struggle to my feet and limp as fast as I can for the patio doors.
As soon as I breathe in the fresh air, it feels like the right decision.
I need air. Space. Distance.
On instinct, I cut across the lawn and make my way to the willow tree along the fence, dragging my all-but-useless leg behind me. I drop into a chair, but even once my breathing has evened out, the wind through the trees and the owl calling from the highest branches do nothing to help me relax.
“Laila…”
And there’s the source of all of my problems now. “Go away.”
“No.”
“Are you insane?” I whirl on him. He opens his mouth to answer, but I keep going. “I already know the answer. You are. You must be. Because your wife just died, and you’re already taking another one. Literally taking another one. Against her will. That is textbook insane behavior. Scientists ought to study you.”
“I’ll make note of your concerns.”
I snort. If there was a Human Resources department for Arsen Adamov, they’d get an earful and a half from me. Binders couldn’t contain my complaints.
“Also,” I add, “if you want to get married, you’re supposed to propose first.”
He slides his hands into the pockets of his suit. Even in the dark, I can see how well it fits him. He cuts a clean line against the midnight blue sky. Darkness layered on top of darkness. “You wouldn’t have agreed.”
“Correct! Which brings me to another vital part of a wedding: mutual consent.”
“The problem is,” he growls, “that you don’t like to give your consent even when your life is on the line. Am I supposed to sit back and let you get hurt because you’re too stubborn to let me help you?”
“I’m not stubborn; I just don’t like being kidnapped and forcibly married. Guess I’m just quirky like that.”
He lets out a weary breath. “You know who I am now, Laila. I’m a powerful man with a powerful empire. That comes with complications.”
“Complications for you,” I clarify. “I want fuck-all to do with any of this.”
“Then you never should’ve signed that contract.” He runs a hand through his hair, and I realize it can’t be the first time. As polished as his suit is, his hair is tousled. And his eyes are dark.
I don’t think Arsen has slept in days.
His jaw works back and forth as he meets my eyes. “You’re pregnant with my child. It puts you at unique risk. A marriage would legitimize our connection and give you added protection.”
“Far be it from me to keep hammering this point, but it didn’t do a damn thing for Natascha!”
Something like pain flashes across his face before he schools it away. “I was lax with her security. More than I should’ve been. Her death…” He pauses for a second. “The blame is on me.”
Damn all the soft parts of me, but I find myself sympathizing with him. Some of my fight—not all of it, but some crucial amount—seeps away. I slump down on the bench. “It must have been hard for you to watch her die.”
He lifts his chin, as proud and defiant as I’ve ever seen him. “Death is inevitable for all of us. There’s no sense wasting time being sad for what was always going to come.”
“What about your mother?” I blurt. “You were sad when she died, weren’t you?”
He freezes. “Polina shouldn’t have told you about her.”
Now isn’t the right time for this conversation. But, then again, it’s hard to find any time at all to talk with Arsen. It’s now or never.
“You’ve been through the same thing I’m going through now,” I say quietly. “You could’ve told me. It would have been nice to know.”
Arsen gazes out over the garden. “The doctors I referred you and your mother to were the same ones who treated my mother.”
“They said there’s nothing they can do for her. They said it’s just a matter of time.”
He rocks on his heels. His hands stay firmly in his pockets. “Then I’m sorry.”
“Oh, don’t pretend you have feelings now,” I snap, suddenly irritable again. “This heartfelt little moment we just shared doesn’t change anything.” I lurch up, ignoring the pain in my hip. “I’m still not marrying you.”
He cuts in front of me before I can take so much as a single step down the gravel path back to the mansion. The moonlight draws harsh lines on every chiseled plane of his face.
“I don’t care who the hell you are, you’re not forcing me into this, Arsen Adamov.”
I brace myself for what must be coming next: his wrath, his cruelty, his ice-cold You will do as I command.
Then his hand presses to my stomach, soft as a kiss on the cheek. “I don’t intend to force you into anything, Laila Barnes. In five minutes, you’re going to walk in there with me and willingly agree to marry me.”
“Unless you plan to perform a record-fast lobotomy on the lawn, there is no way in hell that is going to happen.”
“It is going to happen. No surgery required.”
He smiles, and the stupid butterflies in my stomach take flight, those fickle, unfaithful little bitches.
“Tell me: why would I ever choose to marry you?”
“Because—” He takes another step closer, his scent swirling around me, heat pouring off of his skin. “—it’s the only way you’ll get to be a part of this baby’s life.”
My stomach drops. My heart flips. There’s a ringing in my ears that wasn’t there a second ago.
I think it’s wedding bells.
Because it looks like we’re getting married, after all.