Chapter 13 - Masha #2
I also wanted to ask who the hell picked out the wardrobe in my closet, because everything was so sickeningly cutesy. It was insulting, which I guess was the point.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said again, not glancing up from his phone.
“Since the fate of my family and their employees depends on it, I’m kind of worried,” I said.
He looked up then, fixing me with his gray stare. “I’ve told you two things in the last couple of minutes. One was that I didn’t want to have to kill anyone, and the second was not to worry about it. It’s time you remember who you are and start listening.”
“Wait,” I said, feigning ignorance as I bristled at his imperious tone. “I thought I was your wife. Your happy wife. And that’s a whole lot of words to tell someone to shut up.”
He heaved out a sigh. “Masha? Shut up.”
I clapped my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing, but remained silent for the ride to the airport, where his private jet was waiting and ready to go.
Despite the failed escape attempt and the fact that most of my family’s buildings were rigged to blow at the least provocation, my spirit wasn’t broken. Quite the opposite, they were up.
He’d pretty much promised he wouldn’t press the button if I played my part, and we were heading to a new location.
I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, so his promises meant next to nothing, but a new location meant new opportunities.
I would no longer be in the middle of the desert, but in a city.
I didn’t know Volgograd, but all I needed was one little phone call to warn Mat or Aleks, or anyone I could get a hold of, to take away the threat hanging over me.
And as long as he wanted me to play his devoted bride, I had to hope that meant the next few days would be torture-free.
Once we were in the air, the quiet and reserved flight attendant wheeled out a feast, and I dug into it with gusto, not having eaten since my lunch break before getting tied up in the basement, which seemed like it was days ago.
“Glad to see a little high voltage didn’t damage your appetite,” he said, offering me seconds of the rich chocolate cake.
With a shrug, I accepted. “You eat when you can,” I said, a lesson from my father. “And you’re also shoveling it in, so I’m assuming it’s not poison.”
“Unless it’s a poison I’ve been building up an immunity to,” he said dramatically.
Was Anatoli trying to be funny? It was working, or else I was still not quite recovered from the electric fence.
“That only happens in movies,” I said. He raised a brow, putting a bite of cake from his own plate onto a fork and holding it out to me. Feeling my cheeks getting hot, I gobbled it up, glancing away and clearing my throat.
This was weird. I shouldn’t have been getting along with him, but at the same time, I was exhausted from the mental ups and downs he’d been putting me through, as well as just plain exhausted from my escape attempt.
And now we were on an overnight flight to Russia, where I’d be expected to act like we were madly in love and not sworn enemies.
“So, um, tell me about your family. What should I expect?”
“My brother just died,” he said flatly. He waved a hand against my automatic attempt at condolences. The mere thought of losing Lilia was enough to make me want to double over, but he didn’t seem too broken up. “We weren’t close,” he said. “It’s a long story.”
“It’s a long flight,” I said. “And it’s not like I’m going to make it to our first anniversary, so why not fill me in?”
He made a face and shook his head, but didn’t dispute that my days were numbered.
Very slowly, he began to tell me about his brother, his father, and his uncles.
After only about ten minutes, I was more grateful than ever for my own family.
We might have had some kooks back in Moscow, and my cousins could be overbearing, but it was nothing compared to Anatoli’s clan.
“Wait, why didn’t you stay after your father died?” I asked, interrupting when he got to the part about why they were estranged.
“My father didn’t just die,” he said. “I believe he was killed.”
He’d already told me that his father had told his uncle that he was to be placed in charge in the far future when his father eventually died. Now that he let me know his perfectly healthy dad had a sudden heart attack right after that, I agreed it was as suspicious as hell.
“You should have fought,” I said.
“You’ll get along fine with my Uncle Miron,” he said with a twist of his lips.
“But let me tell you about my brother and my eldest uncle, Leonid. Before my father’s death, I stepped up because I had to, when Kon was running sloppy gambling rings and being needlessly risky.
That was why my father decided to go against tradition and choose his younger son.
But in Leonid’s eyes, Konstantin could do no wrong, and many of my other relatives felt the same.
Konstantin acted fast, and my father was barely in his grave when he’d turned the organization completely upside down.
At that point, I didn’t feel there was anything to fight for. ”
“But what about Miron? He knew the truth.”
“He’d been profiting greatly by Konstantin’s schemes, and because I was going to college at that time, and so caught up in getting my own businesses off the ground, he used that to make the others believe I wasn’t dedicated.
I wanted to update everything, change too many things too fast. We were so hopelessly out of date.
And I was the younger son. I didn’t grow up believing I’d ever be at the helm, and Miron used that too, thinking the accident of my birth order automatically made me incapable. ”
I prickled at hearing that. It wasn’t the same, but I could relate.
Because I’d been born a girl, I still got coddled way too much, still got put at the back where it would be safer.
I’d proven myself so many times, and there was still a flash of hesitance in my cousins’ eyes when I volunteered for something.
How many asses did I have to keep kicking for them to see I could hang with the boys?
I found myself blurting some of this out. I immediately wished I could take it back, feeling much too vulnerable as Anatoli swept his gaze over my face. His eyes burned almost silver as he took in the frustration I tried to hide.
“Oh, you can hang,” he said, blinking slowly. “Anyone who underestimates you is a fool.”
What was this shocking thing coming out of his mouth that sounded like a compliment?
But it was tinged with bitterness, because of course, he’d learned about my capabilities the hard way.
That was the last thing I wanted him to think about, while being closed up in this small space with him and having nowhere to run.
“And now your uncles are crying for the second son to come home and save their sorry butts,” I said. It was only how I felt, but I wondered if I went too far in insulting his family that way when he stayed silent for a long moment.
Then he burst out laughing. “That’s pretty much it,” he agreed. “Except now I’m the only son. I suppose I should be glad my cousins are too lazy to try to stage a coup.”
He got up and brought a bottle of wine to our seats, looking at me inquisitively before he started turning the corkscrew.
The way he held it loosely in his hand, at the same time his eyes lowered to my mouth, made me feel like a good deal of the recycled air had suddenly left the plane.
I was no longer tied to the chair, at his mercy, but I suddenly felt just as helpless.
He could so easily use that corkscrew to cause me pain, but it didn’t seem to cross his mind.
Based on his look, something else completely was on his mind.
It felt more dangerous than when he was snapping those electrically charged clamps in my face. There was definitely something sparking between us.
I nodded, reaching for the offered glass of rich red wine and gulping it down a bit too fast. Just one glance at my mouth and he had me shivering like a schoolgirl. I had to bring things down a notch.
“Tell me about Volgograd,” I said, admitting I had never been there.
Pretty soon, we were laughing again, aided by the good wine. I had started this conversation trying to gain useful information, but now, as he described his childhood haunts, I felt my guard coming down. Almost like I was enjoying his company.
That was as dangerous as any of his implements of torture.