47. Cross Fire
CROSS FIRE
They hate me.
Lev’s entire family—they all hate me. Not just the men. His sister-in-law’s smile was especially vicious. His mother’s glare could have frozen ice.
I’d thought I was prepared for it—obviously, there would be no champagne or celebration following the ceremony.
But the blatant animosity made it difficult for me to breathe downstairs.
Maksim wasn’t that terrifying, in comparison to Lev’s father and older brother.
I thought one of them was going to shoot me right in the entryway. I’m positive both considered it.
The past few weeks have been a crash course in a world I used to pretend didn’t exist. I might not be as innocent as I was a month ago, but I’m not a threat. I’ve never done anything to his family. They were the ones who sent Lev to kidnap me.
I’m not mad about that, even though I have a right to be.
Mostly, I’m sad. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get married.
If I ever did, I hoped it’d be a second chance at having a family.
One I wasn’t kept at the fringes of. That won’t be happening here.
I have Lev, and I would choose him over being accepted anywhere.
But still, the realization I’ll never be welcomed stings.
I didn’t understand a word of what was said downstairs, and part of me was glad about it.
I could tell from Lev’s reactions that what they were saying wasn’t pleasant.
I feel guilty about that though—my inability to defend myself in Russian is further proof that I don’t belong here.
I head into his bathroom—our bathroom, I guess—while Lev waits in the hallway for the bags to be brought up. I went overboard on purchases when he told me we might not be able to return to the city for several months.
I have nothing here. No clothes, but also no toiletries or makeup or tampons or phone or books or hair dryer.
No way to participate in my two main hobbies—swimming and playing.
I have no violin here, and there’s no pool.
No jewelry, aside from the diamond ring now sitting on my left hand.
It feels strange, partly because of the size of the stone and also because I’ve never worn rings before.
They’re impractical for swimming and for playing, so I’ve never left one on with any regularity.
I have no idea what happened to all the possessions in my Chicago apartment, but it’s not like I can call Salvatore and ask. My father is probably wishing he’d left me to die with my mother right now.
It’s been weeks since I was supposed to return to the symphony.
They must have replaced me by now. There’s probably a missing person report for Carina Carson.
Lola must be panicked. I wish there were a way to tell her—and Isabella—that I’m okay, but I’m worried that will put them in danger. I’ll ask Lev when I have a chance.
I clutch the cold black counter, studying my reflection in the mirror.
Carina Sokolov.
I test my new last name out. It doesn’t sound as strange as I thought it would. I heard the whispers and saw the averted gazes earlier. I’ve seen people act wary of my father at the few family events I attended over the years. But no one cowers from him in the city.
Lev took a bleeding woman to a church, then to a government building, and not one person questioned him. I think he threatened the doctor who stitched my hand, who looked like he might vomit the whole time he treated me, and we were shown to a private room in the restaurant we ate at.
“Is this your favorite room?”
I glance past my own reflection, finding him in the mirror behind me.
I guess I have mostly been in the bathroom, aside from the few hours of sleep I managed, evident from the dark shadows beneath my eyes.
I changed out of the maid outfit at the first opportunity, but I’m wearing no makeup.
My hair is a snarled mess, wavy from my falling asleep when it was still damp.
I’m about as far from a glowing bride as one can be.
I manage a smile. “No. I just …” My voice trails since I’m not sure what else to say.
I’m in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by strangers who hate me.
And while Lev is familiar, this is not. Our entire relationship—if you can call it one—has been a series of short intervals.
I dress up, I act sophisticated, I’m careful with what I say and what I ask.
All that has been stripped away, and an eternity of uncertainty stretches ahead.
There wasn’t time to discuss what Lev expected from me—from us.
Him marrying me meant I can’t be used to blackmail my father.
But I could be used to blackmail him. His life is dangerous …
and I know it’s why he never shared any details.
I’m glad we can speak more freely, but it’s also intimidating.
I can’t summarize that succinctly, not after a day that included my wedding and getting stitches for the first time. The painkillers the doctor gave me before sewing the cut shut have worn off. It doesn’t hurt as much as it did this morning, but there’s a constant dull throb on my palm.
“I’m a little tired,” I finish.
He nods. “You should sleep. Nothing will happen tonight.”
I know he means with his family, but it sparks the same self-doubt from this morning.
Was I only appealing in intervals? We’re married, and the expectation is, we’ll see each other on a very regular basis.
I don’t blame him for having some apprehension about that, and I’m very aware he gave up his bachelor status for basically nothing in exchange.
I’m the one who’s benefiting from this marriage.
I turn to face him, not needing the mirror’s reminder that I’ve definitely looked sexier. I feel like the seventeen-year-old who awkwardly attempted to seduce him all over again.
“Nothing?” I say, tilting my head so my loose hair spills over one shoulder. “I bought lingerie earlier. And it’s our, you know, wedding night.”
One corner of his mouth lifts a little. “I am aware of that. And I saw everything you bought.”
He straightens, shoving away from the doorway and approaching me.
“I haven’t put it on yet,” I say dumbly.
Lev smiles for real as he reaches me, tucking my hair behind my ear and then tilting my chin up. “I prefer when my wife wears nothing at all.”
It’s the first time he’s referred to me that way, and it sends a hot shiver down my spine. His hands coast over my hips and down my thighs, then glide back up. Underneath my dress, bunching the fabric around my waist.
My breathing is embarrassingly fast. I have to clutch the counter to ensure I stay vertical.
I can’t come up with anything clever or seductive to say, the surreality of this moment hitting me in full force.
Lev is my husband. I’ll never have to contemplate never seeing him again.
Amid a sea of uncertainty, that feels like a life raft.
He’s here.
He’s mine.
Right now at least, I don’t care about anything else.