18. Aurora
18
AURORA
THE NEXT EVENING
The mansion feels unnervingly silent as we eat, save for the occasional clink of silver against fine china across the massive table between us. Outside, darkness has completely enveloped the grounds, leaving just the faint glow from security lights dotting the perimeter.
Every bite I take feels mechanical, my mind too full of thoughts to actually taste anything.
I glance up to find Ruslan's gold eyes studying me, calculating something behind that carefully neutral expression. Neither of us has spoken since we returned from burying his family.
"You're quiet." His deep voice breaks the silence, somehow both gentle and commanding at once.
I set my fork down. "Just processing."
"About our arrangement?"
"About everything." I run my finger along the rim of my wine glass, gathering courage from the expensive red I've barely touched.
Ruslan's jaw tightens. "I dragged you into my mess?—"
"I came with you willingly, remember?" I meet his gaze directly. "And I was running long before I met you, Ruslan. At least by your side, I might have a chance against my demons."
His expression softens, and that familiar understanding, recognition of kindred brokenness.
"Besides," I add quietly, "I said yes, didn't I? You didn't force me to do anything."
I see something change in Ruslan's eyes. A flash of genuine warmth breaking through his carefully controlled exterior.
"Not everyone would be this brave, zarechka ," he says, his voice low and resonant. "Most would run screaming."
"I've done enough running in my life," I admit.
He leans forward. "It's strange. From that first moment in the alleyway, I felt like we understood each other somehow. Like you could see parts of me no one else bothers to look for."
My heart quickens at his words. "I've felt that too. Like we're both..." I search for the right words.
"Hiding the same kind of darkness?" he offers.
"Yes. Haunted by the same ghosts."
Silence settles between us, not uncomfortable but full of unspoken thoughts. Through the window, I can see the moon rising over the estate grounds, casting silver light across the security patrols.
I take a deep breath. "Maybe we should actually get to know each other. On a deeper level, I mean. Since we're getting married."
"What do you suggest?"
"How about something simple?" A smile tugs at my lips as an idea forms. "Truth or dare?"
The suggestion breaks the tension, and Ruslan chuckles. The sound is rich, genuine, and sends warmth blooming in my chest.
He leans back in his chair, swirling his wine. "Should I be concerned what you'll dare me to do?"
I laugh, the sound startling me with how natural it feels. "That depends on how truthful you are."
"Alright then." He gestures toward me. "You suggested it. You begin."
"Alright, truth or dare?"
"Truth."
I take a deep breath, staring at the deep crimson wine swirling in my glass. The questions I really want to ask Ruslan linger on my tongue, eager to escape. Why was he disowned? Why does he look so hurt and angry whenever Tamara's name comes up? What really happened between them?
But I know better. Those shadows that cross his face. They're the same ones I feel creeping over mine whenever thoughts of Kansas City surface.
Some demons aren't ready to be named aloud.
"Okay." I decide to wade into shallower waters. "What's the silliest thing you're afraid of?"
Ruslan's eyebrows rise slightly, clearly surprised by my choice of question. He takes a slow, deliberate sip of wine, and I watch his throat work as he swallows.
"Spiders," he admits, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
I blink at him. "Spiders? Seriously?"
"Seriously," he confirms, eyes twinkling with unexpected humor. "When I was five, Lev put a tarantula in my bed. It crawled up my leg while I was sleeping, and when I woke up, there it was. Staring at me in the face. I screamed so loud that my father thought someone was trying to kill me."
The image of a young Ruslan screaming over a spider makes me laugh. The sound, my real laugh and not the practiced one I've used for years, surprises me with its strength.
"That's awful of him."
Ruslan's smile turns wistful. "Believe it or not, that was one of my favorite memories of him. Because it reminded me of when we could still act like kids."
"What do you mean?"
His fingers trace the edge of his wine glass. "Two years after that, Lev turned eighteen, and father initiated him into the bratva." He pauses, his voice growing softer. "Part of his initiation required that he kill a man."
I gasp. The casual way he says it, like discussing a high school graduation, makes it all the more chilling.
"Eighteen?" I whisper, horrified.
Ruslan nods, his eyes distant. "Lev was never the same after that. The big brother who put spiders in my bed disappeared. Something harder took his place."
I see the pain etched across his features at the grief of losing his brother long before his actual death. No wonder he fights so hard to keep his nieces safe. No wonder he's willing to marry a stranger to protect them from that same fate.
"I'm sorry," I say, inadequate words for such a profound loss. "It's not fair what your father did to both of you."
Ruslan's expression shifts, that protective mask sliding back into place as he forces a smile.
"My turn now." His gold eyes catch mine. "Truth or dare, zarechka ?"
Something about the way he says that nickname makes heat pool low in my belly. Maybe it's the wine, or the strange intimacy of this bizarre situation we've found ourselves in, but I feel reckless, bold.
"Truth," I say, surprising myself with my own courage.
Ruslan's eyes light up with interest. "Tell me about a moment from your past that still makes you smile, even if it feels bittersweet now."
My heart starts racing, and panic flares in my chest. He wants me to talk about my past? About Jamie Fields' life? The memories I've spent seven years burying?
But I was the one who suggested this game.
And besides, one memory can't hurt me.
"A moment from my past," I start. "Probably when I played Beatrice in my high school production of Much Ado About Nothing ."
The words feeling strange on my tongue, like opening a time capsule that I'd forgotten about.
Ruslan's face shifts with genuine interest. " I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me. "
The familiar line sends an unexpected thrill through me. And even through my storming heart, the smile that it brings to my face is genuine.
"That was my favorite line in the whole play," I confess, warmth spreading through my chest at the memory. "God, I delivered it with such conviction. The audience actually laughed."
"You still want to, don't you?" Ruslan observes. "To stand on stage. To be seen."
"Yeah. I suppose I do." I lower my eyes to my wine glass, watching the dark liquid catch the light. "You know, I got a scholarship to study theater at Northwestern but I never took it."
"Why not?"
"It was too risky."
The confession hangs between us for a moment before an awful familiar memory crashes through me without warning.
Look what you made me do.
My hand trembles as I reach for my wine glass, nearly knocking it over. I manage to grab it, taking a large swallow that burns all the way down.
Ruslan notices. He rises from his chair and comes around the table, taking the seat beside me.
His hand finds mine as his voice drops to the gentle timber that steadies my shivering heart. "I can make that happen for you, Aurora."
"You don't have to," I lie, setting the glass down carefully. "It's just... I can't go back to dreaming about that anymore. Just like you can't go back to when you and Lev were children. Some doors close forever."
Ruslan nods in agreement but says nothing. Instead, he gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. His touch anchors me as the memories threaten to pull me under, back to that blood-soaked house in Kansas City.
The warmth of his palm against mine creates a tether to the present.
To safety.
I'm thankful for his silence. For not pushing. For somehow knowing exactly what I need without me having to explain.
After a few steadying breaths, I muster a smile. "Truth or dare."
His gold eyes search mine. "Dare."
The word hangs between us, charged with possibility. My heart kicks against my ribs as an idea forms. Something playful yet intimate.
"I dare you to show me..." I begin, my voice barely above a whisper, "where you like to be touched." I feel my cheeks warming. "Other than your cock, of course."
A smile flickers across Ruslan's lips, but there's something else there too. A flash of vulnerability, a hint of sadness in those eyes. For a moment, I think he might refuse, might pull his walls back up.
Instead, he takes my hand and lifts it slowly towards him. His movements are deliberate, almost reverent as he moves. I hold my breath as he guides my fingers past his jaw, past his shoulder, until they come to rest on the nape of his neck, just below his hairline.
My fingertips meet warm skin and the soft ends of his curls. It feels profoundly intimate. More so than if he'd chosen somewhere more obvious.
"Why there?" I ask softly.
Ruslan's eyes hold mine, unguarded for once. "It reminds me of a simpler time that I can't go back to anymore."
Understanding passes between us, mirroring my own lost history. I turn fully toward him and bring my other hand up, cradling the base of his neck with both hands. The gesture feels protective, tender.
We're so close now that I can feel the gentle heat radiating from his body. His scent envelops me, subtle, light, yet somehow overwhelming as well.
I feel my lips parting slightly, my breath quickening.
Without breaking eye contact, his voice drops even lower. "Truth or dare, zarechka ."
My pulse thrums in my ears as I answer without hesitation. "Dare."
A smile curves his mouth, equal parts temptation and challenge. "I dare you to show me what you were about to do at Nikoforov. Before we were interrupted."
Heat crawls up my neck and spreads across my cheeks. My mind flashes back to that night. Back to the privacy of his VIP room, the glass wall, his lips on mine, and my hand boldly reaching for him through his pants.
But that wasn't what I truly wanted to do.
"Are you sure?" I whisper, my fingers still resting against the warm skin at the nape of his neck.
His gold eyes glimmers. "I am."
Without letting go of his neck, I rise from my chair. My heart hammers so hard I'm certain he can hear it. He watches me with an intensity that makes my skin tingle, waiting to see what I'll do next.
Taking a deep breath, I slide onto his lap, my dress hitching up as I straddle him. The heat of his body against mine sends a jolt through me.
Ruslan's hands come up to my waist, pulling me closer until I can feel every inch where our bodies connect. The solid warmth of him beneath me makes my head swim. I've imagined this moment so many times since that night, but the reality is so much more overwhelming.
"This is what I wanted to do," I confess, my voice barely audible.
I lean forward and press my lips against the sharp line of his jaw. His stubble scratches deliciously against my lips as I nibble gently at the spot where his jaw meets his ear.
A soft groan escapes him, the vibration rumbling through his chest to mine. The sound sends liquid heat rushing through me. His hands tighten on my waist, fingers pressing into my skin through the fabric of my dress.
Emboldened, I trail kisses down the column of his neck, each touch of my lips against his skin more intoxicating than the last. The rapid pulse beneath my mouth tells me everything his controlled expression tries to hide.
He wants this just as desperately as I do.
His head tilts back and a breathy groan tumbles from his lips as I continue my path downward. When I reach his collarbone, I let my tongue trace along the ridge of it before placing one final, lingering kiss there.
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes again. They've gone molten with desire, his breathing as unsteady as mine.
"Truth or dare," I whisper, my voice trembling with both nerves and need.
"Truth," Ruslan answers, his voice dropping to a register so low I feel it more than hear it. The word hangs between us, heavy with promise. The facade of the powerful bratva leader slips momentarily, revealing something raw beneath.
I'm still perched on his lap, my dress bunched around my thighs, his hands steady on my waist. The connection between us feels electric, like we're balanced on a knife's edge of something profound.
I consider what to ask. I have a thousand questions burning in my mind, but one rises above the others. Something I need to know about the complex, guarded man beneath me.
"What's something you're afraid of but haven't told anyone else?" I whisper.
Ruslan's eyes darken, and for a moment, he looks away.
The vulnerability in his expression makes my heart ache. I've seen this man command a room, stare down a vengeful actress, and navigate bratva politics at a funeral with ruthless precision.
But this unguarded moment feels more intimate than his hands on my body.
When he finally meets my gaze again, the hurt in his golden eyes is so profound it steals my breath.
"What I'm afraid of more than anything else..." he begins, his voice steady yet thick with emotion, "is being unable to keep the people I care about safe."
The confession settles over me like a physical weight. In those words, I hear the ghosts of his past.
The brother he couldn't save and the nephew taken from him.
I hear the weight of responsibility for his nieces. And beneath it all, I hear the echo of another story he hasn't told me yet.
A simpler time when someone used to hold the nape of his neck like I'm doing now.
"Even me?" I ask.
His hand finds my face, fingers tracing the lines of my cheekbone. His touch is warm against my skin.
"Especially you," he adds, so softly I almost miss it.
My heart stutters in my chest. "You care about me?"
"I do." No hesitation, just certainty in those two simple words.
Something blooms inside me, fragile and frightening in its intensity. I should be backing away. I should be guarding my heart. But instead, I lean closer, my lips hovering inches from his.
"Prove it," I challenge, my voice barely a whisper.
Strong fingers tangle in my hair and he pulls me down until the distance between us closes. When our lips meet, it's not a gentle or tentative kiss but a claiming one.
The kiss ignites every nerve ending in my body. His mouth is hot against mine, insistent and hungry. I gasp against his lips, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes me moan.
My entire body melts against him, surrendering to the sensation. Seven years of numbness and hiding shatter under his touch. I feel reckless, alive, desperate for more. My fingers clutch at his neck and his hair to anchor myself as desire floods through me.
His hands tighten possessively on my body, one at my waist, the other still tangled in my hair, holding me exactly where he wants me. The controlled strength in his touch makes me dizzy with want.
But what undoes me completely isn't the physical sensation. It's what I feel pouring from him into me through this connection. Protection. Care. A promise.
When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, I rest my forehead against his.
"I believe you," I whisper. "Your turn."
"Truth or dare," Ruslan says, his voice deep and smooth as velvet against my skin.
My heart races. This game seemed innocent enough when I started it, a way to learn more about the man who's offering to marry me to keep me safe. But now? With his eyes glowing like amber in the dim light, and the lingering taste of his lips on mine?
I consider saying "dare" to avoid the potential danger of his questions. What if he asks about my past?
About who I really am.
About Jamie Fields.
Yet despite my hesitation, I answer, "Truth."
Ruslan leans forward slightly, his eyes never leaving mine. "What's a secret you've never told anyone?"
I knew that question was coming but it still feels like a punch to my chest to hear it. I swallow hard, and the words "Jamie Fields is dead" nearly tumble from my lips.
But then I remember.
I have told someone. Hannah knows this darkest secret of mine. Which means... I can offer something else. Something still vulnerable, still raw, but not quite as dangerous.
I bite my lip, my fingers fidgeting at the back of Ruslan's neck.
My mind flashes back unwillingly. Rough fingers digging into my hips. The smell of stale cigarettes in the back of a police cruiser. The feeling of slimy saliva between my open legs. The emptiness afterward, wondering if this was what everyone made such a big deal about.
The certainty that I had done something wrong, somehow.
And then, like clockwork…
Look what you made me do.
"No man has ever made me come before." The confession hangs in the air between us, and I can't quite meet his eyes.
Ruslan's expression shifts slightly into something I didn't expect: understanding. It crosses his face when he sees the tension in my shoulders and the way my breathing turns uneven.
"Never?" he asks softly.
I shake my head. "Never."
His golden eyes darken, and he reaches forward to brush his thumb across my cheek.
"Would you like me to make you come?” he asks in a rumbling voice that sends my heart skipping wildly in my chest.