Chapter 2 #2
I straighten my shoulders, the stranger still hidden behind the doorway. My father’s wearing his fake smile, the one that stretches his lips but doesn’t warm his eyes. Beads of sweat stand out on his receding hairline, his usual ruddy complexion even redder than normal after a few drinks.
“Harper, sweetheart. Come in and meet our guest.”
A chill skates between my shoulder blades. He’s pouring it on thick.
“Go,” Saul hisses. He gives me a merciless tug so hard I lose my footing. My heel catches on the doorframe and I tumble into the room, my hands fly in front of me to grab onto something to right myself… and land on the warm, unyielding, hard-as-hell frame of my future husband.
Sometimes in Hallmark movies, it’s cute how a woman stumbles, and her would-be suitor catches her, all gallant and charming.
He might help stack the books that tumbled out of her arms after a wholesome trip to the library, or heroically offer to buy her another cup of coffee.
Their eyes meet, their breath catches, Cupid twangs his arrow—and the rest is history.
There’s a reason that’s fiction.
My suitor catches my arms and pins me in place like I’m an errant bird that needs to be put back in her cage. He holds me in front of him, his glacial blue eyes glaring at me.
This one definitely doesn’t look old and sleezy…
not with that hard jaw made more angular with his scowl, and short-cropped black hair that somehow makes his blue eyes look like they’re chiseled from ice.
There’s no greasy hair or yellowed teeth, no stench of cigars or scent of stale alcohol.
No. His well-tailored suit hugs his strong frame, the breadth of his shoulders alone casting me in shadow.
He’s calm and collected, not leering or swaggering.
In short, he’s the opposite of the men I’ve known, and the effect momentarily shocks me.
Or is he?
His rugged handsomeness exudes confidence and power… but something tells me to beware.
He carries an air of authority and a hint of power that exudes alpha male.
King of the forest. Everything about him commands obedience, as if he rules my house even though he has no such claims on my family.
It’s disarming, because a man like him doesn’t belong in the presence of my father and brother.
He’s a king among jesters, and he’s staring at me with a derisive curl of his lips.
I feel about two feet tall and as awkward as a child learning how to walk.
“Your daughter’s clumsy, Bianchi,” he says with a downturn of his brows. He’s the complete opposite of anything I’ve imagined.
“You should watch your step,” he snaps, in a voice tinged with that accent again.
Lovely. He’s a stunningly gorgeous jerk.
Experience tells me that the best way to avoid being punished is simply by not talking. I mentally wire my jaw shut even though I’m seething. My brother practically pushed me and even if I had tripped—
His large, strong hands are still on my arms. His grip on me feels charged, as if electric pulses are vibrating through his palms. I feel out of sorts and don’t know what to do with myself. When he catches my gaze, he releases me.
“Sit,” he orders, pointing wordlessly to a vacant couch. “Your father and I have business to discuss.”
I narrow my eyes at him to let him know I won’t be rolling over and playing fetch for him. But I acquiesce this time since it’s only our first meeting and maybe we’ll have further chaperoned meetings to look forward to.
Yay.
The men all take seats, Saul next to me.
“My name is Aleksandr Romanov,” he says to my brother. He’s barely even looking at me. “You know my brother Mikhail.”
“I do,” Saul says, appearing too earnest, too eager, like a kid hoping to get some attention from the hero he worships.
“I got him out of the big house, and he promised to marry off my sister before it’s too late.
” He barks out a mirthless laugh. “Harper, meet Aleksandr Romanov.” I wait for him to say “your future husband” but he doesn’t have the balls.
“Pleased to meet you,” I lie with a sickly sweet smile I hope gives him indigestion.
He doesn’t return the civility but only stares at me impassively.
“Mr. Romanov has come here today with a request,” my father says, his eyes twinkling greedily.
My stomach drops when the sound of my mother clearing her throat startles me.
When did she come in here? I look over at her and she wordlessly pulls her shoulders back, a silent admonition to sit up straighter.
I straighten my posture and look away so she can’t boss me around again. My entire life consists of people telling me what to do and it seems this guy who thinks he’s actually marrying me is no exception.
“Yes?” I ask, when my father doesn’t continue.
My father fidgets and gives a subtle nod to my brother. Why, I have no idea.
“The Romanovs are in need of an alliance sooner than we’d planned,” my father continues. “That’s good news for you, Harper. Mr. Romanov is prepared to make you his wife. I’ve agreed to this arrangement. We’ll be making final plans by the end of this month.”
I stare, keeping my face impassive while I quickly do the math. It’s the sixth. That gives me just over three weeks.
Alright, then. Plenty of time to plan my escape.
Aleksandr purses his lips, clearly displeased. “That wasn’t what I said.”
I blink, surprised at his boldness. No one talks back to my father. The red splotches on his cheeks tell me he’s holding himself back. He wants this suitor. Likely needs this arrangement.
If he was kinder to me, I might feel bad for what I’m planning to do.
“Oh?” my father asks tightly. “What do you have in mind, Mr. Romanov?”
“Apologies for any misunderstandings.” God, I have literally never met a single other person who lied as well as my father and this man.
The fake civilities are sickening. “I’d like to move on our agreement promptly.
You know what we have to offer you, Bianchi.
The offer’s only valid for twenty-four hours. ”
What on earth is he offering my father? My father’s greedy eyes nearly bulge out of his head as he nods, his jowls shaking with enthusiasm.
“How soon are you thinking, sir?”
Aleksandr swivels his gaze to me and pinches his lips together. Instead of answering my father, he questions me. “I’m told you have a penchant for running. Do you like to run, Harper?”
The fact that he’s just called me out on the exact plan I have in mind makes me squirm uncomfortably. This is… not good.
I lick my lips and swallow, giving him a casual shrug.
“I… used to when I was younger,” I say, my voice strangely husky.
It’s true. As a child, I kept a suitcase packed and ready to go so I could escape.
I’d be punished every time, but it was worth it to pretend I wasn’t under my mother’s thumb for a little while.
“Lying won’t be tolerated either,” he says in a clipped tone. “I happen to know that the last time you ran was six months ago.”
My cheeks burn with indignation. How does he know that about me?
My brother shakes his head. “I already told them the truth and what he can expect. There’s a reason we’ve made a move to make this happen sooner than later.”
But there’s a reason why I “run,” and it has nothing to do with what they think.
I’m not a child. I don’t run into oncoming traffic.
I find a way to escape so I can visit in private. And then I always return home, like a bird flying back to her gilded cage.
I turn my head away and don’t look at him.
The stranger clucks his tongue. “You’ve spoiled her, Bianchi.”
My brother squeezes my arm. I bite my cheek to keep from snapping back. I’m not like the other Italian princesses. I don’t have a penny to my name. No credit cards. No allowance.
“Spoiled?” my father says with a forced laugh. “I like to think she’s experienced and maybe a little indulged.”
Hardly. Another lie.
“You’ve arranged a marriage for me with a wife who’s rebellious, flighty, and clumsy, her only merit being mediocre good looks. In Russia, she wouldn’t hold a candle to most women.” He shakes his head. “Do you have any other daughters?”
Oh yeah? Well he can take his high-and-mighty ass back to Russia as far as I’m concerned. My nose stings and my cheeks flame as they continue to talk about me as if I’m a mannequin on display.
“Oh, I’m his one and only, and believe you me, I’m not spoiled,” I snap. I clamp my lips together so I don’t speak again when my mother gasps and my father glares at me. I have to choose my words carefully.
Romanov looks mildly amused if the faintest twinge of his lips are any indication. “Hmm. I have no other choices, and maybe I’ve misjudged. I never thought I’d be so lucky as to have a future wife who would be so demure.”
Add sarcastic to the list. Excellent.
I cross my arms over my chest. “And I never thought I’d be so lucky as to have a future husband that was so gentle and kind. I did hope for mildly attractive, but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers.”
Fire burns in his eyes. “Life is just full of surprises, isn’t it?”
“Indeed.”
“Right, right,” my father says, rubbing his hands together like the greedy asshole he is, ready to stroke the genie bottle and make his wish. “You say the offer is only valid for twenty-four hours, but we have no need. We’d like to move ahead with this arrangement.”
Would we, now?