Chapter 7
VIKTOR
Aleks has the fucking audacity to smirk. “Of course you are. Not sure why I expected any less. I’ll relay your message to Mikhail, but you know how he is.” He turns to Lydia. “Trust him. This will be okay. We’ll get your sister or mother on the phone as soon as we can.”
Lydia stares at me as if trying to figure me out, her beautiful eyes swinging from me to Aleks, then back again.
“Go,” I tell Aleks. “I’ll come once she’s secured.”
He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, muttering under his breath before he finally takes off, leaving me and Lydia alone.
There was a time when I would’ve given anything to be alone with her, but now that I am, I want so much more.
I want her to trust me. I want her to believe me.
I need her to know that I’m not going to hurt her.
“Secured?” Though the tone of her voice is hard, I note the way her breath quickens, and she clutches the blanket to her body.
“I’ll have to talk to Mikhail. He’s my oldest brother and the pakhan of our group. You know what that is, don’t you?”
Swallowing hard, she’s still scowling at me when she nods. “Of course.”
I stand, pacing around the small room. “Then you’d know I have no choice but to obey him.”
Her intelligent, beautiful eyes meet mine. “You always have a choice. Don’t lie to yourself.”
The starkness of her honesty surprises me, though it shouldn’t. One of the things I love best about her is her refusal to placate anyone or talk bullshit.
“Yeah,” I tell her while I check the locks on the doors and windows and make sure all surveillance equipment is on standby. “You’re right. Allow me to rephrase. If I don’t want him to murder me, I’ll do what Mikhail fucking tells me.”
With a frown, she gives a slight shrug as if to say yeah, that’s your choice, too.
“Before you go, can you tell me as much as you can?” she asks. “Even though I don’t like what you did to me, you seem kind of honest. Blunt. So before you meet with your brothers, what else can you tell me?”
I decide to go straight for the jugular. “Your mother’s granted permission to dissolve the potential union between you and Timur Yudin, effective immediately. When she relayed this message to him, she was treated with a litany of profanity and a threat to both her life and yours.”
She frowns. “You’re lying. He wouldn’t.”
“I have video evidence to prove it.”
A shadow crosses her face as if she doesn’t want to admit to the truth. She trusted the guy, and now her world has been ripped out from under her. I get it.
“Alright then. Let’s see it,” she says.
I can tell by the tone of her voice and the flash of her eyes that she’s trying to prove me wrong, that she wants to challenge me.
I nod and pull out my phone. We have a vault of videographic evidence we keep for my family, but I can access it to show her what I need to. I scroll through the files while she shifts uncomfortably in the bed.
I look up from my phone when I can't find it right away. God, she must be starving. What’s wrong with me?
“Hold on. Are you hungry?”
She nods, still holding my gaze quietly.
“Yeah.”
I’ve already gotten food ready for her but haven’t brought it out yet.
I know exactly what she likes to eat, but it depends on which version of Lydia is here with me.
Is it Lydia, the good girl, trying to please whoever it is she’s with?
Or is it Lydia, the one who’s comfortable in her own skin and owns it?
Sometimes Lydia will eat an egg white omelet and vegetables, or eat a protein bar, or maybe skip breakfast altogether when she’s trying to diet her body into brutal submission.
Comfortable Lydia, on the other hand, will eat buttered toast, some fruit, or maybe a grilled muffin with a bowl of fruit salad or chocolate-frosted donuts.
To be safe, then, I’ve had all of those options brought here. I don’t want to unnerve her by revealing how well I know her, though, so I’ve had an assortment of food prepared.
This room we’re in is small. Normally, we’d eat breakfast in the eat-in kitchen.
I love my kitchen with its huge, plate glass windows that overlook the front walkway and garden.
I love watching the change of seasons from the kitchen table, whether we’re heralding the coming winter with holly leaves and red berries, burnt orange leaves on my front yard maple in autumn, or early sunrise on a summer morning.
I’ve imagined what it would be like having her here with me at that table.
I’d sit with her, just listening to her talk about whatever it was she wanted to.
I carved the heavy kitchen table with my own two hands, and I have to admit I had her in mind when I designed it.
I once heard her say she loved cherrywood and the memory never left my mind.
Right now, though, she needs to be kept in here. It’s only for a while.
“Let me get you something to eat first.” I stand and walk to the door, all the time thinking I need to watch her more closely. She has the run of the room, and Lydia is feisty as hell. If she could find a way out…
But I’ll only be a minute. I quickly grab an assortment. When I return, she’s sitting up in bed, the blanket clutched to her chest. .
“Here,” I tell her. “Take a look and tell me what you want.”
Eying me warily, she looks at the food on the tray. Mistrusting.
“You should untie me so I can feed myself.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that.” There’s no telling what she’ll do when I do that. “I will once you’ve shown you’re trustworthy.”
She gawks at me, her jaw unhinged. “You think I’m untrustworthy? Are you out of your mind? You’re the one who kidnapped me.”
I grit my teeth and slide the food onto the bedside table.
“What would you like to eat?”
“Untie me, Viktor. I promise I won’t do anything stupid. You’re twice my size. There’s no way I could if I wanted to. I just want to feed myself and get my clothes back on.” Her voice lowers. “Please.”
Goddamn, I have no power to resist her.
I reach for her wrists. “Alright, but if you try to hurt yourself or me…”
“I won’t.”
I untie her.
She sits back on the bed and chooses the plate with the omelet, hash browns, and bacon. She eats with gusto, obviously starving after being drugged. I’ve heard it can have that effect on people.
We sit in silence while she eats until she nods her head to the tray. “Are you going to join me or what?”
“I’m good. I ate earlier.”
With a frown, she continues to chew before she swallows and nods. “So you're just going to stand there and watch me eat?”
I’d stand here just to watch her breathe, but I don’t want to freak her out. I reach for one of the croissants and bite into it, crumbs scattering everywhere.
“Yikes. My mama would kill me.” She looks down at the floor.
“Don’t worry, I have house cleaners. They’ll come by in a few hours.”
“Ah.” She presses her lips together and nods before she picks up her fork and takes another bite of egg. “Thank you for this. It’s delicious. Now, please. Now that you’ve got me fed, can you tell me what’s going on?”
I sit on the edge of the bed, eating a croissant as she continues to eat her breakfast. I pull out my phone.
“A recording of your mother’s conversation with Timur. Fortunately for us, she had video surveillance set up where she was, so she had this evidence.”
I tap my phone, and the screen pops up. Her mother, Zofia, sits primly in a chair in her living room. Her home is about thirty minutes from here.
The footage is grainy but clear. Timur shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his folded arms on his chest.
“Why did you call me?”
Something flickers in Lydia’s eyes. I can surmise what it is—the friendly demeanor is a bit off putting, incongruent with the rough tone of his voice. He’s laid it on thick for her, so it likely takes her by surprise.
“As you know,” Zofia begins, “we’ve had a change in our family since Vera married into the Romanovs’.”
She watches as Yudin stares implacably at her mother, his gaze stone cold, and she shifts uncomfortably.
“I’m not sure I understand. What does that have to do with me?” he finally asks, scowling.
Zofia clears her throat. “I have reservations about my daughter’s marriage to you that my husband did not have. Leadership and I have decided it best that Lydia marry into the Romanov family. Please accept my apologies—”
“No.” I wish I could reach through the screen and ring Yudin’s arrogant neck.
“This marriage is in progress. I’ve already spent significant money on Lydia’s dress.” He scoffs. “It needed to be altered to accommodate her and was no small fee thanks to her size.”
I forgot about that part. The fucker. Lydia’s cheeks turn bright pink.
“Mr. Yudin,” she says kindly. “I wish I could give my daughter to you with confidence, but recent developments make the situation unwise.”
He stands. “I’ll have Lydia, Zofia. You will not take her away from me.”
Zofia gets on her feet as he turns to leave. “Please understand. This is a strategic decision that we must make—” He takes a step toward her, but two guards snap into position between them. He makes a fist.
“Watch your fucking back and stay out of my way,” he snarls before he leaves, slamming the door behind him so hard the windows rattle. Fucking spoiled prick.
“Shut it off,” Lydia snaps, looking away. “My mother shouldn’t have intervened. My father was the one who arranged for our marriage.”
Her father who’s dead now.
I wonder if she really believes that, or is she only saying that as an excuse for Yudin’s behavior?
She doesn’t have to believe me. I know why I took her, and I know why she’s marrying me.
When my phone rings, I glance down to see Mikhail’s calling and stifle a groan. I turn away from her and take the call.
“Yeah?”
“Aleksandr tells me you’re not attending our meeting. Our meeting I called specifically to make a plan with you, Viktor.” The inherent disapproval in his voice sets my teeth on edge. I love my brothers, all of them, but I don’t know if they have the first clue about what matters most to me.