23. Vera
VERA
“We need to tell him.”
I look up from my tea, my eyes finding Roman across the kitchen. He’s standing by the window with his back to me, his shoulders rigid with tension. The morning light catches the edge of his jaw, highlighting the stubble he hasn’t bothered to shave.
“Tell who?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“My father.”
I set down my cup, my stomach churning in a way that has nothing to do with morning sickness.
“Roman—”
“We can’t hide this forever, Vera.” He turns to face me, his expression unreadable. “Sooner or later, Konstantin is going to find out you’re pregnant. When he does, I want him to hear it from us, not from someone else.”
I understand his logic. I do, but that doesn’t make the idea of facing Konstantin again any less terrifying.
“He’s going to use this against us,” I say. “You know that, right? He’s going to find some way to turn this to his advantage.”
“Probably.” Roman crosses the room and sits down across from me, his eyes never leaving my face. “If we go to him now, we hold the cards. We control the narrative. If we wait and let him find out some other way, we lose that advantage.”
I stare at my tea, watching the steam rise from the surface. My hand drifts to my stomach on instinct, a gesture that’s become almost reflexive over the past few days.
“What about Anton?” I ask. “He’s not going to just give up because we’re married and pregnant.”
Roman’s expression hardens. “Anton is a problem, but he’s not an insurmountable one. Konstantin may be many things, but he’s not stupid. He’ll see the writing on the wall. You’re my wife now, and this child is mine. That makes you off-limits to anyone else.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “You’re my wife. You’re carrying my child. That’s all that matters.”
I want to believe him. I want to believe it’s that simple, that the strength of his claim will be enough to protect us from Konstantin’s machinations and Anton’s vendetta.
Except I’ve lived in this world long enough to know that nothing is ever that simple.
“When do we leave?” I ask.
Roman checks his watch. “In an hour. That should give you time to get ready.”
I nod, though my heart is racing. An hour. Sixty minutes until I have to face Konstantin again, until I have to stand in the same room with the man who orchestrated my abduction and forced me to the altar.
An hour until I have to pretend I’m not terrified.
Konstantin’s estate looks exactly as I remember it.
The drive feels longer than it should, each minute stretching out as we wind through the streets toward the estate. Roman is quiet beside me, his hands steady on the wheel and his eyes fixed on the road.
The mansion looms at the end of the drive, its stone facade as imposing as ever. I half expect to see my father’s car in the circular drive, but the only vehicles present are the black SUVs that belong to Konstantin’s security detail.
Roman parks near the front entrance and kills the engine. For a moment, neither of us moves. We just sit there, staring at the mansion.
“Are you ready?” Roman asks.
“No,” I admit. “But I don’t think I’ll ever be ready, so we might as well go now.”
He nods, and something in his expression softens. He reaches for my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine.
“I won’t let him hurt you,” he says. “Whatever happens in there, whatever he says, I won’t let him hurt you.”
I squeeze his hand. “I know.”
We exit the car and walk toward the entrance. The front door opens before we reach it, revealing one of Konstantin’s security guards. He steps aside without a word, letting us into the foyer.
The marble floors gleam beneath the chandelier as we walk inside, and the portraits of long-dead Volkonskys stare down from the walls like disapproving judges.
A maid appears to take our coats, and then we’re being led through the house toward Konstantin’s study. The walk feels endless, each step bringing me closer to a confrontation I’m not sure I’m prepared for.
The study door is closed when we arrive. The maid knocks twice, then pushes it open and announces us.
“Mr. Volkonsky, your son and his wife.”
Konstantin is seated behind his desk, a glass of something amber in his hand. He looks up as we enter, and a slow smile spreads across his face.
“Roman. Vera.” He sets down his glass and stands, moving around the desk to greet us. “What a pleasant surprise.”
His gaze lingers on me a moment too long. I feel like a piece of meat being examined for purchase.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks, settling back into his chair and gesturing for us to sit.
Roman remains standing. “We’re not here for pleasure.”
Konstantin’s smile doesn’t waver. “No, I don’t suppose you are.” He looks from Roman to me, then back again. “Then why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”
Roman takes a breath. “Vera is pregnant.”
Konstantin’s expression doesn’t change, but something shifts behind his eyes. “Pregnant,” he repeats slowly. “How unexpected.”
“It’s not unexpected,” Roman says. “I’m telling you now because I want there to be no confusion about the child’s parentage or my position as its father.”
Konstantin leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. His eyes move to me, and I have to fight the urge to shrink back under his scrutiny.
“How far along?” he asks.
“A few weeks,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
“Weeks.” He calculates something in his head, his lips pursing. “Interesting timing.”
Roman’s jaw tightens. “The timing is irrelevant. What matters is that Vera is my wife, and she’s carrying my child.”
“The timing is far from irrelevant.” Konstantin’s voice is mild, but there’s an edge to it that makes my skin crawl. “You married her only two days ago, Roman. Now you’re telling me she’s already pregnant? One might wonder about the haste of this union.”
“One might wonder,” Roman agrees, his voice flat. “Or one might simply accept that I’ve claimed what’s mine.”
Konstantin’s eyes narrow. “Claimed what’s yours. An unusual choice of words.”
“Is it?” Roman steps forward, his posture aggressive. “Vera was married to my brother. Now she’s married to me. The child she carries is a Volkonsky, regardless of the circumstances of its conception. That’s all that should matter to you.”
Konstantin is quiet for a long moment, his gaze moving between us. I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes, the calculations being made, the strategies being formed.
“You’re right, of course,” he says finally. “The child is a Volkonsky. As such, it has a place in this family.”
“Good. Then we’re in agreement.”
“I didn’t say we were in agreement.” Konstantin stands, moving around the desk until he’s standing in front of me. His eyes bore into mine, and I have to fight the urge to look away. “I said the child has a place. I didn’t say anything about you.”
My heart pounds in my chest. Roman moves to stand beside me, his hand finding the small of my back in a gesture of support.
“What are you saying?” Roman asks.
Konstantin’s smile is cold. “I’m saying that a child needs a father, Roman. A real father. Not a man who married its mother out of some misguided sense of obligation.”
“I married her because she’s mine.” Roman’s voice is low, dangerous. “The child she carries is mine. I will not allow anyone to question that.”
“Of course you won’t.” Konstantin moves back to his chair, settling into it with the ease of a man who has never doubted his power.
“You must understand my position. This family has a reputation to uphold. An heir born out of wedlock, conceived under questionable circumstances... it raises questions. Questions that could weaken our position.”
“The child will be born in wedlock,” Roman says. “Vera and I are married. That’s the end of it.”
“For now.” Konstantin picks up his glass and takes a slow sip. “What about Anton? He was promised this woman, and he won’t take kindly to being denied.”
“Anton can go to hell,” I snap before Roman can reply.
I’m still standing pressed against Roman’s side, and I feel his shoulders shake in a silent laugh. “No truer sentiment has ever been said, little bird.”
Konstantin glares. “Such bravado, such certainty. You really think you can simply declare something and make it so?”
“I think,” Roman says, his voice hard as steel, “that I am Dmitri’s successor. I am the head of this branch of the family, and Vera is my wife. Anyone who challenges that will answer to me.”
The room goes silent. Konstantin stares at Roman, his expression unreadable, and for a moment I wonder if this is it, if this is the moment when everything falls apart.
Then Konstantin smiles. “Very well,” he says. “You’ve made your position clear, and I must admit, I admire your... conviction.”
He stands again, moving toward the door.
“I think,” he says, pausing with his hand on the doorknob, “that we should formally announce the pregnancy. A dinner tonight, with the family. It will put to rest any questions about the child’s legitimacy and make clear to everyone where you stand.”
Roman’s expression darkens. “That’s not necessary.”
“On the contrary.” Konstantin’s voice is mild, but there’s a steely edge beneath it. “It’s essential. The family needs to see that you’re committed to this woman and this child. They need to see that you’re not simply acting out of impulse or passion.”
“I don’t need to prove anything to them.”
“Don’t you?” Konstantin turns to face us, his eyes sharp. “You’ve been back from Siberia for what, a few months? In that time, you’ve taken over your brother’s territory, claimed his widow, and now you’re telling me she’s carrying your child. Forgive me for saying so, but it looks too convenient.”
“Convenient.” Roman’s voice is low. “You think I planned this? You think I got Vera pregnant to secure my position?”
“I think,” Konstantin says slowly, “that you’ve always been ambitious. You saw an opportunity and you took it. There’s no shame in that, Roman. It’s what I would have done.”
Roman’s hands clench into fists at his sides, and I can see the effort it takes for him to stay where he is.
“The dinner will be tonight,” Konstantin continues, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Seven o’clock. I’ll expect you both presentable and prepared to make a formal announcement.”
Roman takes a step forward, his body vibrating with anger. “I’m not one of your puppets, Konstantin. You don’t get to dictate my life.”
“I’m not dictating your life.” Konstantin’s voice is cold now, the pretense of civility stripped away. “I’m protecting the family’s interests. Something you seem determined to undermine at every turn.”
“The family’s interests?” Roman laughs, but it’s a harsh, bitter sound.
“And you?” Konstantin raises an eyebrow. “A few months ago, you couldn’t have cared less about her. Now you’re ready to go to war for her and her bastard child.”
I feel my face flush at the words, and I have to clench my hands in my lap to keep from screaming at him.
Roman steps forward until he’s standing toe to toe with his father. His voice is quiet, but there’s a violence in it that I’ve never heard before.
“Say that again,” he says. “Call my child a bastard one more time, and I’ll make you regret it.”
Konstantin doesn’t flinch. He meets Roman’s glare with one of his own and for a moment, the two of them are locked in a battle of wills that seems to stretch on forever.
Then Konstantin smiles again. “You’ve made your point,” he says. “The dinner will be tonight. Seven o’clock at Kuro-Tetsu. I suggest you use the intervening hours to calm down and remember what’s at stake.”
Roman stares at him for a long moment, his chest heaving with barely suppressed rage. Then he turns on his heel and strides toward the door.
“Roman—” I start, but he’s already gone, the door slamming shut behind him.
I look at Konstantin, my heart pounding in my chest. He’s watching me with those calculating eyes, and I feel like a mouse being examined by a snake.
“You should go after him,” Konstantin says. “He’s always been passionate. It’s one of his flaws.”
I turn and walk out of the study, my legs shaking beneath me.
Roman is already in the car by the time I reach the entrance, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white. I slide into the passenger seat, my heart still racing from the confrontation.
He doesn’t speak as he starts the engine and pulls out of the drive. He doesn’t speak as we wind through the streets toward the penthouse, either.
He doesn’t speak at all, and I don’t know what to say.
“Roman,” I try again.
“Don’t.” His voice is flat.
I fall silent, my hands clasped in my lap. I understand his anger because I share it, but I don’t know how to help him. How to make it better.
We’re almost back to the penthouse when he finally speaks again.
“I won’t let him do this.” His voice is low, fierce. “I won’t let him use our child as a pawn in his games.”
“I know,” I say softly.
“He called our baby a bastard.” Roman’s hands tighten on the wheel. “Our child. A bastard.”
I purse my lips into a thin line. “Let’s just get through dinner, okay?”
“Okay.”