Marina
The minute I walked into this place, I was too hot.
It's stifling, a fire burning in the hearth well into early summer when it's warm outside and no heat is needed.
Maksim sits across from me, eating his dinner and snipping at his maid hastily, but I haven't really touched my meal.
I'm uncomfortable and I want him to know it.
The candles and flowers—it's all too much.
He's trying to be romantic for some reason, and he's failing.
My father insisted I come and start getting acquainted with Maksim's home staff and making myself comfortable in his home.
The problem is, being here feels like being in a cage.
I am a colorful singing bird who will perform the way I've been trained, but I don't like it. The way he looks at me makes my skin crawl, and even if this food looked appealing to me, I couldn’t eat it.
I'm so sick to my stomach, if I take a single bite, I'll throw up.
The night is a waste. I will never feel comfortable in this place.
I know my duties and I fully intend to follow through with my promises, but the preparation isn't necessary.
I'm sure one day, years from now, my heart will die a cruel, painful death and I'll grow numb to the situation.
But for now, all this does is perpetuate my anger and my hatred for this man, which only grows deeper by the day.
Maksim is quiet too, staring at me more than speaking.
Dinners with him will be thrilling, I'm sure.
He won't talk business with me, and as far as I know, we have nothing in common, not that I've tried to figure it out.
He's not like Stepan, who makes conversation easy.
Maksim is a brick wall—impenetrable and cold.
I have no interest in finding out what makes him tick. I'm sure I'll learn soon enough.
"Thank you for joining me for dinner, Marina. Let's have a toast to us and our future and a great partnership." Those words would almost have been a kind gesture if only he'd have left off the part about partnership.
I lift my glass with a placating smile and bring it to my lips, but I don't really drink.
My lips stay sealed as I tip up the glass, and when I lower it, I lick the few drops that moistened them.
Maksim's eyes narrow at me, but it's annoyance, not suspicion.
The wine will only make the morning sickness worse, besides not being good for the baby.
I have no intention of drinking around him, either.
This whole setup screams his intention. He wants me liquored up so he can pressure me into sex.
“You barely drank any,” he says smoothly, pointing his glass's rim at me. “It’s a good vintage. Try more. It'll help you relax.”
"It's good," I tell him, trying to reassure him that I've tasted it, but the minute he turns to speak to his maid again, whose name I don't remember, I turn and pour half the glass into the potted plant behind me.
The dark soil swallows the liquid, and I set the nearly empty glass back on the table just as he faces me again.
My heart is pounding, but he doesn't seem to notice.
"Good girl," he praises, now with a genuine grin.
It makes disgust slither across my skin as he continues, chewing a bite of roast while he points his fork at me.
"You know, we'll dominate all of Russia one day.
" When he winks, I have to swallow back some bile.
"Your father's empire and mine will grow here in Perm until we can consume Moscow, then St. Petersburg and the rest. This is a love story for the ages. "
Funny how he equates his power and the expansion of his business with love.
Love for him is nothing but a chess move.
And when he says the word love, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
I bow my head and lift my fork to my plate, cutting into the meat gently as I think of the way Stepan told me he loves me.
Love to him is a gentle thing that swells and consumes and captivates.
It makes my heart flutter and my shoulders relax as I remember the way he touches me and talks softly.
I love him, and I shouldn't. I shouldn’t even be thinking of him at all, especially not while I sit across from my fiancé in a dinner that's supposed to resemble what our evenings may look like once the wedding takes place in a few months.
But my heart aches when I think of having this life with someone I don't want around me.
It feels like I'm being slowly suffocated, crushed to death by expectation and greed.
Maksim reaches across the table and takes my hand. His hand is gentle, but I shudder at his touch. “You seem distant tonight, Marina. Is something bothering you?”
I shake my head quickly. “Just tired. It's been a long week.” I pray he doesn't push me anymore.
The last thing I need is to get so emotional I break down crying or end up throwing up.
He'll think I'm sick and he'll call his doctor.
God only knows where that would lead. I haven't quite figured out how I'm going to tell him I'm pregnant, which brings my mind back to Elira and her comment about just sleeping with him.
It causes my shoulders to pinch and my chest to tighten.
It is an obvious solution, but I don't want to sleep with him.
The act of having sex is deeply intimate and in my heart, it's sacred.
Giving that part of me to someone as shallow and greedy as Maksim is wrong.
He doesn't deserve it, and I don't want to feel degraded, even if it gets me out of the consequences for my poor choices.
He squeezes my hand harder and I look up to meet his eyes.
“Then stay here. Going out is always uncomfortable when you're tired and stressed.
I can help you relax." His eyes flick between mine and I swallow hard, knowing what he's suggesting.
When Stepan says it, I lean into it, wanting what he can give me. When Maksim says it, I cringe.
I pull my hand away and reach for my water, sipping slowly to lessen the sting of bile in the back of my throat before I say, "My father expects me to be home tonight. He could worry."
Maksim’s eyes narrow slightly, but he smiles again. “Your father wants us to get to know each other better. He told me so himself. There's no rush to leave.”
The rest of the meal drags on. Every time I try to make a space between us, he closes the gap.
He moves his chair closer, and his hand seems to keep finding mine.
When the maid refills my wine glass, I take only the tiniest sip before tipping the rest into the plant when he glances away to check his phone.
I'm counting the seconds until I can get out of here when he pushes away from the table and holds out his hand to me.
"Let's go to the living room and sit. It's more comfortable for talking."
I glance at his hand and then back to my plate where only a few bites of food are missing. He hasn’t even noticed that I haven’t touched my food. There's only one thing on his mind tonight.
I don't want to go sit with him, but refusing would only make things worse, so I let him lead me out of the dining room and across the hall to his living room.
This whole night has been so uncomfortable.
I want to go home and bathe and wash the feeling of guilt off my skin, but Maksim leads me to the sofa where he sits, pulling me down next to him so close, I'm practically on his lap.
Then his arm comes around me, pulling me even closer.
I'm forced to put my hand on his chest to keep from falling over onto him, and he leans down to speak.
“You're so beautiful, Marina." As he whispers, his breath dusts my ear. I turn slightly so it doesn’t tickle, but it makes our moths so close he could kiss me. “I've been looking forward to this evening all week. To having you here... just the two of us.”
His free hand rests on my knee and slowly slides upward.
I tense, every muscle locking in place. Pushing him away isn't an option.
He's supposed to be my husband in three and a half months.
What will I do then, when it's our wedding night and he expects me to climb into that bed with him? But I'm so stiff and he sees it.
Maksim leans in, his lips grazing my cheek. “Relax. You're going to be my wife soon. There is no reason to be so shy.”
"I'm uh... I've never..." Lying directly to him isn't an option, so telling him I'm a virgin would just blow up in my face. Besides, he'd know it the instant he does fuck me and I'm not a virgin. I can't make the words come out, but I can let the bile rise and maybe I'll vomit.
"An unplucked flower?" he asks, and I see the flash of lust in his gaze, but I quickly douse it because God forbid that make him even more hungry for me.
"No, it's just, I..." I feel my stomach rolling, and now my heart is pounding so fast, I feel dizzy.
My eyes blink rapidly, pushing back tears as his hand moves higher, resting on my hip.
The touch feels invasive, wrong in every way.
My skin crawls and I turn my face away when he tries to kiss my mouth, and his lips land on my jaw instead.
“Stop,” I whisper, but the word comes out too weak.
Tears burn my eyes as I push on his chest hard enough that he should get the point, but he doesn't even slow down.
Maksim's fingers dip under the hem of my dress and slide upward on my thigh now, dangerously close to my panties, and I press my eyes shut to make the tears stop.
He can't do this, can he? We're not married yet. I don’t want to do this with him.
But Elira's voice echoes in my head. If I let him have me, just once, the war inside my head over this baby is gone.
Maksim will believe he's the father, and I can pretend it’s true.
It's my salvation. So why do I feel like slapping him, clawing his eyes out, screaming and running away?
"God, do you know how badly I want to taste you?" His teeth sink into my neck as his hand squeezes my bare thigh, but I still push at his chest, ready to start striking him if I need to.
"Please," I whimper, wishing he would let me go. He's so strong, his arms so tight around me, there's no getting out of this. If I did what Elira suggested, Maksim would claim the baby as his own and the alliance would stay intact. I could protect my family and keep my secret safe.
But the thought makes me sick. I can't do it, not when every part of me still aches for Stepan.
Maksim’s fingers push my dress higher while his mouth moves down my neck, sucking lightly. “You're mine now,” he says against my skin. “Let me show you how good it can be.”
Finally, I muster the strength to squirm away, pressing my back into the cushions. “Maksim, please. I am not ready.”
But he's back on me in a flash, now pressing me into the cushions as I squirm farther away. "Stop moving, Marina. When your husband tells you to do something, you do it. Do you understand?"
His hand grabs my hip and holds me down, but when he tries to kiss me again, I turn my head sharply. His lips miss my mouth and land on my cheek, and I push at his chest with both hands.
“Maksim, stop. I mean it.”
Instead of stopping, he shifts his weight, pinning me more firmly against the couch. “Stop being difficult. You're not leaving until I taste you."
He's scaring me, making my pulse race so fast, I see stars and feel a rush of adrenaline.
I push hard on his shoulders, forcing him back, and before he can react, I'm on my feet moving.
But the room starts to spin. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision as I stagger toward the door, but the blackness begins closing.
My lungs burn as short gasps for air consume me, and then I see Stepan's face flash in my mind.
Tears rise, but before I feel a single one on my cheek, darkness takes me. The last thing I remember is my body hitting the ground hard and Maksim's shout for the maid.