Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
Sage
Nicholas is hovering.
I stand in front of the mirror in my bedroom, putting the final touches on my hair and makeup as I prepare to meet my future husband. My future husband, who is a Russian and a Rushkoff.
A Rushkoff who works fast, since after hearing my decision, he's now due to arrive on my doorstep today, only two days later. Recklessly throwing himself into enemy territory on short notice seems like a poor decision to me, but hey, what do I know? I'm not a mafia boss.
From outside my door, Nic clears his throat for the hundredth time and I throw my head back in exasperation.
Refusing to come inside, he stands in the hallway outside my room, tall and straight, with his hands clasped behind his back.
I never set rules, but he seems to have set unspoken ones for himself to not look at me.
Which he keeps breaking by checking me out over his shoulder every few minutes.
"Nic, stop being weird and just come in here," I say.
His head snaps back to the wall in front of him. "I'm not here for comfort. I'm here for protection."
"Nic," I tut. "I say put comfort first. I'm on the pill. We don't need protection."
"Fucking Christ."
I fidget with my necklace, making sure it sits center between my cleavage. "Come on," I whine. "You're acting like a bodyguard."
He sends a heated look my way. "From now on, that's exactly what I am."
"Oh my God." I roll my eyes.
I ignore him and check my attire in the mirror. I've chosen something simple and innocent looking. Anton suggested I do my best to not look bridal. So I've done the opposite and gone as close to bridal as I can.
I'm wearing a knee-length white sundress, my dark hair pinned half up in curls that fall against my mid-back. Strap sandal heels complete the look. The dress has a wide open back, but it’s not so low that you'd see the scars across my back and belly where they removed my mutilated pancreas.
I pair it with a nude lipstick and a fuck-ton of mascara to highlight my green eyes.
"Ready," I announce, clapping my hands together as I swivel on the spot.
Nicholas turns on his heel and gives me a once-over, perusing me like a painting. Though I don't feel like a work of art under his intense scrutiny. On his visual journey back up my body, he meets my eye, raising his brow. His hands clench at his sides before he gives me his back again.
"How do I look?" I'm shy to ask.
"Fine," he says, once again abiding by the secret rule to not look at me. He just adjusts the front of his pants, gives a curt nod, and then blasts down the hallway without even looking back to see if I'm following him.
Okay, ouch.
Hopefully Victor likes what he sees more than Nic just did, otherwise it'll be rejection for lunch and war for dinner.
It takes me a moment to regain my composure before I'm rushing down the hall to catch up with him. My heels clack on the tiles, arms bouncing at my sides as I run after him as gracefully as I can without tripping.
By the time I catch up, he's standing at the top of the foyer stairs clutching the railing in a white-knuckle grip. Anton and Freddie flank his sides. All of them look ready to raise hell. The Rushkoff family has been our enemy for longer than I've been alive, so. This is a weird day for everyone.
Freddie turns, the molten look melting from his face when he sees me. "Bella, look at you. An angel. Victor will fall at the sight of you."
"Let's place him at the top of the fucking stairs then," Nicholas says, pushing back from the banister and blasting down the stairs as if he can't move away from me fast enough.
Everyone warily watches him go. Ignoring the foul mood he's clearly in.
"Are they here yet?" I ask.
Anton spins to face me. "They're rounding up the gate now." His eyes travel over my dress too. "You look beautiful."
"Why do you sound worried when you say that?"
Running his hands across his face and breathing a laugh, Anton says, "Oh, I am. I know you're grown up, but you'll always be our little girl." He brushes a lock of hair behind my ear, his eyes becoming distant as he toys with the strands.
Freddie moves past us, clapping Anton on the shoulder.
"Thank you," I say, my voice wobbling. I take his hand and smile, giving him a gentle nudge down the stairs.
The sound of cars rounding up the driveway reaches me, and through the double-story floor-to-ceiling windows I see an entourage approaching. There's at least six cars in the procession with a limo in the middle of the fold.
Mesmerized or petrified - anyone's guess - I forget to go downstairs and end up standing at the landing, hands braced on the railing, gawking at the processional.
The cars come to a stop, the limo right in front of the water feature that center's our circular turnaround driveway. When the limo door swings open, I feel as if there should be ominous music playing or something. My heart starts up the drum line.
An oxford-shoed foot steps onto the gravel, and with my eyes I scan upwards.
Dress pants, a thick black belt, and a cream business shirt.
Then, finally, the mountain of a man exits, having to fold himself almost in half to get out.
He looked tall when he was sitting, but now he's enormous.
Golden skin, muscles resting underneath that tight business shirt that's rolled up to the sleeve.
Yeah, fucking hell, that's a man if I've ever seen one.
He's got bushy blonde hair with a generous beard, and his tree-trunk like arms are full of thick hair too. Luckily, I stop myself before I can drool, regaining control of my mind and starting down the stairs to meet him.
Not even past the top step, I freeze. There's a second person exiting the limo. My hand grips the railing. Suddenly, it's the only thing holding me upright. My breath is robbed. Stolen callously from my lungs. Outright thievery is the only explanation for how this feels.
This man is the complete opposite of the first one, bar their height.
He's unreasonably tall too, but he's dressed in a dark shirt that, like the others, has the sleeves rolled up. Where the first man is light, he is dark. Clean skin versus tattoos. Sunshine versus brooding. Good versus evil.
Thick black hair sweeps across his head, slick and wet-looking. Tattoos cover every inch of skin. They're on his fingertips, up his arms, and even up his neck, only stopping at his jawline. A pulse starts up between my thighs.
Then he looks right at me.
I was wrong. This is what it feels like to be robbed of all air.
His stormy gray eyes lock on mine, and he stills. He's so far away, and surely can barely see me through this window, but I swear I see lightning in his eyes. In those eyes, I'm suspended in time.
He finds his brain first and severs our stare off with a sharp twist of his head.
The moment our eyes break, the rest of the world comes rushing back in around me as if the edges of reality are blurring back together at super speed.
Oh my God, what the fuck was that?
I wince and hurry down the stairs to settle in on Anton's right.
I'm such an embarrassing fool. I swear my panties are damp and that's just an unacceptable reaction to someone who's most certainly a Rushkoff.
"You good?" Anton quirks a brow at me.
"Great!" I cringe when I say it, but Anton just gives me an encouraging pat on the back that knocks me half a step forward.
Several underlings rush through the door first, fanning out around the edges of the foyer, and then the two specimens of men enter.
Standing side by side it's clear how right I was that they are polar opposites.
Dark and light. Night and day.
As soon as they step through the door, the blond surveys the foyer and its occupants, his eyes critical and assessing, like he's looking for threats. The dark-haired man, though, locks his eyes onto mine like he's already found all the threats worth worrying about.
He's looking at me like he wants to kill me. And fuck, why is that hot?
"Victor," Anton greets.
"Anton." The blond one steps forward and shakes my uncle's hand.
My stomach sinks, my mouth parting slightly as I shutter my eyes away from the dark one and latch onto the blond who I'm supposed to marry.
"Quite the predicament we've found ourselves in," Victor says. He booms out a smile and it's all over-confident charm. I can see he'd melt the panties off the girls any day.
"My niece, Sage." Anton gestures to me and I step forward.
"Sage," Victor smiles, taking my hand and placing a kiss on the knuckles. "How wonderful to finally meet you."
His eyes linger on me as he retracts back to his full height and takes longer to let go of my hand than necessary.
"My men, Freddie Fallon, Nicholas Prince." Anton continues the conversation.
Victor nods at my boys before gesturing beside him. "My brother, Alexei."
Alexei takes his eyes off me for the first time since he entered the room, nodding at my family in a way that should look complacent but comes across as hostile.
"Thank you for coming to stay with us, considering the terms of the contract," Anton says.
"Well," Victor smiles. "I think it blindsided us all a little, didn't it? Dimitri was sneaky when he wanted to be, but I'm sure we can all play nice for a few weeks. Can't we, boys?" He folds his arms, relaxing his stance.
"I appreciate you being accommodating," Anton says. "But know this is temporary. I don't give a single fuck what some contract says. If Sage doesn't want to marry you, then she won't."
Victor remains calm, as if he expected this reaction. Even though I told my uncle that I was going to say yes. I shoot an annoyed look his way to remind him of that.
We suspend in a standoff for uncomfortable moments, only to be broken when Alexei's nostrils flair and he rushes forward like he's going to charge us. Victor's hand snaps out at lightning speed, blocking his brother.
"A breach of contract. For you, that could mean war." Victor finally drops his smile.
Anton doesn't budge. "I'll die before I force her into something she doesn't want."
Anton and Victor stare each other down, all the while with Victor holding a hand on Alexei's chest as if he's a bull that's liable to tear the place down at any second.
Finally, Victor smiles again. "I wouldn't expect anything less. I can agree to those terms. I'm not in the business of forcing women to marry me." He turns to me. "Looks like our lives are in your hands, pretty girl."
Great, no pressure then.
Then Victor tries to prove his point. By doing the most surprising, but probably stupidest, thing he can in this moment. He drops to one knee.
"Oh shit," Freddie says, and it sounds suspiciously like a chuckle.
Victor pulls out a ring box and holds it out to me.
"Whaddya say? Marry me?"
Doubt slams into me.
Even though I'm sure I'm going to say yes, several moments pass while I stare wide-eyed down at the ring.
A fucking ring. Jesus. And the only crazy-ass thought that's floating through my head right now is that I'm way too young and pretty to marry a man named Victor.
"Sage?" Anton prompts.
I shake my head and put on a fake smile. This guy is fucking crazy. I've known him two seconds?! In fact, these are the first words I'll ever say to him.
"Um... yes? Yes!" I say. Victor smiles. He goes to open the ring box and I'm presented with a jewel that looks like a family heirloom. There's no diamond on it. It's a simple metal on metal piece with an enormous skull in the center. It looks like a candy ring.
"Yeah, I'm not fucking wearing that." I frown, pointing at the ring. "You can consider this a tentative acceptance of your proposal. No wedding planning until I'm sure we're both willing to hold up our ends of this bargain. And get off the fucking floor."
"Shit, you've got a mouth on you," Victor laughs as he stands, but he doesn't push it and instead pockets the ring, seemingly happy that I've accepted his proposal, anyway.
"Now that all the cock-measuring has been done, let me show you to your rooms," Freddie says, clapping his hands.
Nicholas comes to stand at my side as Victor and Alexei, with their people, follow Freddie to their rooms. But they don't watch Freddie as they follow him.
No, their eyes lock on me through their entire journey up the stairs.
Both Victor's eyes and his brother's.