7. ANDIE
I wake with a start in the enormous four-poster bed, eyes darting around the room as I try to remind myself where I am.
And then it hits me.
I’m in Nikolai’s family home. In Moscow. As in Moscow, Russia. Visiting my new husband’s family.
And even though the sun has barely begun to rise outside, I know I won’t be able to get back to sleep anytime soon.
I throw back the covers and climb out of bed, casting my gaze around to figure out if it has just been me all night long.
Did he come to bed with me? I don’t know.
The pillow seems untouched, the covers next to me unmoved, but I fell asleep so quickly I can hardly piece it together.
I’m exhausted, the time difference and long flight enough to make my head spin, but I’m going to have to figure out where I fit in all of this sooner rather than later if I don’t want to make a fool of myself.
I pick my way into the bathroom, which is decorated with white and gleaming gold fixtures, a huge landscape picture on the wall of some peasant farmers hard at work. I gaze at it for a moment, wondering if I belong here, in this one-time palace, or there with them, working for a living.
I splash some water on my face, looking at myself in the mirror, and will myself to believe that I’m capable of pulling this off, one way or another, even if I’m not entirely sure I believe it.
Yawning, I go to the wardrobe and find that my luggage, including my new clothes, has been deposited there for me.
I sift through to find something that looks appropriate—I might not have any idea what I’m dealing with here, but I am determined to make a good impression on his family.
And if there is one thing that I’m skilled at, it’s finding a way to fit in with people richer than I could ever imagine.
I eventually settle on a simple white shirt and a pair of tan slacks, fluffing out my hair and rubbing off the remnants of my makeup that I fell asleep in last night.
The ring on my finger catches the light as I do so, and I glance down at it, biting my lip.
I know that a family like this will take this marriage seriously—to marry into their clan is to have access to this ridiculous wealth that they clearly lay claim to, and they’re going to want to be careful about who they allow into their inner circle.
While I am here in Moscow, I only have Nikolai to rely on, and that means doing everything I can to keep him on my side.
Not that Nikolai is anywhere to be found right now, of course.
I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not, after what happened on the plane yesterday.
I could put it down to the champagne, but I know there’s more to it than that.
There was something in the way he looked at me, the grin on his face, the way he spoke to me as he took control, that made it impossible for me to resist him.
Which, I mean, is a good trait for a husband to have, but I’m not sure I want to make it that easy for him to take control of me, when I still know so little about him.
I head out of the bedroom and pick my way down the stairs slowly, gazing around to take this place in as I go.
It really is kind of ridiculous. Portraits of generals and kings line the walls, sculptures dotted along the top of the stairway depicting any number of ancient gods and mythological figures.
The carpet is thick and immaculate, and the wood paneling is dark and glossed to perfection.
I try to remember the way back to the entrance hall, figuring I must be able to find a coffee somewhere in this place.
Or are they too fancy for coffee? I have no idea.
Sometimes, when you get to this level of wealth and extravagance, the small things just drop away as though they never even mattered in the first place, and that’s something I’m going to have to prepare for.
Down in the entrance hall, I glance around, searching for something that might point me in the direction of the kitchen.
I spot an open door at the far end, leading to what looks like polished white tile.
I can smell something savory drifting out from within, and I make my way toward it, hoping that I’ve found what I’m looking for.
Inside, the woman from last night who greeted us—Marta, was that her name?
—is standing over the stove and humming to herself.
I can’t help but wonder if she’s the woman of the house—Nikolai’s father’s wife, maybe.
He didn’t greet her as his mother, and he has made no reference to his mother so far, so I guess she’s not in the picture anymore for one reason or another.
Yet another mystery I have to try to figure out now that I’m here.
The floor creaks below me as I step in, and Marta glances around, smiling at me in greeting. “Very early for you to be up!” she remarks, and I manage to smile.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I offer in return. “I…I was hoping I could make a coffee, or something.”
“I just have to bring the pakhan his breakfast,” she tells me. “I can make you one when I get back?—”
“No, I’m sure I can manage it,” I remark, as I eye the large coffee machine sitting at the far side of the kitchen. “Don’t worry about it, really.”
“You’re sure?”
I nod. “I was a barista for a while,” I explain, leaning in a little closer. “Worked in a coffee shop. I can make a mean latte.”
She laughs as she picks up a tray full of food and heads to the door. “If you are sure…”
She leaves me to it, and I set about making myself a coffee.
It takes me a hot minute to figure out how to work the coffee machine, given that all the writing is in Russian, but I eventually manage to get a handle on it, and make myself a black coffee, something strong enough that I’ll be able to shrug off some of the jet lag that’s still clinging to me.
I blow on the coffee and take a sip, turning to lean against the counter—and nearly jump out of my skin when I see someone standing there watching me.
“Jesus!” I exclaim, hand on my chest, nearly spilling the coffee in my surprise.
The man, who looks to be close to Nikolai’s age, grins. “Not Jesus,” he corrects me. “Maxim. And you must be my new sister-in-law.” He doesn’t step forward to extend a hand to me, instead just standing there and looking me up and down as though he’s trying to work out what exactly he thinks of me.
My toes curl slightly. I don’t like this. Feeling as though I’m under such scrutiny, as though he can see straight through me.
“Nice to meet you,” I offer, after a long silence.
“So, you’re the one foolish enough to marry my brother, hmm?” he remarks, as he brushes past me to make himself a coffee. He works the machine with ease, clearly practiced in it, and I step aside to give him space to work.
“Uh, yeah,” I reply. “Guess I am.”
“My condolences,” he retorts, and he grins again, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“You’re…his brother?”
“Maxim,” he replies. “But most people just call me Max. He hasn’t told you about me?”
“No,” I admit, racking my brain for some way I can make this sound natural. “We…we got married in kind of a hurry.”
“Oh?” he replies, his voice quirking upward with interest, and I fear I might have said something I shouldn’t have.
“Yeah, I mean, when you know, you know, right?” I reply casually. “We met when I was planning a wedding for one of his friends, and I just decided…well, that I was done planning everyone else’s wedding when I wanted to have one of my own.”
“How romantic.”
I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not, but either way, something about his tone sets me on edge.
He takes a sip of his coffee, not moving his eyes from me for a moment. “Well, I have to admit, he did well,” he remarks bluntly. “You’re very beautiful.”
My cheeks flush slightly. I’m not used to be surveyed like this, and it throws me off to think that I’m just some prize that he’s taking his time to drink in.
“Thank you,” I reply, and I quickly turn the subject back to him. “So, are you married? Do I have a sister-in-law I’ll get to meet too?”
“Not yet,” he replies, taking a step toward me. “Though if you have any suggestions, I’m all ears…”
I stare at him, unsure what to make of such a suggestion.
The way he says it, it’s as though he imagines I have some fitting bride in my back pocket, ready to whip out and hand over to him at a moment’s notice.
But then, with the way he’s looking at me, it’s almost like he thinks I might be the answer to that question, even though I’m married to his brother.
“I’ll keep an eye out,” I reply brightly, trying to keep my voice casual. “I’m sure there are plenty of lovely girls who’d be pleased to meet someone from a family as, uh…distinguished as yours.”
“Rich, you mean?” he asks bluntly.
My head jerks back in surprise. “No, I mean?—”
“You don’t have to lie to me,” he adds, lowering his voice as though to make sure I’m the only one to hear this.
“You’re much younger than my brother. Nobody would think anything of you choosing to marry him because you wanted some of that financial security. God knows, I can’t see any other reason a woman as beautiful as you would choose to be with someone like him.”
I laugh nervously. I can’t tell if he’s joking.
Shit, I can’t tell anything when it comes to this guy, and it bothers the hell out of me. I don’t like feeling as though I can’t get my feet underneath me in any conversation, and this man seems to take great pleasure in leaving me standing on uneven ground.
I shift my weight from foot to foot, waiting for him to laugh, to welcome me to the family, to warn me that this kind of playfulness is just part and parcel of what I can expect now that I’m in the midst of things.
But he doesn’t. He just sips on his coffee again and looks back at me, as though waiting to see just how I’m going to respond.
Before I can, I hear footsteps behind me, and I turn with relief to find Nikolai making his way toward us. I grin as soon as I see him, rushing to his side before he can so much as say a word and resting my hand on his chest. “Nikolai, there you are.”
He puts his arm around me, furrowing his brow slightly, resting his hand on my waist as though this kind of thing is natural to us.
“Ah, I see you’ve met my brother,” he remarks. His voice has an edge to it, pulled taut, and I can instantly sense some tension in the room.
I glance between them and nod, but Max seems more interested in what’s going on with his brother than anything else. “You didn’t come down together,” he points out.
Nikolai replies without missing a beat. “I was up early,” he says calmly. “I wanted to burn off some energy at the gym. Didn’t want to wake Andie, since she had such a long trip.” He tightens his grip on me slightly, as though making it clear that he’s staking his claim.
I press my hand against his chest, smiling at Max, doing everything I can to convince him that we are real.
“You were only married yesterday, weren’t you?” Max points out, cocking an eyebrow. “You didn’t want to spend your wedding night together?”
“There are other ways of celebrating,” Nikolai replies coolly.
Max’s jaw tightens. It’s like he’s trying to punch holes in our union any way he can, and I guess it won’t be too difficult for him to find some kind of weakness, given that we barely know one another.
We just need to present a united front for as long as it takes to get him out of here, then I can interrogate Nikolai on everything I need to know in order to fit into this family the way I want to.
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Max replies, and he tips the rest of his coffee into the sink. “Have you seen Dad?”
“Not yet,” Nikolai replies. “I know he takes his mornings slow. Wanted to give him a chance to have breakfast before I dropped in on him.”
“Avoiding him, huh?” Max remarks, shaking his head. “After you came all this way to introduce us to your new wife?”
“Not avoiding him,” Nikolai replies. “Respecting him.”
Silence hangs in the air between them. I can feel history brimming just beneath the surface, neither of them quite willing to come out and admit it, though I get the feeling it’s only a matter of time before it stills over.
Nikolai tightens his grip on me as though he thinks his brother might make a move to get his hands on me.
“Well,” Max remarks. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Andie. Even if I’m not sure what you see in my brother…” He lets out a bark of laughter, though I can tell he’s only covering his ass to try and sound like less of a jerk after coming out with something as judgmental as that.
I half expect Nikolai to lash back at him and tell him to back the hell off, but he doesn’t. Knows better, maybe. Rising to his bait is only going to make things even tenser than they already are, and that’s the last thing we need right now.
“I’ll see you at dinner later,” Max says, and he walks out of the kitchen, brushing past his brother on the way out.
What the hell is this? I look up at Nikolai, but he’s still staring straight ahead, not saying a word.
Does he think I haven’t noticed? That I could have ignored the ridiculous tension between them?
It’s clear that there’s something going on here, whether he wants to acknowledge it or not, and I’m not just going to stand by and let it go?—
“Ah, Nikolai!” Marta’s voice cuts through the quiet a moment later, and both of us turn to see her bustling in once more.
Nikolai’s mood seems to shift at once, and he greets her with a smile.
It’s clear he’s fond of this woman. I wonder how long she has worked for them, or if she’s married into the family as well.
She referred to his father using some kind of title—pakhan—so I guess she’s not directly part of this clan, but the two of them obviously have history.
“I told your father that you and your wife had arrived safely,” she announces, as she makes her way over to the sink to wash her hands. “He was pleased to hear it. And looking forward to seeing you both in person.”
“Is he up?”
“He’s still having his breakfast,” she replies, shaking her head. “And you know how he is in the mornings, Nikolai. Better to let him eat before you speak to him, hmm?”
She glances at me with a pealing laugh. “I wonder if your new wife already knows how you can be in the mornings,” she remarks with a light humor. “I remember, when you were a young man…”
As she begins spinning a story of Nikolai from back in the day, I do my best to listen, figuring that every bit of intel I can get my hands on here is going to be useful.
Because there is so much I need to learn about this place, about where I fit into it, and why Nikolai was willing to marry me the way he did with next to no notice.
But right now, the only thing I can focus on is the way his arm feels around my waist.
At least there’s one part of being married that I don’t think I’ll have to fake, as crazy as all of this is.
I reach for my coffee, praying that the caffeine will carry me through the rest of the day—because I’m not sure I can make it through this minefield without putting a foot wrong.
Or what will happen if I do wind up making some mistake I can’t take back.