Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Varlam
The computer chimed. I ignored it.
I had no fucking patience for project bullshit right now. Brinny's questions before she left were still lodged in my head.
Another chime. My eyes flicked to the bottom corner of the screen. Briony. Just her name made my breath catch. I dropped into my chair and opened her email.
"Mr. Petrov, I've completed the wedding planning proposal you requested. The detailed plan and budget are attached. Please review. Let me know if anything needs adjusting."
Wedding planning proposal. My temple throbbed.
I didn't bother reading the whole thing—just skimmed the table of contents and a few key pages. Forty-plus pages. Venue, guest list, florals, lighting, backup plans. Every timeline broken down clean. She'd even mapped out how to relocate guests if the weather turned.
Then I hit the ceremony section. Two names jumped out. Groom: Varlam Petrov. Bride: Brinny Vasilieva.
I stared at those lines. The fire in my chest shot straight to my throat.
Ridiculous. When did I agree to get married? When did I ask Briony to plan my goddamn wedding? I grabbed my phone and messaged her.
"I never assigned you this task."
Her reply came fast.
"The task email was sent from your work account three days ago. I was copied, along with the project department."
My back lifted off the chair. The anger didn't fade—just changed direction.
Three days ago, I'd been in my office with Gleb discussing a port deal. Brinny got impatient waiting around. She walked behind my desk and said she needed to check something on the computer.
I didn't stop her. A decade ago, my study, my files, my computer—none of it was ever off-limits to her. Still wasn't. She must've sent the email then.
I exhaled hard and fired off another message.
"Come to my office. Now. Bring that goddamn proposal."
After I set the phone down, I remembered how Brinny had swept out of here earlier, chin high.
I'd always known Brinny was willful. She had the right to be. She was Vigo's only daughter, spoiled rotten by the entire Vasiliev family.
As a kid, she'd made Vigo fly in a replacement horse from Europe within a week because she didn't like the color of the first one. As an adult, she left when she felt like it—walked away from our relationship, from family expectations, from everything I'd built for us.
Now she was back. She said she loved me, said she wanted to marry me, and then—before I'd even agreed—went ahead and started planning the wedding. Like my consent was just paperwork she'd file later. Like I was something she could toss aside and pick back up whenever she pleased.
The fire climbed higher.
The girl who'd held me together through my worst years and the woman who'd sat at my desk three days ago sending emails—they overlapped in my memory, then split apart completely.
I suddenly didn't know if she'd changed, or if I'd just spent all these years remembering only what I wanted to remember.
A knock at the door interrupted me.
"Come in." I forced the anger down.
The door opened. Briony walked in holding a file. She wore a simple light blouse and black skirt, blonde hair pulled back tight, a few loose strands framing her face. She looked exhausted—shadows under her eyes, lips pale.
But her spine was straight. Like a spring bent to its limit, refusing to snap.
"Mr. Petrov. The proposal you asked for." She stopped at my desk and held out the file.
I didn't take it. Her flat tone set me on edge. I glanced at the papers. The corners were worn soft. She'd probably pulled multiple all-nighters on this absurd project. I should've explained first. Should've told her I hadn't sent the email, hadn't ordered the transfer.
But the anger Brinny had sparked was still burning in my chest, and Briony's distant tone just poured gasoline on it.
"Who authorized you to leave your assistant position?" When I spoke, my voice was already ice-cold. No going back.
"What?" She blinked, eyes widening.
I knew I was taking this out on her. Knew every word should be aimed at someone else. But the fire had burned through reason. I couldn't stop.
"I asked you a question. Who the fuck authorized you to abandon your post?
You picked venues, arranged guest lists, wrote timelines—and you never once thought to ask me if this was actually something I assigned you?
Or do you just do whatever you're told as long as my name's on it, even if it's planning my goddamn wedding? "
Briony didn't defend herself. Those brown eyes went from confused to red-rimmed.
I'd seen plenty of people afraid of me. Some begged. Some threw everyone around them under the bus. Briony had never been either. Even the first time she learned who I really was, she'd looked me in the face and called me a bastard.
But now she just stood there, jaw clenched, silent. That silence made me even angrier.
"Answer me."
"Are you finished?" She pulled the file back against her chest. "If you're not, keep going. Whatever happens, it's my fault anyway."
Her voice was quiet. Resigned. Like she'd already accepted guilt. Something sank in my chest.
"I didn't say that."
"That's exactly what you meant."
She finally raised her voice. The emotion sounded like it had been bottled up forever—one crack and everything came flooding out.
"The task came from your email. Your name was on it. The project department got copied. Tell me, Mr. Petrov—what was I supposed to do? Storm into your office with the email and ask if you actually sent it? And if you had, would you have yelled at me for bothering you over something so small?"
She didn't give me a chance to respond.
"The transfer notice was official too. One day I'm your assistant, the next everyone's asking if you got tired of screwing me and dumped me back where I came from. You're asking who authorized me to leave? I'd like to know too."
Her breathing was ragged. The hurt was written all over her face. My heart clenched.
"I've got plenty of questions for you. She threw water on herself and blamed me—and you believed that pathetic lie. You wouldn't even listen to my side. You held her and comforted her right in front of me. Then in the elevator, you touched me like nothing had happened."
She was shaking now.
"Briony." I stood, moved toward her.
"Don't." Her palm came up, blocking me.
"When the elevator dropped, you held me. You said as long as you were alive, you wouldn't let me die. I believed you." She laughed shortly, tears sliding down her cheeks. "Then the doors opened. You let go. Walked out. Picked up another woman. You didn't even look back."
Every accusation felt like broken ribs. I wanted to explain that Brinny's health was fragile. That she'd run out barefoot, worked up, that her heart could've given out any second. That I was just making sure she was safe. But when the words reached my mouth, they all sounded pathetic.
Because Briony was right. I'd done all those things to her.
"I didn't send that email." I finally lowered my voice. "The transfer wasn't my call either."
"Then who?" She didn't sound like she was asking—more like confirming. "Brinny?"
I hesitated for one second. That second gave her the answer. She closed her eyes. Her lashes trembled.
"Of course it was her." She nodded, wiped her face.
"Only she would dare. And you'll never blame her.
She wanted me out of your office, so you let me go.
She wanted me to plan your wedding, so she used your email to order me around.
When it all blew up, you called me in here—and the first thing you did was chew me out. "
"Briony, listen—" I moved around the desk and grabbed her shoulders.
"No. I've heard enough." She jerked back immediately. "I'm fucking done!"
She slammed the file on the floor.
White pages scattered across the carpet between us like an uncrossable border.
"What did you say?"
"I'm resigning." She lifted her chin. Eyes swollen, expression defiant.
"Don't be rash." The moment the words left my mouth, I heard the command in my tone.
So did she.
"See? That's you. You always think everyone else is just being rash, and you always get to decide for them.
" Her voice turned sharp. "I know the pay here is good.
I know no one else will pay me this much.
I've got rent, I've got Rory, I'll probably need three jobs.
But at least no one will treat me like dirt while telling me I should be grateful for the paycheck. "
My jaw tightened. Anyone else talked to me like that, they wouldn't walk out of this office. But Briony was different. Of course she was different. That fact detonated in my head too fast to deny.
She turned and headed for the door.
I watched her go, an unfamiliar panic seizing my heart. She was really leaving. About to slip out of my control. She wouldn't be in this building anymore. My messages might go unanswered forever. I couldn't let her walk away.
"Stop." I barked.
She didn't. My body moved before my brain caught up. I closed the distance in two steps and caught her wrist before she reached the handle.
"Let go. You have no right to stop an employee who's already quit." She gasped and struggled.
"Your resignation isn't approved."
"I don't need your approval!"
She spun, trying to shove me off. Her soft palms hit my chest and my spine locked. Through the shirt, the heat of her touch burned into my skin. I didn't step back. But the force made her stumble into me.
The second her body pressed against mine, my breathing went haywire. She obviously felt it too—went rigid, then struggled harder.
I loosened my grip on her wrist but didn't let go. I didn't want to hurt her. Just wanted to keep her here. But those two things always seemed to become the same thing in my hands.
"Briony. Calm down."
"You're the one who needs to calm down." She glared up at me, nose red from crying. "What do you want? For me to go back and keep planning the wedding? Or wait for Miss Vasilieva to dream up her next way to torture me?"
Her anger was raw, unfiltered. I could almost taste it in her ragged breathing.
"There's no wedding," I said.
Her struggling stopped for a beat.
"What?"
"I didn't agree to it."
The words loosened something tight in my chest. Briony stared at me. Something flickered in her eyes. Too fast. I couldn't read it.
"So what?" She rebuilt her defenses quickly. "You'll say yes eventually. You love her. She wants to marry you. And whatever's between you two has nothing to do with me. I already quit."
"Stop talking."
"Why? Because you don't like hearing the truth?
" Her hand was still pressed to my chest. With every word, her fingers dug harder into my shirt.
"You can comfort her, hold her, make everyone get out of her way.
You can kiss me and touch me when you feel like it, then walk away like nothing happened.
But I'm done playing. I can't afford it. "
"I'm not playing."
"Then what the hell are you doing?" She shot back, too fast, too direct. "What the fuck am I to you?"
I froze. Employee. My brother's ex. A one-night stand that shouldn't have happened.
All those answers were there. But none of them explained why I couldn't breathe when she walked away, why her looking at me with red eyes felt like someone had carved a piece out of my chest.
"See?" My hesitation killed the last light in her eyes. "You don't even have an answer."
The air left my lungs. I could bring traitors to their knees, but I couldn't answer her question.
She used my distraction to push me away. I watched her hand drop to the door handle and press down without hesitation. The door opened. She walked out, resolute.
"You can't leave." The words came faster than my thoughts.
I hooked my arm around her waist from behind and dragged her back inside. The door shut behind her. I loosened my hold but didn't release her—just used the leverage to turn her around to face me.
Only when I confirmed she was still in my arms did my heartbeat settle slightly.
She didn't move again. Just looked at me with exhausted disappointment.
"Let me go." She said it like she'd already given up. "There's nothing between us."
My stomach clenched.
Stop. Don't say that again. Damn it, don't use that tone to tell me we're nothing.
Reason snapped.
I gripped the back of her neck and kissed her.