Chapter 23
ALINA
Imust throw up everything I’ve eaten in the last week. By the time it’s over, I’m shaking, my throat raw, eyes watering from the force of it. Goodbye, Chinese takeout. Farewell, delicious dinner that Andrei’s private chef made me.
I feel unbelievably drained.
I brush my teeth with my own toothbrush, which is nice at least. I stand there for a long time, cleaning my teeth until my gums bleed.
Then, I just stand there staring at my reflection like maybe the girl in the mirror will have answers I don’t.
She looks pale, tired, and older than she did a month ago.
Whoever said pregnant women glow was out of their mind. I look like a ghost. Pale and terrified. I’m trapped in a life that isn’t mine with a man I thought I understood. Clearly, I didn’t. He was just using me as a pawn.
I realized it on the way over here. After the guards tried to chase after Kostya, I caught wind of one of them saying it “hadn’t gone to plan.
” I found that odd. As I sat in the back of Andrei’s town car, I turned it all over in my head.
Andrei knew that Kostya would show up at my apartment. He was counting on it.
I wasn’t even mad when I realized it, either.
I actually thought he was brilliant, and marveled at how well he predicted Kostya’s pride.
Then he had to go and act like a total dick when I arrived.
He acted like the way Kostya talked to me was my fault.
I certainly didn’t encourage him, and I resented Andrei for acting like I did.
I look back at myself in the mirror, and realize I don’t even recognize myself. How could I? I’ve started falling for a man who I’m not even sure I can trust. He clearly doesn’t trust me. He could have told me his plan, but he chose not to.
By the time I crawl back into bed, I’m too drained to even cry.
The pillows smell unfamiliar. The sheets are softer than anything I’ve ever owned, but they still feel wrong, like I’m borrowing someone else’s life and haven’t figured out how to give it back.
I miss my bed. I miss my laundry detergent.
I’m too tired to get up and grab the blanket I packed, so I just curl up and sulk.
Everyone keeps telling me I’m safe, but nothing about this feels safe. Safe would be my tiny apartment with my half-dead plants and my noisy neighbors and the certainty of knowing what tomorrow looks like.
Safe would be normal. I don’t even remember what normal feels like anymore.
For a while, Andrei was starting to feel like a new, tentative sort of normal.
I thought maybe I could get used to our quiet routines.
Then he went and treated me like I was the one who’d done something wrong.
Like I was just an inconvenience in his life.
The thought makes my chest ache in a way I don’t want to examine too closely. I don’t want to be temporary, but at the same time, I don’t want to raise this baby with him. Especially not after how he treated me. I know I can’t have it both ways.
I roll onto my side, pulling the blanket tighter around me, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling until my eyes blur. Exhaustion presses down heavy, but sleep won’t come. It never does when my mind won’t stop running in circles.
I’m so tired of not having control over anything. Tired of guards. Tired of danger. Tired of Andrei’s moods dictating the temperature of the entire room. Tired of wanting something from him that I’m not supposed to want.
A soft knock breaks the silence.
My stomach tightens instantly. For a second I pretend I didn’t hear it. Maybe if he thinks I’m asleep, he’ll go away.
No such luck.
The door opens slowly and Andrei cautiously steps inside. I hear the shuffle of his feet as he approaches the bed. I close my eyes, hoping he’ll go away, but after a minute, it’s clear he’s not going anywhere. I give up the charade and sit up to look at him.
He looks tired too, though he’d never admit it. There’s tension in the set of his jaw, something restless in his eyes.
“I’ve decided that we should get married,” he says calmly.
For a second I think I misheard him. The words don’t make sense after our argument today. Actually, they don’t make sense at all. Surely he didn’t say we should get married.
“Have you lost your mind?” I ask sharply.
“No,” he says calmly. “But we are getting married.”
He repeats the words like the discussion is over. Like he’s announcing a business decision or telling me about dinner reservations.
“You don’t get to just rearrange my life like furniture and demand I marry you!”
“Yes,” he says flatly. “I do. Because it’s the only way I can ensure your safety.”
Anger flares fast, hot enough to burn through the exhaustion.
“Marriage is not a war strategy,” I argue. “You can’t just decide we’re going to get married because it makes sense in your fucked-up brain. This is a decision two people have to make together.”
His expression doesn’t change, but something tightens behind his eyes.
“As my wife, you’ll have my name,” he says simply. “My protection. No one will touch you. You can move freely again. Live normally. As normally as possible in this world.”
Normal. It’s like he read my mind. I can’t live normally, though. I’ll be a pakhan’s wife. I’ll be yet another pawn in his endless, deadly game. There will be no way to hide the pregnancy from him then. I’ll never get to live out my dreams. I’ll be trapped in a cage forever.
“You don’t get to decide that for me,” I say, voice shaking now. “You don’t get to fix my life by controlling it.”
“I’m not trying to control your life,” he says slowly. “I’m just trying to give you a better future.”
“You’re taking away my future!” I shout, which causes my head to hurt more. I wince.
Silence stretches, tight and electric.
“If it makes you feel better,” he adds after a moment, voice rougher, “it can be a marriage of convenience. In name only. You’ll be my wife, but you can live however you want to live.”
His voice is hollow as he says it, and I realize that a marriage of convenience is the last thing I want. I don’t want to just have his name and not have him. I don’t want to feel like I don’t even have a husband that I love, who loves me back. His proposition makes me feel almost unwanted.
“I wouldn’t want that either,” I argue. “If sex is off the table, what even is the point of getting married?”
For half a second I think I’ve completely lost my mind. Heat rushes to my face, embarrassment colliding with defiance, but I don’t take it back. I’m too tired to be demure. If we’re going to lay all our cards on the table, then I might as well be honest.
Silence stretches between us for a long moment and he stares at me like I actually have lost my mind. Then, he laughs.
It’s quiet at first and surprised. It builds into something bigger and louder, and soon he’s clutching his sides and nearly hooting with it. I can’t help but laugh myself. This is all insane. Maybe there’s a gas leak in this penthouse. Maybe we’ve both lost our minds.
His shoulders loosen just a fraction, tension cracking enough to let something human through. His eyes soften when they meet mine, and suddenly the air between us feels completely different. It’s charged in a different kind of way.
“You’re unbelievable,” he murmurs, approaching the bed slowly.
I scoot over, making room for him.
“Take it or leave it,” I whisper back. “You can have a real marriage with me, or none at all. If we do this, I want all of you.”
“Alina,” he says softly. “Does this mean that you’ll marry me?”
I frown. How on earth did he do that? How did he make me go from incredulity to agreement?
I don’t remember moving. One second there’s space between us, the next his hand is on my face, warm and steady, thumb brushing lightly along my cheek like he’s confirming I’m real.
The anger drains out of me all at once, leaving something softer in its place. Something that feels too much like relief.
“You make me crazy,” he says quietly.
“Good,” I whisper. “Because you make me crazy too.”
His mouth curves just slightly, and then he leans down and kisses me. It isn’t desperate like our other kisses have been. It’s slow and careful, almost reverent. I don’t feel like he’s trying to convince me, I feel like he’s trying to worship me. That undoes me.
My hands slide into his shirt, gripping the fabric just to feel something solid beneath my fingers.
Warmth spreads through me, gentle this time instead of consuming, and for the first time in weeks my mind goes completely quiet.
I’m no longer thinking of danger or this baby, or any of the insanity between us.
There’s only him and his ridiculous proposal. And there’s the thought that I might actually enjoy being married to him. It might be fun getting to sleep with him whenever I want because he’s my husband, and not because I’m scared or lonely.
The kiss deepens gradually, natural as breathing, until the world narrows to warmth and closeness and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under my palm. I melt into it without thinking, without fighting, too tired to pretend I don’t want this.
I want him. I always do. At any given moment, my lust for him is just inches away. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, both of us breathing a little harder now.
“Say you’ll marry me,” he murmurs. “Say that you’ll let me protect you. Say that you’ll let me kiss you whenever I want, and that you’ll sleep in my bed every night.”
This is crazy, right? It’s not a declaration of love, or even a declaration of care. Can marriage exist without any of that?
Maybe.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll marry you. But you have to promise me that you’ll never act like a jealous prick again. I choose you, okay?”
He kisses me again, softer this time, and the lights of the city glow quietly beyond the windows as the rest of the world fades away.