Chapter 13 - Lilia
Dinner with Gavril wasn’t as awful as I feared.
He actually seemed to listen to what I had to say, even though I spit it all out rather vehemently.
My shyness was completely forgotten in my passion to tell him exactly what I thought about the Collective.
I got in some jabs about his organization, which, as soon as they were out, I feared a slap.
But none came, and he didn’t even look all that annoyed.
Oh, he did look annoyed, but not enough to stop me from speaking my mind. Maybe he really didn’t want to hurt me. Perhaps I could relax.
Then the meal ended, and he pushed aside his dessert plate like I was the surprise finishing course.
My blood sped up as my heart tried to climb out of my throat.
His look was terrifying, lascivious, and full of confidence that he’d get what he wanted.
Sweat broke out on the back of my neck as he took my hand and leaned closer.
I couldn’t move, not even twitch my nose. My hand grew hot under his, the heat moving up my arm to overtake my whole body.
“Now I think we should do something that normal married couples do all the time,” he said, voice low and gravelly.
I was shrinking, but I was still frozen, my eyes locked on his. Was this when he’d finally strike and prove himself to be the beast I was certain he was? Would I be able to fight him? Or would that only make things worse?
I made some kind of noise, barely a squeak. He laughed and patted my hand, finally breaking that searing eye contact that had me paralyzed and hypnotized at the same time.
“Let’s watch a movie,” he said, his grin making him look remarkably boyish and not so scary.
A movie. That was all. I breathed out a long sigh, telling myself it was from relief.
Once again, I could stiffen my spine. While there was no way I could refuse—I learned that lesson the hard way, and I could still feel his hands on me from when he carried me down the stairs—I could roll my eyes at his probable movie choices.
“Hmm, let me guess? Something with more shooting than dialogue? Or something set in a frat house?”
He stood, still chuckling at his little joke at my expense. He knew exactly what he was doing and how I’d react.
“I do appreciate those genres,” he said.
I scowled at him but followed him beyond the sweeping staircase and down the hall to a theater room with a screen that took up the entirety of one huge wall. Rows of reclining seats were arranged on three levels, and in the middle were two couches, laden with pillows and draped with blankets.
I sat in the first reclining chair in the top row and wedged myself in. He moved past me and lounged on one of the couches, turning to give me a raised eyebrow. “Lilia,” he said. Nothing more.
But it said enough, full of command and subtle warning. I got up, trudged over to the couch, and sat as far from him as possible.
“How about you choose?” he said. “Pick a movie that’s based on one of your favorite books.”
“So you never have to read it?”
“Precisely.”
He was infuriating. Still, it was better than having to suffer through a loud action film, full of swearing and explosions. I wanted to pick something long, and sure, he would hate.
“There’s an old TV miniseries based on Anna Karenina,” I said. Let him sit through almost three hours of that tragic Russian love story, and he wouldn’t be making me watch movies with him ever again.
“Is that Dostoevsky?” he asked, scrolling to find it somewhere. A quick, grinning glance told me who knew very well that it was Tolstoy who wrote the original novel.
“I was about to revoke your Russian citizenship,” I said, finding myself smiling back at him a little. I did truly love the book and all of its adaptations.
After a little searching, he was able to download it, and Varvara silently left a tray of drinks and a bowl of caramel corn as the opening credits rolled.
“I think she may be trying to kill you very slowly,” I whispered.
“I’ve considered she might be working a long game and pushing me toward a heart attack,” he agreed, reaching across me to grab a handful of the popcorn. “But if she truly wanted me dead, I’d have been stabbed long ago.”
His arm brushed past my breasts, making me suck in a breath.
Gavril looked sly, but was more careful as he sat back in his own spot, well away from me.
The show started, and at first, he made a few snide comments.
At the end of the first episode, he clicked on the second fast enough and fell silent after that, surprising me by getting swept up in the tale. At the end, he was utterly outraged.
“What a load of crap,” he said, exhibiting the exact amount of pain I felt when I read the book for the first time when I was eleven. “Why did she do that?”
“Isn’t it tragic?” I asked, wiping away a tear.
He gaped at me. “You feel sorry for her? She should have just taken her children and left. And hired someone to take out that coward Vronsky.”
It was my turn to stare at him, my mouth hanging open. “You didn’t get it at all, did you? It was a different time. Men held all the power—”
“Nonsense.”
I couldn’t believe what he was saying, but he continued to argue passionately, outlining all the ways poor Anna could have had a better life. I argued that it couldn’t have been possible, and besides, what kind of story would that make?
“A better one,” he said.
“Do not tell me that you’re a sucker for a happy ending,” I teased, because it was clear he was.
“So what if I am?” he asked.
“Well, we can watch a sappy holiday romance next time.”
By this point, we had somehow moved closer, each of us caught up in our argument. He smiled at me, his eyes softening in the dim light of the theater. “You just admitted you want to watch another movie with me. See? We’re a regular married couple, after all.”
“Not even close,” I said. “And I’ll never admit it. It was a slip. Just like you’d never admit how much you enjoyed that beautiful classic.”
He shrugged. “I enjoyed it. See how easy it is not to lie to yourself?”
“I never lie to anyone, especially not myself.” That untruth was instantly called out by an eye roll. He leaned closer, and I laughed. In the presence of Gavril Bocharov, I actually laughed without a trace of sarcasm. “Admit you want to read the book now,” I said, a smile lingering on my face.
This was odd and unprecedented, but I was having fun. It had been a while, and no matter the company, it felt good.
“Not even a little bit,” he said. “Why should I when I know what happens?” He tapped my nose. “That is how you tell the truth.”
“Fine,” I admitted on a long sigh. “Maybe we can watch another movie someday. But I warn you, I’ll get you to read something.”
His eyes flickered down to my mouth. “I’ll enjoy watching you try.” His eyes darted further down, taking me in, dressed in pajamas like a child. “I enjoy watching you, period,” he said.
Heat flooded my face, and suddenly, my lips, which he was currently focused on again, were too dry. Don’t lick them, do not lick them.
I licked them. His big hand swept my hair behind my shoulder, his warm palm curling softly around the side of my neck.
In a smooth swoop, his mouth was on mine.
Hot and firm, commanding and seeking. His tongue swiped between my lips, and my mouth fell open like a baby bird, eager for sustenance.
When his fingers slid behind my neck to tangle in my hair, a sigh melted out of me, and at the same time, I melted closer to him.
It was all too much, and I still found my hand seeking his chest, solid under his crisp dress shirt.
During the movie, he removed his tie and undid a couple more buttons, and as his mouth took me away somewhere else, I slipped my fingers underneath his shirt to press against his smooth, hot skin.
He began to ease me backwards, into the pillows, the hand that wasn’t gripping my hair traveling up my side to feel my own skin.
The tips of his thumbs brushed across my nipples.
I gasped and pressed harder against him.
Too much. Thoughts raced in my head, screaming for me to snap out of it.
This was Gavril Bocharov. One friendly movie night didn’t erase the fact that he wanted the people I cared about most destroyed and dead.
I simply could not let myself get swept away and give in, even if I never felt so lightheaded and giddy before.
Just one more second. His tongue was in my mouth, claiming territory like it was already his. With a groan, he yanked me closer, flush against his very hard body.
Too much. I went stiff in his arms. He stopped kissing me, pulling away to search my eyes for some answer.
I closed them and stayed still. Now I would see him turn into a monster.
Fear crept up my limbs, replacing the warm, heady glow of his touch.
He moved further away, and I opened my eyes, holding in a gasp.
He did look awfully close to erupting, his eyes darker than the deepest forests in Moscow. Standing up, he held out his hand to me. I stayed where I was, silent and unmoving.
With a low growl, he reached down to pull me up by the hand.
“Come with me,” he demanded. I stumbled along beside him as we left the theater, and he almost had to drag me as we made our way up the stairs.
There was a war waging inside me. Could I submit to this man who made me his wife? Or would I die fighting?
The terrible thing was I wasn’t sure I would fight, and not solely because I didn’t want to die. All I could do was keep up with him as he marched me upstairs and down the hall.
To my room. Not his? He opened the door and nudged me inside ahead of him. I trembled as he gave me a long look, waiting for his hands to be on me again, his lips to take mine. His gaze almost burned, and I closed my eyes.
The click of the door made them fly open again. It was shut, and Gavril was gone, without another word. Without another kiss.
I should have been grateful I stood there alone, but somehow, I wasn’t.