Chapter 22
ANDREY
Bogdan's threat hangs in the air like smoke after a gunshot. I watch him drag Sophia out of the library, and my jaw clenches so hard, I'm surprised my teeth don't crack. The moment the door closes behind them, I turn to Matvey.
Our eyes meet, and no words are necessary. We've worked together long enough that a single look conveys everything. Bogdan needs watching. He's pissed, humiliated, and dangerous. Men like him don't let slights go unanswered.
Matvey nods once and pulls out his phone as he heads for the door. He'll set up surveillance, make sure we know Bogdan's every move. I trust him to handle it.
The second we're alone, Mariya rounds on me.
"What the hell was that?" Her green eyes are blazing, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Were you really engaged to that woman?"
I run a hand through my hair, exhaustion settling into my bones. "I told you the truth. There was no engagement. No contract. Bogdan wanted the match. I said I'd think about it. That's all."
"For years?" She takes a step toward me, and I can see she's still furious. "You let them believe for years that you were going to marry her?"
"I was stalling." I move to the window, looking out over the grounds. "I didn't want to marry Sophia. I don't love her. Hell, I barely know her beyond polite conversation at family gatherings."
"This is so fucked up," she finally says.
"I know." I cross the room and stop in front of her. "But it's done. You're my wife now, and I protect what's mine."
She opens her mouth to respond, but I hold up a hand. "We need to talk about what we found at the cabin."
Her expression shifts, the anger fading into something more guarded. "The list."
"The list of safehouses." I move to my desk and pull out the scroll we'd found buried in her mother's garden. "This is dangerous information, Mariya. The kind of information people kill for."
"I know."
"Why did your father have this?" I unroll the scroll, studying the names and addresses. "What was he planning to do with it?"
"I don't know." She moves closer, looking over my shoulder. "I told you, I haven't seen him in nine years. He never told me about any of this."
I believe her. I can see the genuine confusion in her face, hear the frustration in her voice. She's as much in the dark as I am.
"But someone else knows about it," I say. "Someone ransacked the cabin looking for something. They didn't find this, but they know it exists."
"What are we going to do?"
The fact that she says "we" instead of "you" makes something warm settle in my chest. She's starting to see us as a team, even if she doesn't realize it yet.
"We're going to be very careful," I tell her. "And we're going to figure out what your father was trying to tell us."
A knock at the door interrupts us. One of the maids pokes her head in, her expression apologetic. "Breakfast is ready, sir."
My stomach growls, reminding me that we haven't eaten since yesterday. "Thank you."
I offer Mariya my arm, and after a moment's hesitation, she takes it. We walk to the dining room in silence, and I'm acutely aware of her hand resting in the crook of my elbow. She's warm and soft, and I have to resist the urge to pull her closer.
The dining room table is set with enough food to feed an army.
Eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, pastries, and coffee.
Mariya's eyes widen slightly at the spread, and I remember she's been living on a librarian's salary and cutting corners wherever she could.
This kind of excess is probably foreign to her now.
We sit across from each other, and I watch as she fills her plate. She eats with the same careful precision she does everything else, taking small bites and chewing thoroughly. It's oddly endearing.
"Am I still a prisoner?" she asks suddenly, setting down her fork.
The question catches me off guard. "What?"
"Am I still locked in that room? Still under guard twenty-four, seven?" She meets my gaze, and I see the challenge there. "Or am I actually your wife?"
I lean back in my chair, considering. "You're my wife. But you'll always have guards around you. For your protection."
"Protection." She says the word like it tastes bitter. "Right."
"Mariya, you saw what just happened with Bogdan. You heard what he said. Other families are going to find out about you, about what we found. You need protection."
"And when can I go back to work?" She picks up her coffee cup, her fingers wrapping around it like she needs something to hold onto. "At the library?"
The question makes my chest tighten. I don't have an answer for her. The truth is, I have no idea if or when she can return to that life. The moment she became my wife, everything changed. She's a target now, and the library is too exposed, too vulnerable.
"I don't know," I admit.
She sets down her cup, and I see the disappointment flash across her face. "So I'm just supposed to stay here? In this house? Forever?"
"Not forever. Just until things settle down."
"And when will that be?"
"I don't know," I say again, and I hate how helpless it makes me sound.
We finish breakfast in tense silence. I can feel her frustration radiating across the table, but I don't know how to fix it. I can't promise her freedom when I don't know if I can keep her safe.
An idea strikes me as we're finishing our coffee. It's impulsive, probably stupid, but I find myself saying it anyway.
"Come with me," I tell her. "I want to take you somewhere."
She eyes me suspiciously. "Where?"
"Shopping."
"Shopping?" She looks at me like I've lost my mind. "You want to take me shopping?"
"You need clothes." I stand and offer her my hand. "As my wife, you'll need to be ready for anything. From a walk in the woods to a formal ball."
"I have clothes."
"You have jeans and T-shirts. And conservative library attire." I pull her to her feet. "You need more than that."
She opens her mouth to argue, but I see something flicker in her eyes. Excitement. She's trying to hide it, but it's there.
Two hours later, we're standing in the third boutique I own. I've had them all closed for the day, with only a couple of employees present to help. Mariya stands in the middle of the store, surrounded by racks of designer clothes, and I can see she's overwhelmed.
"Try this on." I hand her a dress, something simple but elegant in deep green that will match her eyes.
She takes it, her fingers running over the silk fabric. "This is too much."
"Nothing is too much for my wife." I guide her toward the dressing room. "Go on."
She disappears behind the curtain, and I settle into one of the plush chairs positioned outside. The employee, a young woman who looks anxious and excited, hovers nearby, ready to help if needed.
When Mariya emerges, my breath catches. The dress fits her perfectly, hugging her curves and falling to just above her knees. The color makes her eyes look even more vibrant, and her blonde hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders.
"Fuck," I breathe.
She blushes, and it's the first time I've seen her look genuinely shy. "It's too much."
"It's perfect." I stand and circle her slowly, taking in every angle. The way the fabric molds to her ass, the dip of her waist, and the swell of her breasts make my mouth water. "We're taking it."
"Andrey—"
"And that one." I point to a cocktail dress on a nearby rack. "And those pants. And that blouse."
Her eyes widen. "I don't need all of this."
"Yes, you do." I move closer, my hand settling on her waist. "You're going to be attending events with me. Meeting important people. You need to look the part."
"The part of what? Your trophy wife?"
The bitterness in her voice makes me wince. "The part of a woman who belongs at my side."
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see her trying to decide whether she believes me. Finally, she nods and returns to the dressing room.
We spend the next hour going through outfit after outfit.
Casual wear for around the estate. Business attire for meetings.
Evening gowns for formal events. With each new outfit, I see her excitement growing, even though she tries to hide it.
She's enjoying this, enjoying being pampered and treated like she matters.
Because she does matter. More than I'm ready to admit.
I'm watching her model a pair of jeans that make her ass look incredible when my phone buzzes. I pull it out, expecting a message from Matvey about Bogdan's movements.
Instead, it's a call.
"Yeah?" I answer, keeping my eyes on Mariya as she examines herself in the mirror.
"Boss." Matvey's voice is tight, urgent. "We have a problem."
My stomach drops. "What kind of problem?"
"A bomb just exploded at the library where Mariya works."