Chapter 5 #2
She probably picked out clothes the same way she picked out my makeup, but at this point, I don’t care. The most important thing I can do right now is make friends with these two so I can survive this. So I can do what I have to.
Allies. I need allies.
I look through the clothes quickly. “Casual?”
“Just something you’d wear to breakfast.”
I don’t eat breakfast and would probably drink coffee dressed in my jammies, but I get her point. The small stack of neatly folded clothes and the dresses on hangers in the closet are stark reminders that I wasn’t allowed to bring anything with me.
Nothing.
I can’t think of that now.
I choose a soft pair of leggings and a long sweater suitable for this cool weather, then quickly step into the bathroom to get ready. I swipe on some makeup.
Aria sighs. “I could spend an hour getting ready and still look like a little kid playing in her big sister’s makeup.”
I give her a wry smile. “I could maybe help with that.”
Her eyes light up. “I would love that.”
I like her.
I get a good view of the house when we walk downstairs for breakfast. I’m not surprised that when I glance through large windows, I find we’re nestled in a secure location behind dense rows of trees.
I’d bet my last penny the security systems that surround this home are top-notch.
He knows every bird that lands on his property, every car that drives by.
The home is modern and almost minimalist, built with sleek, clean lines, not a speck of dust or anything out of place.
Thick carpet beneath my feet, framed prints of contemporary art.
I note a few things that are a bit out of the ordinary — a control panel for the light fixtures that looks like someone lifted it straight out of a spaceship, a thermostat on the wall with an impressive display screen.
“I’m a tech girl,” Aria says when she sees me taking everything in. We walk down a small set of stairs toward the smell of bacon and coffee. “And let me tell you, I drool when I come here.”
A huge, framed print is mounted over the fireplace in the living room. Takes me a minute to realize it’s the TV, though it’s framed like a picture and currently displaying artwork. We walk past that doorway and into the dining room.
My stomach clenches as the sound of talking dies down. There is indeed an entire group of men sitting at the dining room table, but no Aleksandr.
A man who looks to be in his thirties stands and walks over to me.
Deep-set dark brown eyes beneath heavy brows, golden, tanned skin, and dark brown hair tinged with flecks of gold make him look almost godlike.
I find myself mentally comparing him to Aleksandr’s darker, rugged good looks, and immediately give myself a mental shake.
Stop. This man’s arrestingly masculine and undeniably attractive but a bit more civilized than Aleks.
He stretches his hand out to me. “Mikhail Romanov, Aleksandr’s older brother and head of the Romanov family. Welcome.” I nod mutely, unsure what the proper thing to do is in this circumstance.
“I’m Harper.” My cheeks flush. Obviously, they know who I am. Everyone’s staring at me. Fortunately, I don’t have to think on it for long, because Mikhail goes straight to Aria and puts his hand on her lower back.
“Are you alright? How are you feeling?”
“About the same as I was when I saw you fifteen minutes ago,” she says, her eyes twinkling. A stab of jealousy hits me. I woke up in bed bound and captive.
I don’t deserve tenderness like that.
I don’t deserve to be loved.
Disgrace.
Disgust.
Whore.
“Come, sit. My mother will be joining us later. She’s getting things ready for tomorrow night.”
I blink. Tomorrow night. My wedding.
I nod, still mute, then notice a shadow looming from behind me. I shiver when the temperature in the room drops.
My fiancé has arrived.
While everyone else is dressed in business-casual, Aleksandr’s wearing gym shorts and a white tee.
His hair’s still damp as if from a shower, the masculine scent of his bodywash lingering in the air.
I’d bet good money he just worked out. His muscles are evident under his T-shirt, a physique born of hard work and heavy labor.
He nods coolly to me and pulls out a chair for me to sit down. It’s almost an intimate gesture but feels so fake, so rehearsed, that it doesn’t give me the warm glow I got from watching Mikhail with Aria.
“Not all of my family’s here,” he begins, as I sit down. Is he just on his best behavior for his family? “But I’ll introduce you to who is. You’ll meet most of them at the wedding.”
I nod.
“Ollie’s in Moscow, but you’ll eventually meet him. My other brothers.” He jerks his head toward the other side of the table, where a few of his brothers sit.
To his right sits a dangerous-looking man, heavily tattooed with a rugged, primal appeal to him. His large frame and menacing scowl make me want to hide. “Nikko, and next to him, Viktor.”
Viktor, a hulking, muscular man with a shaved head and a scar running down one cheek, lifts a hand. His strong, scarred features are a bit terrifying.
Polina said she had six brothers, though. Including Aleksandr, I’ve only met four and one is in Moscow.
“Our youngest brother was recently injured… he’s spent some time in the hospital but should be well enough to attend the wedding.”