I notice details about her I've been trying to ignore all day. The softness of her full lips, now slightly parted. The way her curves strain against the bodice of her dress. The small beauty mark just below her left eye that I hadn't seen before because I'd never been this close to her.
I'm close enough now that I can feel the warmth radiating from her body, can smell the sweet scent of her skin beneath her perfume.
And it hits me right in the head. I take a deep breath, and her eyes widen, her pupils expand, and my blood turns to heated lava. Would it be so bad if I were to…kiss her? She is my wife, goddammit, and every muscle, tendon, and nerve in my body is contracting into itself, as though deprived of something it greatly wants.
Her.
Fuck. I’m thinking with my body, and it’s outright betraying me. I want to kiss her,bad.The realization is like ice water in my veins.
I jerk back, dropping my arms and putting distance between us. What the hell am I doing?
Lilibeth stays against the wall, watching me warily. She looks confused by my sudden retreat.
“You’ve got it all wrong,” I say coldly. “Of course I wasn’t planning on taking you to bed tonight. Don’t flatter yourself. Besides, I wouldn’t want to torture you now, would I?”
“Agafon—”
She flinches slightly at my tone. “I wasn't—”
“You'll find everything you need in the bathroom. Towels are in the linen closet, and your luggage was sent here this morning. The maids must have unpacked and placed your clothes in the cupboards.” I back toward the door, needing to escape before I do something stupid. “Goodnight, Lilibeth.”
The formality feels like a shield, a reminder of the boundaries that need to exist between us. I can't afford to forget who she is just because she has pretty eyes and a clever mouth. She’s the same callous, selfish woman who broke Nikandr in the past.
“Goodnight,” she says quietly, and for a moment, I think I see hurt flash across her face. But that's impossible. This marriage means nothing to her beyond the fact that it benefits her family. I’m only imagining things.
I turn and walk out, closing the door behind me. In the hallway, I pause, resting my forehead against the cool wall.
What just happened in there? How did I go from barely tolerating her presence to wanting to taste her lips? It must be the stress of the day, the champagne from the reception, and the surrealness of suddenly being married.
It won't happen again. I won't let it. Lilibeth Orlov might have charmed everyone else with her dimpled smile and curves, but I know better. I remember what she did to my brother.
Chapter 5 - Lilibeth
“Please,” I insist to the kitchen staff. “I can make my own lunch.”
The staff and chef exchange glances, and I can tell they’re unsure of my request. I try to prove my point by reaching for the pan, but the chef gasps. When I turn to look at him with an inquiring glance, he averts his gaze.
“Mrs. Letvin. We’re hired to do such chores. Mr. Agafon has given strict instructions to keep you happy. If he learns we didn’t cook your meals…”
“He’ll get upset, Miss,” the scullery maid finished his sentence. I sigh and stare around the kitchen, incredulous. But, I also recognize that I’m a new member of this household, and if I get the staff in trouble, they’d hate me for ages. I need to gain their trust and loyalty if we hope to work together for years to come.
As for the fact that I’m bored out of my mind, that’s not their problem to deal with. I’ll simply have to entertain myself by finding something else to do.
“Carry on,” I say, begrudgingly.
The kitchen staff hovers nearby, waiting for me to make a decision about lunch. They're polite but keep their distance, as if I might bite. Or maybe it's because they're loyal to Agafon and see me as the newcomer I am.
“I'll just have a sandwich, please. Whatever's easiest,” I tell them, and they nod, already moving to prepare it.
I sigh and wander out of the kitchen. The house feels too quiet and big. Everything is perfect. A littletooperfect, almost as though it’s a showpiece and not for actual living.
Tomorrow will mark one week since Agafon and I got married, yet it feels like I’m the only one living in this house. On the rare occasion I catch sight of him, it’s when I’m reading by the window late into the night and see his car pull up in the driveway.
If I didn't see Agafon's black Bentley come and go, I'd think I was completely alone here. My husband is like a ghost. When we do cross paths, he's distracted, checking his phone or speaking to one of his men. Our conversations have been limited to logistics and pleasantries.
“Will you be home for dinner?” I asked him yesterday.
“Don't wait up,” he replied, not even looking at me.
