28
Natalia
We drive back home in the same silence we left in hours ago.
It settles over us, and I’m so lost in my thoughts I’m too afraid to breathe.
I can tell he’s the same and that heated argument or whatever the hell it was he had with his brother has put him in a bad mood.
Mikhail has spent most of the journey clenching the steering wheel like he wants to wring someone’s neck.
When we get back to the house, he maintains his silence and walks with me upstairs to the bedroom. All the while I try to think of a way to talk to him and ask the questions weighing heavily on my heart.
It’s late, so I expect we’ll fall into bed, but he doesn’t look like he’s going to. He looks like he’s gearing up to go out again.
He watches me as I take off my heels and walks over to me to help me undo the zipper on the back of my dress.
He continues to stand behind, and we both look at our reflection in the long mirror. It scares me how good we look together. Staring at the reflection of ourselves is like looking at someone’s idea of a joke that ended up working.
Like throwing spaghetti on a wall and watching it actually stick like glue.
His warm fingers flutter over the bare skin of my back, snapping my mind back into focus.
“I don’t want you talking to my brother if you can help it,” he mutters.
I turn around to face him.
“Why?” After what Ivan said to me, I sound foolish to my own ears for asking that question, but I want to know whyhedoesn’t want me to talk to his brother.
“Because I say so.”
“You think just because you say so, it’s reason enough for me to be rude to your family.”
He grits his teeth. “Just fucking listen to me. I don’t want you talking to him or be alone with him. He’s not a good person.”
“And you are?” I know I’m poking the beast in the worst way. I can’t help myself. Everything is making me crazy, and I hate that there’s nothing I can do to save myself from this mess.
“Malyshka, do not let me punish you. You won’t like it. It won’t be anything close to what you liked previously.”
He steps away and heads toward the door, confirming my thoughts of him going out.
“Where are you going?”
“To work.”
“It’s late.”
He opens the door, and I want to scream and shout. I want to beg him to stay and tell me what he’s going to do with me.
I don’t want to be sold or given away to someone like Ivan.
Desperation gets the better of me, and I pick up the paperweight on the table and throw it into the wall.
It smashes, and he stops in his tracks then turns back to me.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he growls, his eyes blazing
“Are you going to sell me?” I choke out. Just saying the words to him fills me with terror. “Is that what you’re going to do to me after the wedding? Sell me? Or give me away?”
