Page 6

I open the door to my house and stand aside, letting my bride enter first. When I watch Lilibeth stand there, half-in and half-out, dressed in all white, that’s when I realize this is no longer just my house.

For tonight, I had earlier asked all my guards to patrol the grounds and not be seen near the main structure. I don’t want Lilibeth to be unnecessarily nervous by the sight of guns. Though, of course, being an Orlov, she must be used to it by now.

Lilibeth walks through the doorway, and there’s an air of uncertainty around her. At the reception, she’d put on a bright smile and played the perfect bride, but something shifted when we got into the car. Suddenly, there was total silence. Once again, she's quiet now.

In the dim light of the foyer, she looks smaller somehow. It's strange to think that this woman, mostly a stranger, is now my wife.

“Welcome home,” I say, though it already feels fake. Home. As if this arranged marriage could ever produce something so comfortable.

Lilibeth's eyes dart around the entryway, taking in the surroundings.

“It's very... clean,” she finally says, turning to me. In the darkness, her eyes glimmer with an otherworldly beauty, the green and blue drawing me in. I remind myself to stop staring and break off eye contact with a shrug.

“I’ll tell the cleaners you approve of their methods.” I close the door behind us, and we both hear the auto lock engage. Lilibeth’s eyes dart behind me, toward the door, as though wishing it remained open.

“Do you want a tour?” I ask, though I'm tired and would rather just show her to her room and be done with this day.

“Um.” She nervously twirls a tendril of hair around her finger and bites her lower lip in a manner that can only be endearing—to someone else, though. I have the clarity of thought to think. To me, she’s not allowed to be endearing.

To me, she owes a debt still, for what she did to Nikandr.

“Actually,” she sighs and shuffles on her feet. “I’m beat. But…if you’d like.”

“No. That’s fine. I’ll show you to the bedroom,” I say instantly, relieved we can finally call this long day a night.

“Yes, please.” She smiles, those distinctive dimples appearing in her cheeks. I look away.

I gesture toward the staircase. She follows me up, but to my ears, I feel as though her footsteps falter by the time we’re on top of the stairs.

When I turn to check on her progress, she looks up from the stairs below me, her eyes almost fearful.

I turn back and once we reach the hall, lead right. She follows, like a quiet little puppy, or so I feel.

“And...” I push open the door at the end of the hall. “The bedroom.”

I step aside so she can enter first.

Lilibeth walks in slowly, her eyes widening as she takes in the king-sized bed dominating the center of the room. It's a new purchase, one I made for her. Not that I plan on sharing it with her, but I do want her to be comfortable under my roof.

“Our bedroom?” she repeats as her eyes remain fixed on the bed, her voice pitched slightly higher than before. “As in, we're sharing?”

My mind turns a cartwheel. Has she just gone ahead and assumed we’re sharing a room? What the hell? My instinct is to shut that idea down now and here, but instead, a small part of me revels in the idea of toying with her.

I raise an eyebrow. “We're married now. What did you expect?”

She turns to face me, her cheeks flushed. I notice her gulp. Dear lord, she’s nervous. “Well, I just thought... I mean, it's an arranged marriage, so I assumed we'd have separate rooms. At least at first.”

I cross my arms, leaning against the doorframe with an eyebrow still cocked at her

“No, no, that's fine.” She waves her hand dismissively, but it shakes as she does. “Sharing is fine. Totally fine. It's just—” She cuts herself off, biting her lower lip. By now, I’ve realized that’s a nervous tick.

“Just what?” I prompt, curious despite myself.

“It's just that wedding night consummations are so.

.. old-fashioned, don't you think?” The words spill from her in a rush.

“I mean, it's a tradition from when people needed to verify that a marriage could produce heirs and all that, but we're in the 21st century now, and nobody's checking the sheets in the morning anymore, thank God, because how embarrassing would that be?”

I blink and walk toward her, highly amused by her rambling. Who is this woman? She’s a trembling mess, and I know I shouldn’t toy with her, but just how far is she going to take this argument? Did she just say the words ‘produce heirs’ and refer to morning sheets?

What the…actual fuck?

The Lilibeth at the reception was all sass and pure spine. Right now, she’s a deer in the headlights. That version of Lilibeth was irritating in her perfection. This version, with her nervous babbling and pink cheeks, is... interesting.

“And really,” she continues, walking backward, away from me as I get close, “there are practical reasons to wait, you know? We hardly know each other.”

“Not hardly,” I correct her automatically. “We go back a long time.”

I choose, however, not to bring up my brother by name. It causes too much pain. Saying his name in front of her brings back the memories of what happened and what she did to him.

She waves her hand again. “Right, well, but still, we didn’t really know each other, did we?

We certainly don’t know each other well enough to jump into bed together, if you ask me.

We should get to know each other first. Besides, I’m exhausted.

” She pauses, glancing at me, and then looks away, finding various spots in the room to glance between. Anywhere but at me.

“You’re …tired?” I smirk and wonder where she’ll go next.

“Yes, tired!” she says, nodding her head exuberantly as she meets my gaze again. “If we were to…you know…” She motions at the bed. “I won’t be any good. Heck, you might even regret marrying me.”

I find myself fighting a smile. “Oh, is that so?”

“You know what I mean.” She gestures vaguely. “You shouldn’t force yourself. I won’t mind. Just because our marriage is an arrangement, we don’t have to pretend it’s some form of medieval political alliance.”

“That's exactly what this is,” I remind her as I step closer to her. She steps back until her knees hit the bed and then immediately stands up again and makes her way to the wall behind, as if she’s petrified of that bed.

This time, I have to force myself to hold back my laughter.

She’s a comical mess right now, so contradictory to the confident, sassy woman I’ve observed her to be the whole day.

She doesn’t even seem to notice how evident it is that she’s nervous. There's something disarming about her honesty, though. But someone has to teach her not to lay her thoughts out for all to see.

“Exactly! So why rush the physical stuff?” She puts her hands behind her back, against the wall, as though she might fall from dizziness if she doesn’t. “We have time. We have our whole lives, unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?” I repeat, walking closer, arching an eyebrow.

She winces. “Sorry. That came out wrong. I just meant... this isn't how either of us planned our lives, is it? Being forced to marry a stranger?”

No, it isn't.

“And there's also the fact that I'm on my period,” she adds, looking me straight in the eye with a desperation that tells me this might just be a lie. By now, we’ve gone from medieval beliefs to arranged marriages to her period.

“So even if you wanted to insist on your husbandly rights or whatever, tonight would be messy and uncomfortable for both of us.”

I almost laugh at her audacity. “My husbandly rights?”

“Isn't that what this is about? Your right to my body now that we're married?” There's a flash of something in her eyes, a hint of anger.

I take one final step toward her. “Is that what you think? That I'd force myself on you?”

She tries to take a small step back, but of course, is met by the wall. I, on the other hand, step closer to look into her eyes, to see if she really believes that. “No. I mean, no. Of course not.”

“No,” I agree, moving closer still. “I wouldn’t.”

I'm not sure when this turned from an awkward conversation into something else, but suddenly I'm aware that I've been advancing on her with each exchange, backing her toward the wall. Her eyes are wide now, and her breathing quickened. She looks like prey, cornered by a predator.

“What exactly are you afraid of, Lilibeth?” I ask, my voice dropping lower.

She clings to the wall, but she lifts her chin, defiant. “I'm not afraid of you.”

“No?” I place one hand on the wall beside her head, leaning in. “Then why is your heart racing?”

I can see it, the pulse at her throat fluttering rapidly. She swallows, and I find myself tracking the movement.

“Because you're in my space,” she says, but there's no real heat in it. “Has anyone ever told you that you're intimidating?”

“Many times,” I admit. “Usually right before I give them reason to be intimidated.”

“Is that what you're doing now? Intimidating your new wife on her wedding night?” There's that sass again, breaking through her nervousness. “Very romantic.”

“I thought you didn't want romance.” I place my other hand on the wall, caging her in. “You just gave me a whole speech about why we shouldn't consummate our marriage.”

“And you're proving my point by cornering me like this.” But even as she says it, she doesn't try to duck under my arms or push me away. Instead, her eyes drop briefly to my mouth before meeting my gaze again.

Something shifts in the air between us. The tension transforms from confrontational to something else entirely. Something I wasn't prepared for.

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.