Page 9

The headlights flash across their expectant faces as Dima and I step from the car. Fedor, Sofia, Natalia, Artyom—the whole Orlov clan, barring Nikolai, gathered on the front steps in surprise.

"What's all this?" Dima growls, the smile dropping from his face.

Fedor spreads his arms in welcome. "Surprise, Brother!”

Dima snaps, his possessive arm tightening around my waist. "It's late."

"Come on, Brother. We just wanted to meet Lara," Fedor smirks, stepping forward.

Dima's jaw clenches, and I can feel the anger radiating off him. "You shouldn't have come here without warning, especially not this late. We could have been sleeping."

“But you weren’t, were you?” Artyom points out the delicate truth.

"Lighten up, Dima. We're family," Natalia chides gently, her eyes flicking over to me. "Welcome, Lara. We've heard so much about you."

"Thank you," I murmur, feeling anxious at their unexpected presence. Are they truly here to welcome me, or will I have to prove myself to them?

Dima's jaw tightens. "Where's Nikolai anyways?"

"Don't worry about him," Fedor laughs. "If he were here, we wouldn't have let us come meet your little pet." His eyes rake over me. "Especially looking like you two just crawled out of bed. But, wherever are you coming from, hmmm?"

Heat flares in my cheeks. Dima's hand clamps tighter around my waist, half-possessive, half-protective.

"That's enough from you," he snaps. "Get inside. We'll have a drink, and then you can go."

“How welcoming,” Sofia says icily, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder, the annoyance in her tone evident.

Dima steers me up the steps, the weight of his siblings' curious stares not lost on me. I’m so drunk that I just pray I don't make a wrong step.

Dima ushers us hurriedly into his private den, all dark wood and leather.

"Come, come, let's celebrate this joyous union!" Artyom, the youngest, gestures grandly to the bar.

Dima hesitates, then nods. "One drink."

As Artyom pours whiskey and vodka, Sofia and Natalia sink onto the sofa beside me. Fedor and Dima sit opposite.

"So, tell us about yourself," Sofia says brightly. Her smile is friendly, but her sharp eyes remind me of a hawk's. "Where are you from?"

"Oh, just a small town outside Petersburg originally," I say. "Nothing as exciting as all this." I wave a hand at nothing in general.

“All…this?” Sofia gives me a thin-lipped smile.

“Philadelphia City,” I say meekly, afraid I sound like a fool.

"Nonsense, I'm sure you have plenty of stories," Natalia leans in kindly. "What made you agree to marry our brother?"

My throat tightens. "It was…just…well…"

“Just…well…” Fedor snorts from where he stands. “You made quite the impression on her, didn’t you, Brother?”

Artyom comes and gives Fedor a warning nudge on his back before passing around the tray with all our drinks on it.

"But you must have some thoughts on it," Natalia presses.

I stir my vodka, ice clinking. What can I say? That I'm terrified of our sham being caught? That he paid for me when he saw me being blackmailed? Or that he gets my heart racing when he looks into my eyes or possessively leads me down a path. Or how I get breathless when I think he’s one thing, and he goes and surprises me by doing the utter opposite?

Okay. I’m clearly very drunk. I’m sitting here, sipping this drink, trying to answer his sisters’ questions, but the thoughts running through my mind are confusing me even further. Why am I going and thinking I have an actual crush on Dima? Dima's eyes catch mine, dark and inscrutable. Somewhere in their depths, I sense the echo of my own uncertainty.

I lift my glass. "I think…this could be the start of something good. Dima grounds me. He understands me for who I am and helps me see the world in a different light."

“How…sweet,” Sofia says without a slight roll of her eyes. The conversation now shifts to what we did tonight. I take a sip, the whiskey burning its way down my throat and settling in my stomach like a smoldering ember. My head already feels heavy from the wine we had earlier, but I don't want to appear weak or ungrateful in front of the Orlov siblings, so I continue to drink.

I put my head in my hand, trying to focus. Dima says something I don't catch.

"Sorry, what?" I ask thickly.

"Are you alright?" Dima's voice cuts through the haze, his concern evident even in my clouded state. I try to nod, but my head feels as if it's made of lead, unable to lift itself from my shoulders.

"Excuse us for a moment," Dima says, his arm snaking around my waist as he pulls me to my feet. The room tilts dangerously, colors bleeding together, and I cling to him for support. He murmurs something to his siblings before guiding me away from the group, my legs feeling strangely detached from my body as we climb the stairs.

We reach the bedroom, and Dima eases me onto the bed. I can't help but feel a pang of disappointment at how the night has ended; I wanted to make a good impression, to show them that I was worthy of being a part of their family. Instead, I've embarrassed myself in front of everyone.

"Thank you," I mumble, my eyelids drooping as exhaustion threatens to pull me under. "I'm sorry."

"Shh, it's okay," Dima murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "You don't need to apologize. Just rest."

The warmth of Dima's large hand on my cheek is almost too much to bear, as if it holds all the heat of the sun itself. He gazes at me with concern, his eyes searching mine for any sign of discomfort.

"Would you like some water?" he asks gently. I shake, unable to form words in this moment, struck by the sudden, overwhelming intimacy between us. I don’t want him to leave. I reach up and place my hand over his. He smiles and kisses me on my forehead before pulling his hand away from under mine.

"Let me help you get comfortable," he says, his voice low and soothing. I feel my body relax under his touch, as if an unseen tension has been released from my very bones. He carefully removes my shoes, setting them aside before turning back to me. With deft fingers, he unclasps the necklace I'd been wearing, laying it on the nightstand next to the bed. My breath hitches at the sensation of his fingertips grazing my collarbone, the delicate touch sending shivers down my spine.

"Get some sleep," he whispers, brushing his lips against my forehead once again in a chaste, tender kiss. The restrained desire simmering beneath the surface of his touch sends my heart racing. And then, just like that, he's gone, leaving me to the silence of the room, and I drift off into a dreamless sleep.

***

Morning light filters through the curtains as I stir awake. My head throbs dully from all the drinks I had the previous night. As I try to shake off the haze of a horrid hangover and sleep, memories from the previous night come flooding back—dancing with Dima, the drive back, his siblings, his gentle touch as he helped me to bed.

I can't believe it all happened. A part of me wonders if it was just a dream, a figment of my alcohol-addled imagination. But the evidence is all around me—my shoes by the bed, the necklace on the nightstand. And that undeniable pull I felt toward him, the attraction that seemed to grow stronger with every passing moment.

I bury my face in my hands, trying to dispel the thoughts racing through my mind. This wasn't supposed to happen. Our marriage was an arrangement, a means to an end. I’m not meant to feel this way about Dima. And yet, I remember his touch. I wonder if he feels it, too.

Or was last night just a result of all the alcohol I consumed?

Either way, I worry I embarrassed myself in front of his family. Now is not the time to reflect on whether or not I’m developing feelings for Dima. Now is the time to find out if I made a terrible impression on his siblings.

I'm suddenly aware of how much I want these people to like me. It's not just because they're Dima's family; there's something about each of them that draws me in, making me yearn for their approval.

***

I step out of my bedroom and hear chatter downstairs. I walk toward the dining room, soon realizing that Dima’s siblings must have spent the night.

The room is lit bright from all the light entering through the large windows. The scent of fresh coffee and buttery pastries fills the air as I hesitantly step into the room. The Orlov siblings have all gathered around the table, their laughter ringing out like a lively melody. My heart flutters nervously in my chest—it's been such an unexpectedly eventful 24 hours, and now I'm about to face another challenge: brunch with my new family.

"Ah, there they are!" Natalia exclaims, raising her glass of orange juice in our direction. "Come, join us!"

“Good morning,” Sofia gives me a thin-lipped smile and motions to the chair beside her. I suddenly feel conscious, wondering how I look. She’s perfectly well-dressed, not a single blonde hair out of place.

I take a seat beside her. Artyom begins to pass me some platters while Sofia pours me some juice.

“It’s better than coffee,” she says with a neutral face. “For when you’re hungover.”

“Oh, of course. Thanks,” I murmur.

“So, how was this club you went to last night?” Fedor asks, his arms crossed together on the table in front of him.

“It was fun,” I smile at him.

“Yeah? Hot girls?”

“Fedor!” Dima roars, chucking a slice of apple at him from across the table.

Artyom and Natalia burst out into laughter.

I, too, laugh. Slowly, I can’t help but notice the sparks flying between the siblings—their contrasting personalities creating a fascinating dynamic. Artyom's loud guffaws punctuate Fedor's witty remarks, while Natalia is sweet and gentle, and Sofia’s cleverness knows no bounds. I begin to clearly enjoy the banter between the men and women, having never had sisters before.

"Tell us, Lara," Natalia begins, leaning forward with genuine interest in her eyes, "what are your thoughts on the gardens here? I've always felt they could use some improvement."

I blink in surprise, not expecting to be asked for my opinion. "Well, um, I think the gardens are beautiful, but they do seem a bit…neglected. Perhaps adding more colorful flowers and creating a space for people to sit and enjoy the view would enhance their charm," I suggest, feeling a warmth spread through me as I realize they genuinely want to hear my thoughts.

"Excellent idea!" Fedor chimes in, his enthusiasm contagious. "We should definitely consider that. What about the house itself? Do you have any ideas for changes or improvements?"

My mind races, filled with possibilities and excitement. "Maybe updating some of the rooms, bringing in more natural light and antique touches. It would make the house feel more welcoming and inviting," I say, my voice growing stronger with each suggestion.

"Great suggestions, Lara," Sofia adds, nodding in agreement. "You should just go ahead and do it, you know? Our brother would let the place rot if you don’t intervene.”

“That,” Dima tilts his head, raising a fork at Sofia. “Might actually be true,” he bows in surrender.

I chuckle at the unexpected end. “You really must, Lara,” Dima insists. “My siblings are wise at times.”

I nod and remain engrossed in speaking with them. They seem genuinely interested in getting to know me, which only makes me more determined to win them over.

As we continue discussing plans for the house and gardens, I can't help but steal glances at Dima. He listens intently, occasionally interjecting with his own thoughts and ideas. The confidence in his voice sends shivers down my spine, reminding me of last night's events—the way he held me close on the dance floor, the intensity of his touch when he put me to bed.

And I realize I’m hoping for more moments like the ones we’ve shared so far.

***

After the siblings leave, I settle into one of the gondolas outside with a book. I'm caught off-guard by the sound of my name falling softly from Dima's lips.

"Can I speak with you for a moment, Lara?" he asks, coming up the stairs.

"Of course," I reply, my heart skipping a beat at the unexpected attention.

"Your ideas about the house and gardens were lovely," he begins, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. "I couldn't help but notice how excited you were while discussing them."

A warm blush spreads across my cheeks as I look down, feeling both flattered and vulnerable under his gaze. "Thank you," I mumble, fiddling with the hem of my dress. "It's just…I've always been passionate about design and creating beautiful spaces. I studied interior decor back in university and thought I’d turn it into a career. But my brothers, they never really took my ideas seriously. I guess being the youngest has its drawbacks."

Dima tilts his head, considering my words before responding. "That's unfortunate. Your talent shouldn't be dismissed. In fact, I'd love to hear more about your thoughts on the house. Maybe we could work together on some of those changes you mentioned?"

I blink in surprise, my pulse quickening at the realization that he’s trying to support my career. "Are you sure? I don't want to impose…"

"Your ideas are valuable, Lara," he insists, his eyes never leaving mine. "You deserve to be heard, and I'm eager to listen, especially considering how we all deduced I have zero design skills and what was it my sister said again? Ah, yes. I’d let the place rot."

"Thank you," I whisper, still in disbelief that this just happened. "That means more to me than you can imagine."

“As I said,” he says, still staring at me intently. “It’s your house, and what better place to practice the start of a career than a space you call your own?”