Page 26 of Prince of Control

Melinda’s not my girlfriend.

We don’t have that kind of relationship. I’ve never even kissed her.

But I do have a certain penchant for delivering pain. And her straight A, over-achiever double major/triple minor personality requires a certain form of stress relief. One that usually comes in the form of a long session at the receiving end of a belt or riding crop.

“You can’t come in. You know why.”

“He hasn’t been elected yet. No one cares what I do.”

“You know that’s not true.”

Her brown ponytail is pulled up too tight on the top of her head. She’s jittery, like she had too much caffeine, her brown eyes too bright, her body movements quick and jerky. She’s in sneakers and yoga pants with a matching Lululemon sports bra like she just came from a run. Her ribs show above the neckline. If I had her in the dungeon, I’d demand to know what she ate today. But I can’t take that role with her ever again. I’m married.

“I need this.”

“Find someone else.”

“Who? You’re the only one I trust. Especially with my dad’s nomination.”

I shrug. I want to suggest she talk to Anders because I know he has a thing for Melinda, but that would put her back in our sphere, which I can’t have.

“Not me. Even if your dad hadn’t been chosen as a presidential running mate, I’m out this year.”

Her eyes narrow. She’s bright enough to need to understand everything at play. “Why?”

“I’m married.”

Her jaw drops at that. “What?” She looks offended, which makes me frown. I never gave her any reason to think she had a claim on me. But I don’t think she’s attached to me that way. It’s only ever been transactional between us. I hurt her because I enjoy honing my practice on a willing partner. She craves it for the endorphin release. Nothing more, nothing less.

“My bride flew in from Paris this week. She transferred to Thornecroft.”

Melinda cocks her head. “Bullshit.”

“Truth. I had an arranged marriage to a Russian bratva princess.”

I know part of the mystique of Baranov House is that everyone knows or believes we’re bratva heirs. I play it up when I can, not because I’m a tough-guy but because that reputation does more to spark business and alliances and command respect than me trying to prove we’re legit.

Besides, we’re not legit. We may not be in our parents’ business, but we created our own enterprises.

Now Melinda’s sure I’m lying to get rid of her. Her nostrils flare. “Fuck you, Baron. You’re an asshole.”

“It’s true,” I say mildly.

A flash of uncertainty shows under her mask.

I don’t want her to think I’m playing games with her–that’s not my style. “It’s the truth, Melinda.” My tone is gentle. I show her my hand with the shiny new gold ring.

This time, my words seem to settle over her and land, lowering her shoulders and relaxing her face. “Seriously?”

I nod. “Yeah. It’s been arranged since we were babies, but the timeline got moved up.”

“Why?”

“She had interest from another party.”

I probably shouldn’t have shared that part, but Melinda can be counted on for discretion. I know many savory secrets about her that she wouldn’t want discussed on campus.

“That’s just between you and me,” I say to be sure.