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After managing to stay as far away as possible from Arkadi, which wasn’t far, I spent the last few days biding my time, keeping my mouth shut, and trying to come up with a plan.

There wasn’t a feasible way to get out from under his eagle eyes and leave the property, and even with the work he was letting me do, I was growing restless.

More than restless. I slept in his bed at night because I didn’t dare risk putting my foot down.

I stayed curled up at the very edge because there wasn’t much choice otherwise.

Despite my talkative nature and the urge to tell him where to go, I would have rather maintained my stony silence than bring on a fight that wouldn’t end in my favor.

Oh, I might have ended up enjoying it, but that was something else I was afraid of, and it wouldn’t help me out of this.

It was a few days after the wine cellar incident that kept creeping into my memory, and I was pretending to do some work that Arkadi had deigned to give me.

Without access to a computer or a phone, there wasn’t much I could do except read over the papers and scribble down my ideas or opinions.

That usually took all of half an hour, and then I was left with nothing to do but stew about my predicament or lapse into daydreams. One was futile since I was surrounded by guards and a very stubborn husband. The other was dangerous.

Arkadi came into the bedroom where I was pretending to work, and we both ignored each other.

Or at least, I tried to ignore him. My senses were instantly on high alert the moment he entered the room, the crisp scent of his cologne finding my nostrils and making me quietly take a deep breath.

On top of everything, he had to smell good, the jerk.

Speaking of being a jerk, within minutes, he was ordering me to put on a dress he picked out, demanding to go out.

Finally, I had the perfect excuse to tell him to go to hell.

I gave him my best scowl as I flatly refused his “offer” of a night on the town.

No, thank you, not interested at all. Wow, that felt great.

Just lashing out at him with rude words had invigorated me after keeping my lips zipped for so long.

I wasn’t made for stony silence, and was used to being surrounded by people I could share thoughts and ideas with.

In LA, I lived alone, but I left my apartment first thing every morning and didn’t return until late at night, usually falling into bed exhausted after a long day at work. At the boutique, I had customers, my employees, and the talented designers I met with to entice them to sell their wares to me.

Even when I lost the shop and depression hit me like a tsunami, I didn’t hole up completely. I still went to diners and coffee shops and spoke with the people there, went to lunch with my friends and sisters-in-law, and saw my brothers when I could handle their sympathy.

Three days with barely any human interaction other than short grunts made me wish I hadn’t told him off so quickly. So much for getting out of the house.

Of course, there was no refusing the master so easily, and when he gave me a long, cold glare and a terrifyingly jokey threat, I scampered to the bathroom to get ready to go out. But I’d pick my own damn dress.

This could be my shot to escape. Soon enough, I’d be surrounded by friendly faces. The prospect was welcome enough on its own, but if I kept my cool, I might be able to find someone to sneak me away from Arkadi and the crew he was sure to have tagging along behind us.

I fully expected we’d end up in the VIP section of some loud, packed nightclub, which would probably be to my advantage even though the prospect bored me to tears.

I’d been going out since I got my first fake ID at sixteen, unbeknownst to all my brothers.

It didn’t take long to get my fill of such places.

Now, I only went to my brothers’ clubs when they had something big going on, and I was expected to show solidarity.

It went without saying that if we ended up in one of those clubs, Arkadi would be sure to get distracted by one of the many model types who were sure to hit on him.

As soon as all his attention was off me, I’d slip into the crowd, ditch the security detail, and disappear.

It wasn’t a great plan, but it was all I had.

I resolutely ignored the sour taste in my mouth from the imaginary model fawning all over Arkadi.

There was a time not so long ago when I used to be willowy and turned heads.

Losing the boutique had hit me hard, and the comfort eating turned into a habit I couldn’t seem to shake.

I still wasn’t used to my new body, so I twisted and turned in the mirror after I was ready.

What would Arkadi think of the slinky red dress that couldn’t hide my curves if it tried?

Not that I cared what he thought. When I finally emerged from the dressing room, Arkadi gave me a lingering look that seemed pretty pleased if the flash in his dark eyes and the slow smile were any indication.

Again, not that I cared. The only thing I was concerned about was disappearing once he was drunk and flirting with a gaggle of other women.

Except we didn’t end up at a nightclub. Instead, Arkadi pulled up in front of a designer showroom, where a valet appeared to whisk the keys from his hand and drive around the corner.

Arkadi took my arm as he led me through the double doors, and we were greeted by an eager saleswoman who offered us our choice of drinks.

“What is this?” I asked Arkadi.

“Since you didn’t get to pick the clothes in your closet, I thought you might like to do a little shopping.”

I was always up for doing a little shopping, but I gave him a skeptical look anyway. What was his endgame here, and how was I going to slip away when there weren’t any drunk models hanging around?

“We can move on if you’re not interested,” he said when I remained silent.

“No, that would be rude,” I said, just as the saleswoman was returning with our sparkling water. There was no way I was risking having alcohol around Arkadi again.

The designer was someone I hadn’t heard of before, but just a glance around me at her beautiful clothes told me she would be on everyone’s radar in a season or two. The fall and winter line was already out, and the gorgeous wool coats almost had me drooling.

“What are the winters like in Milan?” I wondered aloud.

Was it worth buying something so expensive if it never got cold enough to wear it? Arkadi gave me an arch look, and I remembered I didn’t exactly live in Milan anymore. I had no idea where I would be living when winter rolled around.

“Get the coat if you like it,” he purred, resting his hand at the small of my back. The heat of his palm soaked through my dress in an instant, and I leaned back before remembering what I’d just been thinking.

“I have plenty of winter coats,” I said briskly, pulling away from his scorching touch.

He laughed. “You’ve got to be the most practical heiress I’ve ever known.”

Hmph. Being born rich wasn’t an accomplishment.

It was definitely nice, but I didn’t like tossing around the money I hadn’t earned.

After we browsed for a bit, Arkadi asked for a tour of the showroom.

I balked, not wanting to waste the saleswoman’s time when I most likely wasn’t going to buy any of the incredible but eye-wateringly expensive clothes.

But after a flurry of fast Italian, we were escorted to the back.

I really did start to drool at the sight of all the custom fabrics stacked in huge bolts against one wall.

Sketches and inspiration photos lined another wall, and there was a row of industrial sewing machines along the other.

A couple of young women were expertly running pieces of velvet through the machines, and I gazed at their speedy hands as if they were actually making magic happen.

Just like at the fashion show in Milan, I felt completely at home, totally at ease. Until the designer herself emerged from her office, and Arkadi told her he was buying me two outfits. One's I’d happened to look at a little too long.

I grabbed his arm and squeezed, but he acted like he couldn’t feel the vice grip I had on him.

“I’m sure my wife would love something from your upcoming collection as well,” he said.

The designer was delighted to show us the book with her spring line and as soon as I saw all the stunning, flowing party dresses, my heart squeezed with happiness. How I would have loved to have any one of them.

Except… “There’s no way I’ll fit into the sample sizes,” I whispered, wanting to shrivel up.

“That’s what custom orders are for,” he said, looking expectantly at the designer.

She didn’t blink and whipped out a tape measure. Within a few minutes, she and her two assistants had all my information written down, with a promise that my clothes would arrive as soon as possible. Yes, even the ones that hadn’t even debuted yet.

I could refuse, but we’d already taken up so much of her time. And I would have truly loved to own such pieces of art. I glanced at Arkadi, who looked much too satisfied for my liking, but there was that steel in his eyes that warned me that there was no denying him.

But why? He had to know how thrilled I was to own such beautiful clothes. It was written all over my face, no matter how hard I tried to hide it. Was he actually trying to please me?

Or taunting me with what I no longer had?

That took the wind out of my sails, and I was no longer smiling by the time we were back in the car.

“I guess you know all about my shop,” I said, feeling the heartbreak all over again.

He turned to me with a look of curiosity and confusion. “A favorite shop of yours in LA?” he asked.