“Good. Then we understand each other.” He looks at my dress again, and this time I definitely see disapproval. “Go change.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“The dress. Change it. My wife is not going to look like Morticia Addams at our reception.”
Heat floods my face. Anger mixed with something else I don’t want to name. “I’ll wear whatever I want.”
“Not tonight, you won’t.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to wear.”
“Actually,” he says, his voice dropping to that dangerous low tone, “I do. We just signed a contract that says you’re under my protection. That means you follow my rules. And my first rule is that you don’t attend our wedding celebration looking like you’re attending a funeral.”
I step closer to him, tilting my head back to meet his eyes. I’m furious. Shaking with it. “This is a funeral. The death of my freedom. The death of any illusion I had that I could handle this on my own. So I’m keeping it on.”
We’re standing toe to toe now. I can feel the heat radiating off him. See the muscle ticking in his jaw.
“Sofia— “
“No.” I cut him off. “I didn’t agree to become your dress-up doll. I’ll wear whatever I damn well choose.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. I watch him process my words. I wait for the fight.
“Fine,” he says finally. “Keep the dress.”
I wasn’t expecting that. “What?”
“Keep the dress. Wear it to dinner. Make whatever statement you want to make.” He leans down slightly, bringing his face closer to mine. “But understand this—every decision you make from now on affects both of us. Your safety is my responsibility. Your reputation reflects on me. When you walk into that restaurant as my wife, people will see us as a unit. So if you wantto wear black and look miserable, that’s your choice. But don’t be surprised when people start asking questions.”
He straightens and walks toward the foyer, then pauses. “Nelson will pack up your things from the penthouse and deliver them to my house. We’re leaving in five minutes.”
My house. Not our house. His house.
I watch him disappear through the doorway and feel a petty surge of satisfaction. I won this round. Small victory, but I’ll take it.
I head back to the bedroom to grab my purse and check my makeup. The face staring back at me in the mirror looks defiant. Good. That’s exactly what I’m going for.
When I walk back out, all three men turn to look at me. Sergei’s expression is unreadable as always. Kirill looks amused. Nelson just looks uncomfortable.
“Ready?” Sergei asks.
“As I’ll ever be.”
He holds out his arm. I stare at it for a second before reluctantly taking it. His muscles are solid beneath the expensive fabric of his suit. He’s warm. I hate that I notice.
We take the elevator down in silence. There’s an SUV waiting at the curb with two more men I don’t recognize in the front seats. Sergei opens the back door for me. I slide in, and he follows.
Kirill and Nelson take a second vehicle.
I stare out the window, trying not to think about my wedding night. He demanded the kiss. What else would he demand?
“What now?” Sergei asks.
“What?” I ask.
“Your jaw gets tight when you’re working through something.”
I do clench my jaw when I’m stressed. It gives me terrible headaches. “You’ve been watching me that closely?”