Page 55 of Velvet Chains
“Husband?” Ser echoes, her voice strangled. “Lu, what…? When did you…?”
I can feel the heat of Victor’s body beside me, the weight of his presence. It’s overwhelming and comforting all at once.
“It’s a long story,” I say weakly. “A really, really long story.”
Ser’s eyes narrow, her protective instincts clearly kicking into high gear. “Well, you better start talking, missy. Because I’m not leaving your side until I know exactly what the hell is going on.”
I glance at Victor, uncertainty churning in my gut. How much can I say? How much should I reveal?
“Perhaps we should take this conversation inside,” Victor suggests smoothly. “I’m sure you’re all tired from the journey, and we have much to discuss.”
Ser looks like she wants to argue, but James places a calming hand on her arm. “He’s right, honey. Let’s get settled first, then we can grill Laura for details.”
She huffs but relents. “Fine. But don’t think you’re off the hook, Lu Lu. I want the whole story from the beginning.”
I manage a weak smile. “You’ll get it, Ser. I promise.”
What I didn’t expect is that being married to a billionaire Russian Mafia boss has its perks.
Firstly, I’ve never been flown privately in a helicopter to a winery that looks like it was plucked straight out of a fairytale.
I mean, seriously, who lives like this?
The garden alone is bigger than my entire apartment building, and the chateau?
It’s like something out of a Disney princess movie, all turrets and gleaming stone and freaking stained glass windows.
As we walk through the lush indoor garden, I can’t help but gape at the opulence surrounding me. Crystal chandeliers, plush velvet sofas, and a fountain.
An actual, honest-to-God fountain right in the middle of the room.
And don’t even get me started on the wineglasses—they probably cost more than my entire collection of mismatched thrift store mugs.
Secondly, this entire trip is completely paid for.
No scrimping and saving, no scouring Groupon for deals, no staying in sketchy motels with questionable stains on the sheets.
It’s a far cry from the budget-friendly road trips Ser and I used to take, where we’d subsist on gas station snacks and sleep in the car to avoid paying for a room.
Speaking of Ser, she looks just as gobsmacked as I feel. Her eyes are wide as saucers as she takes in the lavish surroundings, Lucas balanced on her hip. Even James, usually so unflappable, seems a bit dazed.
Victor, on the other hand, moves through the space with the ease of someone who’s accustomed to luxury. He guides us to a stunning glass conservatory, where a beautifully set table awaits. My stomach lets out a loud, embarrassing growl, and I realize I’m starving, even though it feels like I just ate breakfast.
Victor raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Didn’t you just have breakfast?”
I feel my cheeks heat up. “I did, but I guess I’m just extra hungry today.” It’s weird, actually. Lately, it seems like I’m always ravenous, no matter how much I eat.
Victor pulls out a chair for me, ever the gentleman. As I sit, I catch Ser’s eye across the table, and she’s shooting me a glance that screams, “Who the hell is this walking sin, and when did you start marrying off without sending me a memo?”
I quickly squint at Ser, my eyes signaling, “It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in later.”
Once everyone is seated, Sergei nods to the servers.
They move around the table with practiced efficiency, pouring water and a crisp white wine. The wine’s aroma is richer than any perfume I’ve ever dared to try.
Victor stands, commanding attention without even trying. He picks up his glass, “I want to thank you all again for coming,” he begins, his voice as nonchalant as if he’s narrating instructions on how to microwave popcorn.
“I know you’ve been worried about Laura. Due to some urgent Bratva matters, she’s contracted to be married to me for a year.”
