Page 14 of Between Us

“It's business,” Roman responded in an emotionless voice, clearly wanting to end the conversation there.

In the month leading up to their wedding, she had desensitized herself enough for his words not to bother her as much as they should have. With a nod of her head, she glanced away, her eyes landing on her brother. He was standing in a corner of the reception hall, hands tucked into his pockets and his gaze focused on her. She knew how much this was bothering him—could practicallyfeelhis animosity for this sham propel across the busy room and land straight into her softheart. Her hands were tied and so were Matteo's. What their father wanted, he got.

The thought saddened her and filled her soul with a bitterness so potent, it nearly took hold of every molecule in her body. For the first time in nineteen years, she felt abandoned. Undesired and discarded like an old object that had lost its value. Tears she didn’t know she had left pooled in her eyes, and she blinked rapidly to chase them away, afraid someone might witness her misery.

She had already promised herself she wasn’t going to cry anymore. And she wasn’t going to give up on herself either. She had to find a way to survive—to have some semblance of a life outside the warm cocoon she’d been raised in. There was no way to know what awaited her in the months and years to come, but she refused to accept the prospect of an unkind fate without a fight.

From what she’d been told, Russian men were dominant, possessive and prone to violence. They drank a lot and they took mistresses. They were difficult and pigheaded—much more so than their Italian counterparts. Alessandra didn’t know how much of that was true, but a large part of her feared she was going to find out for herself soon enough. To his credit, Roman had been unexpectedly civil toward her, so maybe there was some hope, after all. She had to cling to that notion because it was all she had left.

“Can we leave after the cake is served?” she asked after some time, not looking at her husband. She sounded quiet and subdued, and she hated it.

“If that's what you want.”

She didn't have the energy to focus on Roman's slight change in tonality or the weight of his gaze on the sideof her face.

All that she knew was that she couldn't wait to leave.

Even if it meant being alone with him.

7

The two-story house was more than Alessandra had expected. It was spacious, fully furnished and had a large backyard with an equally generous swimming pool.

“Did you buy it like this?” she asked Roman as they stood outside on the stone patio leading to the pool. They had driven home from their wedding reception in Roman's car, the twenty minutes spent together in the car going by in almost complete silence.

Home.

Like it or not, this was now the place she had to call her own.

“Yeah,” he answered. “I didn't have time to make any changes, but you're free to do so, if you want.”

She took a few steps forward, admiring her surroundings. It was a hot night at the beginning of July, and the dark sky was laden with thousands ofglowing stars. She heard a click behind her and looked over her shoulder to see Roman light up a cigarette. A smirk tugged at her lips as she turned around to face him, arms crossed over her chest.

“And to think that you gave me grief about doing the same.”

Roman put the Zippo into his pocket and gave her an unapologetic look. “You're too young to be indulging in such nasty habits.”

“I bet you were even younger than me when you started smoking,” she challenged, deciding to test the waters while she could.

“Fourteen. That doesn't mean I condone it in my wife.”

“Double standards much?”

“Yes, very much. You'll learn soon enough that us Russians tend not to be as delicate with our opinions as your Italian men. I don't like something, I say it.”

“That should also apply to the women, right? I'm a quick learner.”

Her reply made him chuckle, his voice low and rich. “You have some fire in you. I like that.”

Alessandra bit back a grin, happy to see that her husband had at leastsomesense of humor. Feeling more at ease in his presence, she decided to kick off her heels. Her feet touched the cold stone, and she let out a satisfied sigh as she lifted the bottom of her long dress and gathered the material in one hand. When she looked up again, she noticed Roman's eyes were fixed on her naked calves.

“I couldn't wait to get them off,” she said more quietly. “My feet were killing me.”

He took a drag from his cigarette, blue gaze slowlytraveling up her body, over the curve of her hips and lingering on the shape of her breasts. When he met her eyes, she was already blushing from the intensity of his stare.

“You look beautiful,” he said in a voice that left no room for interpretation.

“Thank you.” She accepted the compliment as she had been taught to from an early age, despite the anxiety blooming to life in the pit of her stomach. She already knew what was expected of her on her wedding night, but no matter how attractive she found Roman, the prospect of being intimate with him scared her.

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