Page 64 of The Pakhan's Arranged Bride
I look down at my hands, then quickly fold them in my lap to hide the fact that they’re still shaking. Seeing Miron caught me by surprise. It was horrible. It knocked the wind out of me and shattered the sense of safety I was building up around myself here in Las Vegas. I’m not safe anywhere. Miron made a point of making that clear tonight. I’m so angry to realize that he still has this hold over me. I wish he had no effect on me whatsoever, but tonight proved otherwise.
And that makes me livid. Livid at myself, and at Miron. Why do I let him get to me like that?
Fear.
I clench my jaw, biting down hard to push the truth away. I don’t want to fear Miron. I don’t want anything other than to see him dead.
But I’m not ready to talk about it.
Benedikt sighs again, his frustration is weighing on my guilt.
“Ulyana, the way he was talking to you made it seem like there was more to the story,” he tries again, pushing me for the truth.
I stand up, angry that he won’t let it go.Needing him to let it go.
“Wouldn’t you hate him if he tried to kill your family?” I snap, defensively. My anger at Miron is bubbling over and getting thrown at Benedikt. It isn’t fair, but he won’t let it go, and I need him to stop—he’s trying to force me to talk about things that are too deep to bring to the surface.
“Yes, but the things he was saying were personal—directed atyou, not your brother.”
“Benedikt, what do you want me to say?I hate him. He almost killed Nestor. I can’t control the stupid things Miron says. I have no idea what he was talking about.” My voice is getting louder.
“Ulyana,” Benedikt says, a low growl, almost a warning.
“Just drop it,” I shout. My fists are clenched at my sides, and I stand facing him squarely, pushing my shoulders back, trying to stand my ground. I won’t back down. I won’t be pushed into talking about this.
“Why are you getting so worked up, I’m only asking you what’s going on?” he shouts back, his eyes flaring in frustration as he steps closer to me.
The heat of his body washes over me.
We’re locked in a tense moment of confrontation with neither of us backing down. Neither of us says anything, both caught in our own frustrations.
The guilt is drowning me, but the anger is worse.
Benedikt looks just as frustrated for his own reasons.
I can’t take this anymore. I turn away from him, but he’s not ready to let it go.
He lifts his arm and wraps his hand around the back of my neck, forcing me to stay, demanding my attention—and the truth.
A strike of anger, like lightening, shoots through me and I lash out. I push my hands against his chest and shove him hard.
He tries to grab my wrist, but I pull away, even angrier that he’s still not getting the message.
“Ulyana, stop this immediately,” he shouts, trying again to restrain me.
I push him harder this time, all of my anger surging through me.
He takes a step back and bumps into the bed, sitting down on it and staring at me in disbelief.
But now I can’t stop.
I don’t know what to do with all of this emotion.
I fly at him, jumping onto him, and he falls back onto the bed, grabbing me around my waist and pulling me with him. My legs are straddled over his lap. My dress is riding up my thighs, my body rubbing against his.
For a moment, we are fighting each other. He won’t let me go, he won’t let me control the situation. My blood is boiling, my breathing is heavy and fast, and my heart is racing far too quickly.
The blind, white hot rage that snaps through my mind, in my desperation to have control—it causes the opposite to happen, and I completely lose control.
