Page 10 of Surrender: XXX Maxim
“Did you change your mind?” he wonders, his tone eerily level. “About marrying me.”
I flinch and set my fork aside. Even thinking in those foreign terms heats my skin. It sounds unnatural. Memarriedto Maxim. Him, waiting for me at the end of an aisle. Signing up for forever at his whim.
It sounds fucking insane.
“If your siblings are your main concern, we can arrange for you to tell them before then,” he suggests while stabbing at his own piece of meat.
I feel my brows furrow. “Before what?”
“The ceremony.” He pauses to chew a bite of steak. As he swallows, he dabs at the corner of his mouth with a white cloth. Then he continues, “I’ve arranged for it to take place by the end of the month.”
“So soon?” I sound more panicked than surprised. So soon. A wedding.
“The sooner, the better,” he insists while slicing off another piece of his steak. He makes it sound so simple. Like a walk in the park. A necessary chore. Business—but the more he broaches the topic, the harder it is for my brain to comprehend. “It is not enough for me to merely claim that you are mine,” he says. “I must prove it. Publicly, in terms that men like my grandfather will understand. In my family, your worth only extends to the power of the name attached to it. If you are to be protected from now on, you must take mine. Eat.”
I force down another bite while observing him. It’s going to storm today—literally and figuratively. Already, dark clouds shroud the sun, choking out the daylight. A cold, overcast gray replaces it, reflecting off the angular features that make his face so expressive and so beautiful.
Even while he’s brooding.
Aware of me watching, he shifts, angling himself toward me. “A month might seem ‘soon’ from your position, but trust me, it’s a gift. Even a week’s delay is wasted time.” He takes a sip from his own glass of water as his eyes flicker over mine suddenly guarded. “The sooner you become a Koslov in name, the better.”
Though, in a sense, I already have his name. Absently, I trail my fingers along my bare inner thigh, tracing a series of healing welts. Lines. When viewed at once, they proclaim ownership. His. “Why so fast?”
I’m not brave enough to mention the conversation I may or may not have imagined. Could his accelerated timeline have something to do with his grandfather’s demand?
“Why?” He cocks his head and observes me from the newer angle. “Consider it like another transaction. I give you security. In return, I know you are protected.”
“But why rush?” I say, probing him as much as I dare. “We barely even know each other.”
Which is a goddamn lie. In some ways, he knows me better than I know myself. And as for him…
I know that he’s someone who would never offer a “transaction” like this to any other woman.
“Your feelings or mine have nothing to do with it,” he says, scoffing at the prospect. “This would be a transaction. Nothing less, nothing more.”
“Okay, but…” I shake my head. “What about my family?”
“It’s simple. They becomemyfamily.”
“And the house? Will we stay there—”
“Nothing else will change,” he snaps, shoving his plate aside. “Think of it as merely an extension of our previous arrangement.”
“Through marriage…” My head is spinning. I lean over the table and cradle my temple against my palm. “A wedding,” I repeat, tasting how the word sounds out loud. Terrifying, that’s how. “Are you just going to take me to the courthouse or something?”
“I don’t think you understand the situation.” His tone softens a fraction, sounding damn near gentle. “Killing Sevastyn didn’t end this. It started it. If I don’t make my intentions known now, they won’t just kill you. They’ll take pleasure in using you against me any way they can. They’ll sell you. Beat you. Destroy you.” He glowers into the distance, seeing his hypothetical threats unfold. “So, trust me when I say that a month isn’t soon enough. Regardless, you still have time to tell your family.”
“And then what?” There are ways to sugarcoat it—but I doubt Daisy and Mikie will buy that I would meet a man and marry him in less than a year. Theyshouldn’t—even if said fiancé purchased a new house and enrolled them in schools, we could have only dreamed of them attending a few months ago.
Melanie did shit like that. Not me.
“Then…” Pulling his plate back, he glowers at the meat before slicing through it. “Then you’ll be protected. Nothing else will change. And Sevastyn can rot in the ground like the rat he is while Anatoli twiddles his thumbs in the front fucking row before the altar.”
I flinch at the imagery. I don’t think he even realizes the irony of it—in one breath, he makes being a Koslov sound synonymous with envious security. But in the next, he refers to his own family members in terms most people would reserve for mortal enemies. Melanie had a habit of hitching up with men she barely knew—but here’s the funny part. I know even less about Maxim or his past.
But some topics are better left broached when he doesn’t have a knife within reach.
“I’m guessing I can’t just wear a dress from Kmart?” I say, clumsily changing tact.
