Page 113 of Brutal Reign
Kira nods, already pouring glasses. “Trust me, we know. Being married to these men often requires a little something to take the edge off.”
“Our husbands are a little overprotective,” Liza adds, sipping mineral water. “They mean well. They just need a little time to come around to the idea of Pavel being married to the...the...”
“The Black Company heir?” I suggest. “Yeah, the feeling’s mutual.”
“If it’s any comfort,” Kira says, swirling a straw in her glass, “most of our marriages started in a rather unconventional way, so you’re in good company.”
“Unconventional?”
“You know, a little different than the norm. I married Maxim to get close enough to kill him. Luckily, it didn’t come to that.”
I nearly choke on my drink. In normal circles, I’d assume she was joking, but something tells me she’s dead serious. I make a mental note to ask about that story once I’ve had a drink or two.
I glance up and find Pavel leaning against the terrace railing, watching us intently. The way his shirt stretches across his cut chest is seriously distracting. When he catches me looking, that slow devastating smile spreads across his face—the one that makes my stomach flip and reminds me exactly what his mouth is capable of.
“Okay, hold up,” Kira says, following my gaze. “I’ve never seen Pavel look at anyone like that. Ever. The man hasn’t even brought a woman around in years, so this is kind of a big deal. I’m going to need you to spill all the dirty details.”
All three women are looking at me expectantly. I’m so used to keeping my cards close to my chest; my first instinct is to deflect or share the bare minimum. But something about these women makes me want to be honest. Maybe it’s because they seem to actually care, or maybe I’m just desperate for real connection after years of isolation.
So I tell them about London, about Lukas the Swedish author, about the best night of my life followed by five years of thinking about a man who didn’t exist. I tell them about Simon, about the forced marriage, about the explosions and the rescue, and the shocking revelation that my Swedish author was actually Pavel Fedorov, head of the Syndicate. And instead of torturing me for information, which I was pretty sure he was going to do, he ended up marrying me and bringing me here to live with him.
What I don’t tell them is that the night with Pavel resulted in Kin. And as much as I’m falling for Pavel, accepting him means accepting his world. And I still don’t know if I’m ready to do that.
By the end of it, all three are staring at me with wide eyes and empty glasses.
“That’s the most insane story I’ve ever heard,” Sofiya says. “Well, second to my own love story.”
“And romantic in a twisted way,” Liza adds.
Kira’s mouth lifts with a wicked grin. “All I know is that man is completely gone for you. It’s written all over his face.”
“Holy shit, Hope.” Sofiya gasps, grabbing my hand. “That ring is gorgeous. When did this happen?”
I look down at the princess-cut pink diamond, remembering Pavel’s words as he slipped it on my finger. “This morning, actually.”
Kira squeals. “Damn, he wanted to make a statement!”
“Mission accomplished.” Liza sits back with a knowing grin. “I take it things are going well between you two?”
I take a hearty gulp of my drink. “It’s going...” I’m not sure I have the right words for it.
On one hand, I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Nobody’s ever made me feel this safe, cared for, and seen. That includes Kin too. But on the other hand, there’s a ticking clock in the background.
Uncle Chen messaged me last night. He thinks he’s in danger, that Simon somehow knows he was helping me. He provided few details but is pushing for the meetup as soon as possible so he can hand over the inheritance before going into hiding.
If I have any chance of escaping from this life, I have to arrange the meeting soon, but...
Something doesn’t sit right, and I can’t put my finger on it.
Even though I’m sick with worry for Uncle Chen, with every day that passes, the idea of leaving Pavel feels less like freedom and more like losing the life I want.
“Oh, it’s that good,” Liza says, a teasing smirk on her lips.
I shake my head and realize she thinks I got lost in a hot daydream of Pavel rather than spiraling about my increasingly fucked-up situation.
I gulp. “Yeah, it really is that good,” I say and mean it.
Two hours later, I’m sitting beside Pavel at the long table, a fresh glass of sangria in hand and a very full belly. The lunch was incredible, and conversation flowed in English more easily than I ever expected. Even the men, whom I initially found intimidating, loosened up and spoke freely around me.
