Page 45 of The Russian Pakhan's Forced Bride
Everything about the meal, down to the table setting, is perfect.
And yet, Victoria doesn’t reveal any kind of thrill. Instead, she looks noncommittal while she cuts into the food and starts to eat.
She chews and swallows, but there’s no spark in her gaze. She hardly speaks and wears that detached look way too well.
It’s nearly agonizing.
“What do you think?” I eventually ask, puncturing through the heavy silence.
She swallows again before reaching for her wine. “It’s fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yes. Fine.”
I sigh, feeling like she’s kicking me while I’ve already surrendered.
Finally, I put my silverware down and meet her gaze. “Just how long will you keep pretending like nothing ruffles you now?”
Victoria doesn’t even flinch. “I’m not pretending.”
I know damn well she’s bluffing. She had been nothing but flustered and terrified before, and now, she’s wearing the opposite mask.
“Bullshit. You’re acting like nothing happened,” I return, tone accusatory. “Like nothing has changed.”
Then, the slightest twitch in her face gives away her true feelings. But she schools her expression and looks at me pointedly. “And what do you want me to say? How I liked it? That I regret it?”
Tempering my irritation at her tone, I mutter, “I want you to be honest for once.”
This makes her gaze sharpen and sends her lips into a flat line. “I’ve tried to be honest with you numerous times before, but you never wanted to hear it.”
I go to refute that claim, but I pause, well aware that she has a point.
She tried to tell me the truth about who she was, but I didn’t listen. She tried to get me to see how the arrangement was bringing her nothing but panic, and I still didn’t pay attention. I didn’t do anything about it.
Letting go of a breath, I look her over with a hint of reluctance in my tone. “And if I’m trying to be better?”
She scoffs to herself, not caring to continue eating, it seems. “Would you like a gold star for your effort?”
That makes my blood pressure rise, but I scrub a hand over my mouth to try and stay calm. “You don’t get to do this…act like you’d do anything to get my hands on you, just to turn around and ice me out. Not after what we shared.”
“Don’t act like a bit of ice bothers you. You’re nothing but cold,” Victoria says, still unwilling to bend in any capacity. “And don’t pretend like you feel something now.”
“I do,” I grit, all while trying to avoid saying anything that I might regret, or that could set her off even further. “And it’s not something I’m used to. But I’m still here…I’m still trying. I can’t say the same for you.”
Immediately, her eyes seem capable of throwing daggers, and she pushes the chair back before standing.
Her words come out cold and clipped. “I’m going to bed.”
I wait a beat, letting that frustration simmer within me before I murmur, “Where?”
To my surprise, she pauses but doesn’t look back at me. “Mine, obviously.”
That flares immediate displeasure in me, and my expression hardens. “No…you’ll sleep in mine—ours.”
Victoria bristles, but turns again to let me see just how unimpressed she is by my insistence. “I can sleep where I want to.”
“You’re sleeping in our bed,” I repeat, unwilling to accept anything different. “You’re my wife…you don’t need to sleep in another bed like we’re roommates.”
