Page 40 of His Darkest Obsession
"Are you disappointed?" His voice is softer than I've ever heard before.
"No." I confess. "It's better this way."
His mouth opens as if he wants to knowwhy, but then he thinks better of it and lets me keep my thoughts to myself.
Movement catches my eye and I turn my head in time to see someone walking down the manicured lawn toward us.
When he gets closer, I recognize him as the driver from yesterday—the same one who was laughing with Anatoly as we drove away from New York.
There's an angry red mark on his face that looks suspiciously like a handprint.
He gives me only an acknowledging look, says something to Anatoly in Russian, and hands over something small that glints gold in the sunlight.
Then, he gives me another nod, turns around, and starts walking away.
"What was that about?" I ask Anatoly.
Anatoly slips whatever he received into his pocket. "I sent my brother Roma to retrieve our family signet ring from our mother."
"Your brother?" I can't help asking.
As I watch Roma's fading figure, I can see the resemblance. They have the same piercing blue eyes, a similar height and build, but where Anatoly's hair is a dark whiskey brown, Roma's hair is streaked with blond.
And in spite of their similarities, Roma's face seemed softer somehow, like he's more used to having an open expression than Anatoly's carefully controlled mask.
"Yes." Anatoly nods. "I'm the oldest of three. Me, Roma, and Vassily."
"And you said you sent him to retrieve the family signet ring?"
"I did."
By now, Roma has almost reached the mansion.
"I'm guessing your mother disapproves of this marriage? Judging by the imprint she left on Roma's face."
Anatoly's eyebrows raise slightly. "There's no secret that you can't see, is there?"
"Isn't that why you're marrying me?" The words slip out before I can stop them. "Because like you said, you’re not marrying me for love."
Once again, he opens his mouth as if to say something back. And once again, he thinks better of it, even as his hand continues to cradle mine with that unexpected tenderness.
13
INDIGO
The womanin the mirror staring back at me in the mirror looks simultaneously familiar and unrecognizable.
My blue hair is swept into a slightly messy bun with delicate crystal hairpins catching the morning light. The light eye shadow accentuates my hazel eyes, and brings my cheekbones into focus in a way that I haven't seen for some time. A pair of heavy earrings hang from my ears, and the beautiful fabric of the dress hugs my body closely.
Svetlana stands behind me, her fingers expertly weaving another hairpin into place to secure a strand that had fallen loose.
"Almost finished," she murmurs, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror.
I nod, not daring to trust my voice. My mind keeps circling back to yesterday—Anatoly's fingers tracing patterns on my skin, his breath against my neck as he helped me into this dress, and the way his eyes darkened when he saw my scars.
"There." Svetlana steps back to admire her work. "Krasivaya."
"Thank you," I whisper, surprised at how steady my voice sounds.
