Page 2 of Jewel of the Assassin
Heaving a sigh, I join him as we walk up the stairs. After thenurse treats me, we go to the library and nestle into the floor pillows and blankets in our corner, drinking vodka, surrounded by the smell of old books.
“If it helps, I hear he’s got a big dick.” Sasha chuffs a laugh and salutes me with his shot glass.
I roll my eyes, down my shot, and mutter, “Big dicks are nothing without the big dick energy.”
He shrugs, and I lay my head on his shoulder, flicking one of his dark strands. Sasha might have our father’s commanding eyes and jaw, but he has his mother’s nobility and kindness, my stepmother. She is honorable but too weak-willed to counter Victor. And her submission warrants his favor. But Mila has only ever been kind to me. Distant but kind. She can’t get attached to me. I don’t blame her for prioritizing Sasha.
“Anton is a playboy,” my brother reminds me. “But he’s also the political charmer with the charisma and good looks to match. No craft or cunning from what I know. Just the face his father needs. The perfect front for the Makarova Family. You might be his trophy wife, Val, but I have every faith you will be pulling his strings in no time.”
I make a face and down another shot. Just once, I would love for a man to pullmystrings, preferably pulling me over his knee after I mouth off. How delicious a change if a man conquered me. Even Sasha knows not to mess with me ever since he stole my rocking horse when he was eight. So, I put superglue on the saddle of hisrealhorse.
Sasha gave the wooden horse back the next day.
No antics will be tolerated with the Makarovas.
“Do you know anything about his brother?” I wonder.
“Roman?” Sasha tilts his head and lowers his brows, shrugging. “No. He travels a lot. Does a lot of business for his father, Nikolai. Did you see him the one time you?—?”
“No, just Anton.” I shake my head and take another swig, thinking of how I met my future husband nearly a month ago. Their mansion was pretty damn impressive. And Anton waspretty impressive…on the outside. Tall. Strong build. Sculpted features. Dark curly hair. A little too pretty…and charming for my taste. He said all the right things, but he was overly polite. And I don’t trust polite men, especially Russian ones.
“No sisters.” I shrug, swirling my vodka. “And the mother has been gone for a long time. So, it looks like I’ll be the reigning female. Queen of the Makarovas.”
“No one better for the crown.” Sasha winks.
The crown of a trophy queen.
After we drink and exchange banter, my brother promises to visit me as often as possible. Finally, we part ways.
I shut the door to my bedroom, kick off my heels, and turn on the light. A fever heats my chest the second I see the display on my desk. My breath catches at the vase filled with dozens of purple roses. Purple for royalty. Well, that’s a step up from the norm.
I blush at all the recent mystery letters—ones I’ve tucked into a secret place in my room. I haven’t shown them to Sasha. I won’t show them to anyone
The rest of my life is dull static, but him, mystalker?He’s the sharp note that cuts through. The only thing worth listening to.
If only I could hear his voice.
I run my fingers along the edge of my desk. Beneath the false bottom, his notes lie in neat stacks. I could recite them all if I wanted. The things he’s said to me. The things he’s asked of me, and more recently…commanded.
My gaze flicks to the vase of roses on my corner table near the window, their deep amethyst petals mirroring my eyes. As I lean in to inhale their fragrance, something glints, dark and lustrous, around the stem of a bloom.
I pluck it free, holding it up to the light. A choker of black pearls, smooth and cool against my fingertips. At its center, a single teardrop ruby winks at me like a blood-red promise.
There’s a note.
Keep your window shades open.
Strip.
Wear this. And only this.
Heat unfurls low in my stomach, licking at my ribs, spreading through my limbs. My fingers tremble, but not from fear. This is an escalation.
Until now, it’s been mostly notes and him stealing my lace panties. Unwashed ones. I smirk. He left me perfume once. Rare. Expensive. A bracelet. I never wear it publicly of course.
I catch my reflection in the window, the starlight shimmering beyond the glass.
Facing the glass, I slowly slide the gold dress from my shoulders. It whispers down my arms, pooling at my feet like spilled sunlight.
