Page 82 of Devil's Vows
“What?” she says, panic in her voice.
“Luca will look after you, Milana,” I say, stepping in with a touch to her shoulder. To be honest, I know him the least of all my brothers. We hardly spent time together, but if he’s anything like Stephano, his identical twin, she’ll be in the best of hands. “I promise. If he doesn’t?—”
I let the thought hang, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks asIvan’s intense stare settles on me. If he doesn’t take care of her—if Ivan doesn’t take care of me—it’s supposedly war.
“You four, meaning you two”—he says as he points to me and Milana—“and Irisha and Katya have two days to sort out dresses and all that. We can bring someone in with their dress inventory, or you can keep it simple and let Kostya buy you something. Spend whatever you feel like. Yuri will see to it.”
“Kostya? Buying a wedding dress? Ivan! Have mercy on the poor man,” Milana protests. “Can’t we go into town and sort ourselves out?”
“No.” His answer brooks no argument. “Come, Milana. We’re going to see the Pakhan to share the news. Could you put the girls to bed, Gabriella?”
“Sure.”
They’re still arguing when they descend the stairs, their voices growing fainter with each step as Milana gives Ivan every inch of uphill she can muster, trying to wheedle out of an arranged marriage she’d connived all by herself. Ivan would expect nothing less, and she’s only playing her part.
But the old Pakhan. Ivan and Milana’s dad… Does this mean he is here?In this house?This massive battleground of a mansion with so many rooms and corridors, I still don’t know a quarter of it. All the eyes I felt on me this entire time. Ivan did promise he’d introduce me to him soon. I can’t believe it, but after these past few days, I could start believing anything.
The prospect of being flower girls has injected the girls with a new burst of energy, and for a long time, there’s clambering over the bed, jumping on it, playing with pillows and plushies, and talking about fairy tales in which every single girl gets married to the prince at the end of it.
“Your story doesn’t end with you marrying a prince,” Irisha says when they’ve finally exhausted themselves enough to drop to the pillows.
Watch this spaceI want to joke, but don’t find it funny rightnow.“My story isn’t finished. That was one of my many chapters.”
When Ivan walks in minutes later, eyes on me where I’m with the girls on either side of me on his bed, deep into a counting book, I feel my pulse everywhere in my body.
His gaze eats me up, inch by inch, and I feel how every fairy tale princess must have felt in that moment her world tipped into her prince’s arms. From Cinderella, swept from poverty to riches overnight, Sleeping Beauty, like me, stored away in a religious slumber where nothing is allowed, to Snow White, choking on her stepmother’s evil poison only he can free her from…I’m on the edge of something even I don’t fully grasp yet.
The promise of being touched by a man who knows what he’s doing.
42
IVAN
As I walk into the room, my breathing slows. It’s such a wholesome picture, the three of them cozy, my girls loved. If I’m not careful, I’m going to get used to this.
Gabriella’s legs are stretched out, her shirt untucked from her jeans, the top buttons loose and falling open and revealing more skin than she usually does. I’d like to tease my way down every little button and unwrap her like a gift.
“I’ll read them one more story,” I say, focusing on the moment. From the look of Katya’s and Irisha’s eyes, they’re ready to doze off.
“Okay.” Gabriella closes the book, gives each girl the obligatory kissy-kiss-kiss, and scoots off the bed.
“Don’t go far,” I say as she walks past, suppressing the need to touch her.
“Okay. Goodnight, girls. Sleep tight.”
We wrap up the story and I relax a minute, making sure the girls fall asleep.
What a fucking day. I’ve been a good boy, backing down from my new habit and giving Gabi space. I might be that fucker, but I’m not going to stalk a woman while she’s dealingwith her period. I kept an eye on her only through the usual channels where Yuri or Milana are invariably in the picture, fucking with the aesthetic of my future wife playing with my daughters.
Gabriella has coaxed my sister back to life, and for this, I’ll be eternally grateful.
All the way to the Pakhan’s quarters, I argued with Milana, explaining why her marriage intoIl Consigliois our best chance for survival. She gave me shit all the way, almost blowing up in a full-on tantrum. But when I shared the wedding news with the Pakhan, and he only faintly squeezed our hands in blessing, Milana was finally resigned to her fate. I rule now, and whatever I decide for my sister is law. Our Papa never approved of Boryslav in the first place. Bullet dodged.
I bet Milana won’t sleep a wink tonight. Friday is around the corner. As a final security measure, I’ve upped the guard until then. If she wants to run, she’ll be heading straight to the basement for the rest of her stay under my roof.
There’s an arranged marriage as a concept, and then there’s the reality of being stuck in one. I haven’t given my sister the same grace I allowed myself this second time around.
Yep, I’m that fucker.
