Page 26 of The Russian's Kidnapped Bride
Luckily, he’s already halfway out the door, likely anxious to get back to Vic and the baby.
Then, we’re alone again.
But this time, we’re husband and wife.
Turning to Lily again, I half expect something. Anything to come out of her mouth. More so than anything, I hope for a glimpse of that spark I remember from before.
But she doesn’t give me anything. Instead, she stands as still as a statue while she continues to stare at the city below. I know she isn’t really focused on anything at all.
It seems like she’s holding herself together with sheer willpower alone.
“You look like you’ve been sentenced to death,” I murmur, attempting to find a moment of levity despite the circumstances.
“Same thing.”
Regardless of knowing how the situation isn’t exactly unfolding in her favor, those words irritate me anyway.
I don’t think she should be celebrating by any means, but I know there was something between us before. At the club…in my bedroom. There had been something in the way she touched me, and how she surrendered her body to me, easier than anything else.
Regardless of the booze in our systems, it wasn’t fake. I sure as hell didn’t make it up.
There had been something real mixed in, and something I’ve been craving ever since.
I know she felt it, too.
But this…it feels almost like a punishment.
Maybe I deserve it for backing her into a difficult position, but I also know it couldn’t be helped.
Attraction aside, I had to find leverage over her one way or another, and I had to make sure she couldn’t give our name up to the authorities.
Hoping to offer her as much comfort as I can, I step closer. “It doesn’t have to be a bad thing, you know.”
She turns away from me, keeping her expression hard and unwavering. “I’m sure it doesn’t need to be, but you’re making it exactly that.”
Carefully, I reach for her arm, wanting and craving that contact regardless of how subtle it may be. But she jerks away as if I burned her.
“Don’t touch me,” she mutters, eyes stern as they meet mine.
“Lily—”
“No,” she interrupts, forcing another gap between us. “You abducted me and forced me into this. Don’t try and make anything about this seem normal.”
My brows furrow slightly, and I try to swallow my pride from being rejected. “I gave you a choice, and you made that decision on your own.”
“No, you didn’t. You offered me an option that was slightly better, but not by much.”
In a bid to stay calm, I pull in a breath and exhale harder than intended, keeping my jaw tight.
I already knew the situation couldn’t be smooth all the way through, and I should’ve anticipated her resistance. But it’s still grating either way.
Like most people, I don’t enjoy being rejected—especially not after I’ve already won. After she is legally mine.
She shares my name now, and she’ll be sharing my space whether she accepts it or not. She’s under my protection, and I mean to uphold my end of the bargain.
That should mean something.
But as of right now, this marriage immediately feels like we’re chained together by our necks.
