Page 29 of The Russian's Kidnapped Bride
My eyes immediately widen, and I freeze. “What?”
“Don’t sound surprised. The rest want to meet you.”
I blink back at him, well aware of how absurd that statement seems, given everything.
This hasn’t exactly been the most orthodox way for anyone to get married, and it’s not like we’re even dating. Yet, he makes it sound like his family have been anticipating this for some time. I don’t know what that’s supposed to tell me about them.
We were only married yesterday, and yet, we’re already doing this.
“You can’t be serious,” I murmur, dreading the thought of it.
“I’m dead serious.”
“There’s no way,” I manage to say, shaking my head while I stand. “I didn’t agree to this, and I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Mikhail’s gaze narrows slightly. “You agreed to marry me. This is just a byproduct of that.”
“Only because you blackmailed me.”
He shrugs. “And yet, you still have my last name.”
The reminder is enough to make my blood boil, and I force out a frustrated breath before moving to the window again, which has been my only saving grace. At the very least, I’ve been granted the chance to not be completely isolated from it all.
And yet, everything out there seems to mock me. All of that freedom being taken advantage of is more like a taunt than it ever has been.
The world keeps spinning while mine seems to be frozen in a perpetual nightmare.
I cross my arms. “I’m not playing dress-up and sitting down with your family like this is some kind of afterthought engagement dinner.”
“But you will. You can’t ignore my family forever.”
“So that’s what you want then? To drag me even deeper into this mess so I can’t escape?” I ask incredulously, struggling to see any bright side to this.
Mikhail sighs. “No, Lily. I’m planning on introducing my wife to my siblings. Surely, that isn’t such a big ask.”
But my heart nearly freezes over at the thought, and at the casual reminder dropped by him.
He calls me his wife with an edge of possession in his voice, and it makes the ice in my system hurt even more.
Somehow, I feel that it’s nothing more than a collar.
“You don’t own me,” I snap back. “I’m not a possession.”
“No, you aren’t. But that doesn’t negate the fact that you’re mine,” he returns calmly, but the slight warning edge in his eyes tells me he isn’t leaving any room to debate that fact.
I clench my jaw, trying to find any angle to work with to undermine his argument, but it seems almost impossible to achieve. “And how do you know they’ll even respect me? I’m not exactly one of you.”
“They will,” he says plainly, once again far too confident for his own good. “After tonight, and after they’ve met you.”
My brows pinch together, and I scowl to myself. “What, you’re doing this for them, too?”
He looks at me pointedly, almost like I’m being ridiculous. “I’m doing this so that nobody questions your place beside me, whether it’s my siblings or anyone out there. And eventually, everyone will know not to touch you—ever.”
I don’t immediately have anything to say to that. It’s the closest thing to genuine protection he has offered me so far, but it still feels manipulated somehow.
Shaking my head, I run a hand over my face again. “You don’t get it. I’m supposed to be studying my notes for Monday…not sitting through dinner with criminals.”
Mikhail steps forward close enough to make my skin prickle on instinct, but not close enough to touch. His gaze hardens, letting me know there is no room for resistance, regardless of how I cling to it.
