But one thing I learned about Breaker. His duty was everything, and he measured things by the worst-case scenario and the best. He must have thought this was the best, even though all I could see was the unhappy ending.
Disney truly had not prepared me for this.
I let out a snort.
Hell, Disney was the opposite of my life.
I gripped one of the bedposts and leaned against it, then looked at the screen on my phone.
I clicked through my pictures until there was one of me and Breaker at New Year’s two years ago. He was smiling so big, and he was also trying to steal my earmuffs.
He said we shouldn’t have evidence of our kissing because Dante, the Alfero boss, could hack our phones in our sleep, but I hadn’t cared.
“Kiss me,” I taunted, holding the phone up in selfie mode. “And make it good.”
Breaker tugged me against his chest. He brushed my face with one finger, running it from my forehead down to my chin, then tilting my face toward his.
“I’m always good.”
“And arrogant. You’re always that too.”
He bit down on his bottom lip then grazed mine with his teeth. “You like the arrogance, admit it, it gets you off.”
I gave him a shove, but he hauled me back into his arms and kissed me senseless until I thought I might actually die with the need to rip his clothes off.
And then when he was done, he grabbed my phone and snapped a photo.
His eyes were closed.
He was kissing my forehead with such tenderness that I had a hard time even looking at the picture without wanting to burst into angry sobs.
“Where are you when I need you most?” I whispered into the silent room. “I would have given you everything…”
“Ready?” A chipper Sancto popped his head in the room. “Because I have an army here.” He held out a flute of champagne. “Congratulations are in order, to the future Mrs. Valerian Petrov.”
With trembling fingers, I grabbed the glass and held it high with my perfect politician’s daughter smile, the one that stole pieces of my soul each time I used it, and said, “Cheers, to my future husband. Valerian. Petrov.”
Chapter Eight
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake. —Robert Frost
Breaker
I was too sober.
And she was a vision.
My eyes burned.
My heart thudded its final beats in my chest as if to say I’m sorry, but we can’t take it—it burns.
Fire twisted inside my veins, altering every part of me, creating a monster I hadn’t even known was still present after all this time.
It became my worst nightmare as I watched.
I couldn’t look away.
Save me, my pulse beat.
Kill me. My heart died.
I’m all that’s left… my soul bled.
And nobody was there to pick up the pieces.
Nobody was there to hear my scream.
Nobody was there.
Nobody.
Nobody.
I put my fist in my mouth to keep from losing my sanity from hearing my own perilous scream.
“Take it back,” I whispered. “Take it back.”
And as she smiled her fake smile at her new kingdom.
I experienced true death.
Because the Violet Abandonato I had sworn to protect—wasn’t attending her wedding, but her funeral, because her old self was already dead.
And I was the only one she could blame.
“Forgive me—” I whispered into the cool night air “—for showing you the knight, when the whole time, I was the wolf. Forgive me, God. Forgive me. Amen.”
Chapter Nine
Three times I had the lust to kill,
To clutch a throat so young and fair,
And squeeze with all my might until
No breath of being lingered there. —Robert W. Service
Valerian
I adjusted the red and black mask across my face. It covered everything but the lower part of my mouth and chin. My reflection seemed to stare back at me in a way that made me want to immediately look away. A black hooded robe was pulled up over my head to symbolize the respect and humility I would need to show during the ceremony—after all, it wasn’t just a wedding—it was a coronation.
One I had never expected.
At least the robe hid the scars.
Inside and out.
“She’s ready,” Sancto said, knocking on the door even though he’d been told numerous times he didn’t need to. “And might I say, she’s a vision.”
“Even if she wasn’t…” I whispered to my own reflection. “My love would make it so.”
Sancto put a hand across his chest. “See? I always knew you were a romantic, even after that one time where you slit that guy’s throat for—”
I shot him a glare through the mirror.
He held up his hands. “Yup, message received, let’s head downstairs. The music has started, and Nikolai wants a word.”
I kept the bitter laugh in. Of course, Nikolai wanted a word. I was just curious if it was with actual words or knives and his own special shot of drugs that stopped your heart before you even felt the prick of the needle.
This was happening, I thought, as I followed Sancto out of the master bedroom, and then I was counting the slow thuds of my heart as the music filled the massive living room, spilling into the ballroom usually reserved for holidays.
There was a mass of at least a hundred people, mostly mine, dressed in flowing gowns of black and masks of white.
It was their job to look like my servants.
And it was my job to wear the only mask that could be picked out amongst the crowd, all but one.
Violet Abandonato.
Hers was a simple red.
It symbolized her blood joining with mine.
A twinge of horror washed over me as I gripped the stairwell the way I’d done so many times when I was young, when I had zero cares, when I had no idea what this life was and why I was raised like a bastard for a few years and then later, like untouchable royalty.
I could still see the smoke stains on the marble even though they were long gone. I could still hear my mom’s screams even though she was buried in the cold hard ground.
And my own screams?
I heard them too.
Over and over on endless repeat, right along with my confessions.
Because, of course, this had to be my fault.
Everything else was.
Glinka, one of my favorite composers, filled the room as I descended.
As they watched in awe.
Because their king was finally returning to his throne.
I held my head high as I walked.
And protected my heart from the curious stares like daggers to my soul. I was not safe here. Then again, with me in the room, neither were they.
“This way…” Sancto took me to the ballroom. I walked down the aisle, my legs filled with lead as people lowered their heads in respect.
And when I reached the Orthodox Priest, he gave me a smile that was so sad, I almost lost my nerve.
Instead, I turned, and I waited for my bride.
Abandonato today and tonight a Petrov.
Forever.
Yet again, ruling both families in a way that was more pure than Andrei himself.
Moonlight flickered into the room as candles seemed to pick up wind that didn’t exist inside the house. Typically, the venchanie or the crowning wedding took place in the morning, but nobody wanted us to wait. I think they were more afraid we would talk and run in the opposite direction of each other.
Whispers picked up around the room.
And then, there she was.
A strong, unwavering flower holding her head high despite the storm threatening to sink her to the depths
of Hell.
We locked eyes, though she could barely see mine as she made her way down the aisle by herself.
My fingers itched to stop the ceremony.
To meet her halfway.
To tell her how damn sorry I was—about everything.
And all the things left unsaid that still needed to be discussed but would forever be a black spot on my heart, my soul.
Her dress was blood-red, with a cape that fell like a veil past her a few feet. Her creamy skin was heaven brought down to earth as her chest rose and fell like the wings of a mockingbird or a maybe a butterfly. Her breathing was erratic, but then again, so was mine.
I held out my hand when she reached me.
And I took it with pride as the Petrov ring pressed against her knuckle, as we knelt in front of the priest and said our vows.
“I, Valerian Petrov,” I said in a slight accent that I couldn’t help even if I tried out of nerves. “Take Violet Abandonato as my now, my forever, my future, my eternity. With this ring, I thee wed.” I slid the heirloom ring onto her left third finger, three karats of blood-red ruby that had been in my family for generations.
“Violet,” said the priest, switching to English. “Do you take Valerian Petrov to be your wedded husband…”
I lost all focus when she squeezed my hand, her crystal blue eyes were clear as glass, she shuddered and lowered her head.
I reached my free hand out, palm up, and caught the tear that fell. My heart shook as her lips trembled like she wasn’t sure she could say the words, let alone go through with it.
“Be strong,” I encouraged in a barely-there whisper.
She swallowed and then looked at me and said, “Yes.”
It was all that mattered, her yes.
Because she was mine.
And I was not giving her back.
Not after all this time.
Never.
Mine.
A part of me died while another part was somehow reborn with that stare she gave me.
Slowly she pulled out my ring, it was a simple silver, she slid it past my knuckle onto my finger.
And then it was done, wasn’t it?
We were both handed gold wine goblets, and even though she had no idea what was going on, I did.
I wrapped my arm around hers as we did a small circle around the large table in front of the priest, and then I repeated the words that would alter us forever.
“I, Valerian Petrov, take the position as head. I am no longer the tail. I will lead this Family into prosperity with my bride by my side.” Cheers erupted as we finished the circle and drank from our goblets.
And without warning, an old gold crown encrusted in rubies was placed on my head, and a smaller version placed on hers.
It was heavier than I remembered.
Older.
“I now pronounce you, man and wife, king and queen!” the priest shouted as everyone shouted back in Russian that I knew Violet wouldn’t understand.
“Kiss the bride!” The shouts got louder and louder, some in English most in Russian.
I turned her terrified body toward me and pressed a chaste kiss to her mouth even though I wanted to do more.
My heart fell when she didn’t respond.
Then again, what did I expect?
To her, I was a monster.
A liar.
Her husband.
And inside, I was broken beyond repair because, in my heart of hearts, I doubted her kiss would fix this. Instead, the touch of her mouth just reminded me of everything I’d lost over the years.
Including a chance at winning her love.
Chapter Ten
Emotional pain, walks with me through the day, and sleeps with me through the night, leaving me depleted with no strength to fight. Anger for not having the courage to turn things around, keeping me anchored to this remorse, not able to untie the chains and change my course. False pride rules supreme,
always there to whisper in my ear.
Time, wasted and badly spent, lots of hurt, lots to repent.
Solace, please come and calm my soul, for this is what I need to make me whole.
Empathy, what I need is for someone to see, someone to see the real me.
Love with no strings, just giving generously amongst other things.
Words, when used as a weapon can cut like a knife,
capable of doing so much damage and take the joy out of life, but softly spoken and softly expressed can bring so much happiness. —Charlene Valladares
Violet
I never imagined my wedding going this way, holding a rough warm hand while I sipped a shot of vodka and watched people dance in front of us like entertainment in an old royal court.
“You’re tired,” Valerian said to my right without even turning to look at me and gauge if it was even true.
I swallowed more gross vodka and winced. “I’m fine.”
“You hate vodka.”
He said it like he was amused.
I sighed. “I prefer wine.”
“Italians.” He smirked. “Though I tend to agree… vodka seems…” His voice had a small Russian lilt to it, and he only seemed to slip into it when he was amused or emotional. “It seems harsh.”
“True.” I examined him while he watched everyone dance, sipping his own glass of Vodka like it was water. He was constantly alert, and always in shadows, from his hood to the nearly full mask, all I could see was his mouth. I desperately wanted to see more, to ask all the questions, to demand an apology even though he technically had saved me in the only way he knew how.
By taking me as his own.
“Come on.” He stood and helped me from my chair; my dress was so heavy I imagined my neck would be sore from pulling the giant cape and train behind me. “Let’s go to bed.”
I didn’t mean to freeze.
“Not here, moya lyubov.”
I hesitated then locked onto his vivid green eyes. “What does that mean?”
He hesitated at first and then whispered in a gruff voice, “Mine. My love.”
I gulped and reached for his mask. Moving so fast he was a blur, he grabbed my wrists and pulled my hands down to my sides, pinning them there. “Don’t you want to get comfortable? Besides, you’ve hardly eaten a thing. I’ll order food up once we’re settled in our room.”
Had I been walking, I would have tripped.
Our room?
So that wasn’t my room?
But ours?
Panic seized my lungs as I walked arm and arm with him, past Nikolai and his wife as they raised their wine glasses to us and smiled like everything had worked out perfectly when clearly it hadn’t.
I was the princess, promised the perfect ending only to end up with the wrong person, in the wrong city, in the wrong story altogether!
And now, the man who had taken it all from me would take it again, and again, demand it of his queen as was his right.
I was dying for my phone.
To update Breaker.
To ask why he wasn’t here objecting.
To demand he say something—anything.
I even hoped at one point one of the bosses, my dad especially, would barge in and put a stop to it.
But it was hopeless.
Because they had no clue, I was up here getting freaking married instead of studying under Nikolai.
It was a good opportunity, according to my dad, and kept me safe from the De Lange Family, who was still lurking in Chicago with the need for all our heads.
He had no idea that I had exchanged danger for a pit of serpents our family mildly tolerated on a good day.
Valerian led me back into our shared room. I let out a gasp right away. There were candles everywhere; the lights were off so I could barely see anything other than the small flames of all sizes that lined the dresser, the fireplace mantle, and the large framed windows to the west. Even the bathroom had them, all shapes and sizes, several smells that reminded me of the woods and being by a campfire.
<
br /> Suddenly his hands were on my shoulders as he slowly undid the clasp that held my cape in place. Immediate relief hit me when it dropped to a heavy pool at my feet. Followed by terror and guilt.
Guilt that this was him.
Guilt that he would never have all of me.
And resentment that he’d already taken most.
And finally, terror, that he would take it again and again and again while my heart yearned for someone else.
I inhaled roughly when his hands moved to my shoulders and stayed there, and then he was coming around to face me, his mask still on, as was mine. He tilted my chin up toward him, and then he slowly moved to his knees and held out his arms. “I surrender.”
“Wh-what?”
“To my queen,” he rasped, his eyes sharp, his breathing labored. “I took what wasn’t mine last December. The ending doesn’t justify the means, and if I knew this would—” He stopped short. “—It doesn’t matter now, but I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry that you had to go through that with a stranger.” He spat the word like he hated himself. “My only wish is for you to live.” His eyes locked onto mine with a laser-like intensity that kept me rooted in place. “I need you to live, and one day, hopefully soon, I want a real smile, one that tells me it’s going to be okay, one that says we’ll make it through together, hand in hand, side by side. Tell me—” He grabbed my hands and held them firm. “Tell me I’m not too late to ask you this, to give you my soul, to tell you from day one it’s always been yours and always will be.”
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t look away either.
His mouth was so full and inviting, and my heart was so confused, so out of place in this foreign house without my friends, cousins, or family around me.
My first instinct was to text Breaker and say help, I had no clue what I was doing, and suddenly all his well-placed insults about being innocent and knowing nothing came flying back into my psyche full force.
I was innocent,
I knew nothing.
He was right.
I was a little girl with matches trying to find out how to stop the blaze I’d started with one fatal blow.
And Valerian Petrov was the fire that continued to burn despite the buckets of tears I cried in a vain attempt to put out the flames.
Scandalous Prince Page 9
