by Jennie Lucas
Feeling the sting she no doubt intended, he said in a low voice, “My brother made his own choice to get out of the company.”
“Because you made him feel worthless for a single mistake. When all he did was tell you the truth about yours.”
“Falling in love with a woman who was deceiving me,” he said, watching her.
“Yes,” she whispered. She shook her head. “No wonder he hates you.”
“He intends to destroy me,” Vladimir said shortly. “But not if I ruin him first.”
Her expression became bleak. “Neither of you will ever give up, will you? No matter who gets hurt.”
There was no way she was working with Kasimir, Vladimir thought. No way. He exhaled. “Forget it.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Sibling relationships should be my last topic of advice to anyone, clearly. Or relationships of any kind. What do I know about loving anyone?”
But his attempt at an olive branch failed miserably. Her eyes looked sadder still. She glanced down. “I’m tired.”
“All right,” he said in a low voice. “Let’s go home.”
As soon as we get back to the palace, I’ll seduce her, he told himself. They would get everything sorted out in bed.
But once they arrived there, Bree was even more distant, colder than he’d ever seen her. Colder than he’d ever imagined she could be.
She didn’t fight with him. She just withdrew. She moved away when he tried to pull her in his arms. “I want to go to bed.”
“Great,” he murmured. “I’ll come with you.”
“No.” She practically ran up the stairs, then looked down from the top landing, a vision in a blue gown, like a princess. Like a queen. “Tonight, I sleep alone.”
Her voice wasn’t defiant. It wasn’t even angry. It was inexpressibly weary.
He frowned, suddenly puzzled. None of this made sense, but he knew one thing: somehow, some way, he had screwed up. “Bree,” he murmured, “what you said to me, back on the dance floor—”
“Forget about it.” She cut him off and drew a deep breath, her hands tightening at her sides. “It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”
But it did matter. He knew that from the way his heart seemed about to explode in his chest. But he couldn’t let himself feel this. He couldn’t...
Anger rushed through him, and he grabbed at it with both hands. Climbing the stairs, he faced her. “You can’t keep me out of our bed, Bree. Not tonight. Not ever.”
She looked at him coldly.
“Try it, then, and see what happens, Your Highness.”
Turning on her heel, she left him. And if Vladimir had had any hope that he might be able to warm her up, as he climbed naked into bed beside her ten minutes later, those hopes were soon dashed. Bree lay on the other side of the large bed, pretending to be asleep, creating a distance between them so clear that the space between them on the mattress might have been filled with rabid guard dogs and rusty barbed wire.
Their romantic, magical night hadn’t exactly gone as planned. Lying in bed, Vladimir tucked his hands behind his head and stared at the shadows on the ceiling. The reason for her coldness was all too clear. She’d said she loved him, and he hadn’t said it back.
But he couldn’t say it. He didn’t feel it. He didn’t want to feel it.
There. There it was.
He didn’t want to love her.
He’d done it once. He’d given her everything, believed in her, defied his brother and all the world for her sake. And he’d only proved himself a fool. He would never let himself feel that way again. He would never give his whole heart to anyone.
Especially not Breanna. No matter how much he admired her, or how much he cared. He wouldn’t let her have the power to crush his heart ever again.
But as a gray dawn broke over the first day of the New Year, Vladimir looked down at Breanna beside him in bed, listening to her steady, even breathing as she slept. He saw trails of dried tears on her skin.
Tomorrow was her birthday, he remembered. She would be twenty-nine years old. She’d saved herself for him for ten years. She’d been brave enough to give herself to him completely, holding nothing back.
I love you. Her words haunted him. Even when I hated you, I loved you. You have always been the only man for me. And what I need to know is—can you ever love me?
Instinctively, his hands pulled her sleeping body closer. He breathed in the vanilla-and-lavender scent of her hair.
Could he continue to use her beautiful body in bed, keeping her prisoner to his pleasure, watching as her love for him soon turned to hatred, then numb despair?
He had no choice.
Sitting up, Vladimir leaned his head against the headboard, feeling bleak.
If he couldn’t love her, he had to let her go.
* * *
Bree woke up with a gasp of panic and fear.
Seeing she was alone in bed, she fell back against the pillow with a sob. Within three days, she would have to betray someone she loved. Who would it be?
Josie?
Vladimir?
She felt sick with grief and guilt and fury. Numbly showering and getting dressed, she went down downstairs, where she spoke in terse monosyllables when Vladimir greeted her, wishing her a cheery Happy New Year. She kept her distance from the man she loved, sitting as far as possible from him at the long table as they ate the elaborate holiday breakfast prepared by the chef. She stopped all of Vladimir’s attempts at conversation and just generally made herself unpleasant. But having him close, looking into his handsome, trusting face, was like poison to her.
For some reason, he was bending over backward to try to be nice to her, which made her feel even worse. But by late afternoon, her rudeness had managed to push him to the limit. With a muttered, inaudible curse, he stomped off to work in his home office.
And Bree exhaled, her heart pounding and blood roaring through her ears.
What should she do?
She had to save her little sister. There was no question. Whatever it took to save Josie, she would do. Immediately.
Except...
Betray the man she loved? Could she really steal Vladimir’s company, his life’s work, the only thing he truly cared about—and give it to his brother?
Bree’s mind whirled back and forth in such panic that her body trembled and her knees were weak beneath the strain.
The clock was ticking.
“You have three days,” Kasimir Xendzov had told her. Less than that now. She looked at the clock. Her hands shook, desperate to take action. But what action?
She could contact the police. True, they were in Russia and Josie was...anywhere in the world. But they could contact Interpol, the American Embassy, something!
But while Bree was trawling through layers of international bureaucracy and jurisdictional red tape, Josie would be gone, never to resurface.
I can seduce her, make her fall in love with me and destroy her pitiful little heart, Prince Kasimir had said. I can force her to be my wife forever, and you will never see her again.
Bree paced across the morning room, stopping to claw her hand through her tangled hair. She felt like crying. She didn’t know what to do.
Tell Vladimir everything, her heart begged. Throw yourself on his mercy and ask for help.
Right, she thought with a lump in her throat. Since Vladimir was such a merciful man.
But still, three times that afternoon, she went down the hallway of the palace to the door of his study. Three times she raised her hand to knock, wanting to confess everything. But each time, something stopped her.
His own words.
She is twenty-two years old, he’d said harshly. She must learn to make her own choices, and live with them.
And each time, Bree put her hand
down without knocking. What if Vladimir said Josie had brought this on herself, by seeking Kasimir’s help?
If Bree told him everything, and he refused to help her, she would lose her chance to get him to sign Kasimir’s document. And all hope for Josie would be gone. Her baby sister would be left terrified and alone, somewhere in the Sahara. Bree would never see her again.
Vladimir doesn’t even love you, a voice argued.
But I love him. She swallowed. He deserves my loyalty.
And what about your little sister, whom you’ve always protected? What does she deserve?
Bree covered her face with her hands. She was stuck, frozen, equally unable to betray either of them. And time was running out.
If only fate could make the decision for her...
“Breanna.” She jumped when she heard Vladimir’s voice behind her. “I’m sorry if I’ve neglected you today.” He put his arms around her, nuzzling her neck. His voice was humble, as if he thought he was to blame for their estrangement. “I should work tonight. Paperwork for the new merger has piled up, and it all needs my signature by tomorrow.”
Twisting her head, Bree looked back at him, her heart breaking. He’d just told her exactly how to get Kasimir’s document signed. Was it fate?
“But let it wait until tomorrow.” Smiling down at her, he kissed the top of her head. “Shall we have dinner?”
But by the end of the night, Vladimir’s smile had turned to bewilderment. They slept in the same bed, a million miles apart. When Bree woke up alone the next morning, January 2, she realized two things.
Today was her birthday. She was twenty-nine years old.
And the whole meaning of her life came down to this one choice. Which of the people she loved would she betray?
Sitting up in bed, she looked at the gilded clock over the marble fireplace. Over half the time since Kasimir’s ultimatum was gone, and she’d done nothing. She’d neither tried to trick Vladimir into signing the dreadful contract, nor confessed the truth and begged him for help. For the past day and a half, since midnight on New Year’s Eve, she’d always felt one breath away from crying. So she’d pushed him away, to keep him from seeing into her soul. In response to Vladimir’s innocent question yesterday, asking what she wanted for her birthday, she had answered so rudely that she blushed to remember it now.
She couldn’t tell him what she really wanted for her birthday.
Freedom from this terrible choice.
Bree’s knees trembled as she slowly climbed out of bed and fell blearily into the shower. She got dressed in a black button-down shirt and dark jeans. She combed out her long, wet hair. She pulled it back in a severe ponytail.
Cold, she told herself as she slowly pulled on her black stiletto boots. My heart is cold. I am an iceberg. I feel nothing.
Tucking the document Kasimir had given her beneath her black shirt, she went down the wide, sweeping stairs in Vladimir’s
eighteenth-century palace, as if she were going to her death.
After so many gray, snowy days, brilliant sunshine was pouring in through the tall windows, leaving patterns of golden light on the marble floor. She’d been happy here, she realized. In spite of everything. She’d loved him.
Looking back now, Bree saw it had been enough. They’d been happy. Why hadn’t she appreciated that happiness? Why had she fretted, worried, groused about Vladimir’s one major flaw—that he didn’t want her to ever leave him? What kind of stupid flaw was that? Why hadn’t she just fallen to her knees in gratitude for all the blessings she’d had—so unappreciated then, and now so swiftly gone?
Creeping softly to the open door of his study, she peeked inside. Empty. Holding her breath, keeping her mind absolutely blank, she swiftly walked inside and stuck the page in the middle of the pile of papers she’d seen him working through yesterday. She would distract him today, and if luck was on her side, he would sign it without reading it. She felt confident he wouldn’t suspect her.
He trusted her now.
As Bree left the study on shaking legs, she hated herself with every beat of her heart.
Perhaps having his company stolen wouldn’t hurt him too badly, she tried to tell herself. Hadn’t Vladimir insinuated that it had become a burden? “Money is just a way to keep score,” he’d said. Perhaps he would someday understand, and forgive her.
But even now, Bree knew she was lying to herself. Even if he was able to accept losing Xendzov Mining—even if he started over and built a successful new company, as Kasimir had—she was making herself his enemy for the rest of his life. The fact that she’d done it to once again save her sister would not gain her any points, either. He would despise her. Forever. Everything between them, every good memory, would be lost.
Bree walked heavily down the gilded hall, past the arched windows. She heard the sharp tap of her stiletto boots against the marble floor. Brilliant January sunlight reflected off the white snow and sparkling Gulf of Finland. She looked out the windows, and saw sun as warm as his touch. Sky as blue as his eyes.
Suddenly even walking felt like too much of an effort. She stopped, staring at the floor, her heart in her throat.
“Breanna. You’re awake.”
Blinking fast, she looked up. Vladimir was coming down the hall toward her, looking impossibly handsome in a white button-down shirt and black slacks. An ache filled her throat as she looked into the perfect face of the only man she’d ever loved. The man she was about to lose forever.
“I have something for you. A birthday present.”
Her voice was hoarse. “You shouldn’t have.”
He gave her a crooked grin. “You can’t already hate it. You don’t even know what it is yet.”
The warmth of Vladimir’s grin lit up his whole face, making his soul shine through his eyes, making him look like the boy she’d known. Like everything she’d ever wanted.
Swallowing, she looked down at her stiletto boots. “I’m just not in much of a party mood.”
He took her hand. She felt his palm against hers, felt his fingers brush against her own as he pulled her gently down the hall. “Come see.”
He led her into a high-ceilinged room centered around a glossy black grand piano. The conservatory had a wall of windows overlooking the sea. Antique Louis XIV chairs flanked the marble fireplace, and expensive paintings covered the walls, along with shelves of first-edition books.
“I know you said you didn’t want a fur coat,” Vladimir said. “But if you’re going to live in St. Petersburg, you need some Russian fur to keep you warm....”
Bree saw a lumpy white fur stole on the pale blue couch beside the window. With an intake of breath, she cried, “Vladimir, I told you—”
He gave her a crooked half grin. “Just go look.”
Hesitantly, Bree walked toward the blue couch. She got closer, and the lump of white fur suddenly moved, causing her to jump back with a surprised little squeak. From the pile of fur, a shaggy white head lifted.
She saw black eyes, a pink tongue and a wagging tail. Vladimir lifted the puppy into her arms.
“She’s an Ovcharka. A Russian sheepdog.” Lowering his head, he kissed her softly. “Happy birthday, Breanna.”
With a little bark, the white puppy wiggled her tiny furry body with joy, warm and soft in Bree’s arms. Cuddling the dog close, she looked up at Vladimir’s smiling face, and felt a bullet pierce her throat.
She burst into tears.
“Bree, what is it?” He bent over her, his handsome face astonished and worried. “You seemed sad about the dog you’d lost long ago, so I thought... But I see I’ve made a mistake.” He clawed back his dark hair. “It was a stupid idea.”
“No,” she choked out. She tried to wipe her tears off her cheek with her shoulder. “It was a wonderful idea,” she whispered. “The best in the world.”<
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“Then why are you crying?” he said, bewildered.
Trying to choke back her tears, she buried her face in the dog’s soft, warm fur. “Because I love her.” Looking up, she whispered, with her heart in her throat, “And I love you.”
He grinned, clearly relieved. “What will you name her?”
Heartbreak. She stared at him for a long moment, then looked at the windows. “Snowy.”
“Snowy, huh? Did you put a lot of thought into that?” But the teasing grin slid from his face when she gave him no answering smile. He cleared his throat. “Well, I have one more surprise for you. But you’ll have to wait until dinner to get it.”
As the day wore on, Bree’s heart broke a little more with each hour. They played with the puppy, then had a delicious late lunch with champagne. Afterward, the palace staff rolled in a giant, lilac-frosted cake on a cart.
“Chocolate cake,” Vladimir said happily. “With lavender frosting.”
“Is this my big surprise?” she asked, dreading further kindness.
“No. And don’t ask me about it. You won’t get it out of me. Even if you use your feminine wiles.”
He said it as if he were rather hoping she would try. It had been two nights since they’d made love. It felt like a lifetime. The heat in his eyes made her cheeks go hot, along with the rest of her body. Trembling, she pretended not to notice.
The servants sang Happy Birthday to her in cheerful, slightly off-key English, led by Vladimir’s low, smooth baritone. He lit the two wax candles on the cake—one shaped like a 2, the other a 9.
He nudged her with his shoulder. “Make a wish.”
Leaning toward the flickering candles, Bree closed her eyes, wondering what she’d done to deserve this fresh hell. And knowing it wasn’t what she’d done, but what she was about to do.
She took a deep breath, her wish a silent prayer: I wish I didn’t have to hurt you.
She blew out the candles, and everyone applauded.
As the staff departed, after giving Bree their well wishes in a mixture of English and Russian, Vladimir took her in his arms.
“Do you want to know about your other gift?” he said softly.
