by Kresley Cole
“I’ve been making arrangements.” Pulling together a prenup? He sat beside me. “You’ve probably dreamed of a certain kind of wedding, not a courthouse ceremony, but we will host a celebration for our families once we’ve settled in.”
“Settled in?” Oh, fuck me. He was planning to take me to the motherland! “In Russia?”
“No, in California. We have an estate on the northern coast.”
We have. Wait, California? Oh, come on! My dream location. Lady Luck seemed to be smiling down on me.
He tucked a curl behind my ear. “I would never expect you to live far from your family. The flight there is only a little over an hour by jet.”
“Just hold on a second. I need to talk to you about all this—”
“Here.” He pulled a ring box from his jacket pocket and handed it to me. “Perhaps this will make up for the abruptness of everything.”
The weight sent a tremor through me. “This ring box is heavy,” I said, secretly narrating. I opened the lid and sucked in a breath.
Monster rock . . . jackpot . . . don’t scream, don’t scream!
“Dmitri, it’s unreal. This marquise diamond must be . . . fifteen carats.” The band was platinum, my favorite! “How did you get a ring like this so quickly?” That was where he’d been!
“I have ways. Do you like it? We can get you another—”
“NO.” Monster rock MINE.
“I’m pleased you approve. I also sent one of my men to collect your bag and lock up your apartment. The car remains. Perhaps your family would like to use it? I will get you another one.” Another? He took my hand and stood. “Come, they’re ready.”
So soon? “Where’s the paperwork? Surely a prenup will take some time.”
He frowned. “We have no need of that.”
“Pardon?”
“I intend to make you happy in our marriage. What’s mine will become yours, and you will never make me regret trusting you with all that I have.”
My brain exploded. I could make five hundred million dollars in the next ten minutes. If I were an awful person.
But the threat to my family . . .
I wished I could just nibble enough to save my parents; why did Dmitri have to force me into this major commitment?
Think, think! What would my sister do? Karin would be on her honeymoon by now. “Your brothers and everyone will think I’m a gold digger.” They would make him get this annulled. He’d plead insanity or something.
“My family wants us to be happily married.” Dmitri looked so trusting, and I was so . . . rotten.
“Don’t you want them to be here?”
“At present, I have some matters to resolve with them. It’s not important. What’s important is you. What does your instinct tell you?”
No prenup? “That you’re too good to be true, big guy.” All my life I’d wondered how people could be so stupid as to get grifted. If something seems too good to be true, it motherfucking is, idiots.
“I’m not,” he said. “There are things . . . issues I need you to face with me. We will prevail; we will be happy.”
Issues? How vague. But could they possibly be worse than the cartel’s threat of a burning tire?
“And when I make you my wife, you will be looked after no matter what might happen to me.”
Happen to him? Freaked out, I cried, “Are you dying?”
His tone was almost amused when he said, “No, moy ángel. But I want you to be a Sevastyan. It will make everything easier.”
Victoria Sevastyan. Get the hell out! “This move would put us both firmly in the crazy camp. I don’t know anything about you.”
“I was born to make you happy. To protect you. Marry me, and I will free you. I will give you the entire goddamned world.”
Free me? “You don’t know anything about me either!”
“Do I not? I have identified the most beautiful, intelligent, talented female I will ever meet. Added to that, she is a wanton who makes my body burn.” My cheeks flushed; my family was hearing this. “I will never find her equal. Why would I not want to secure her for my own?”
He sounded so logical. Where was the knee-jerk angst of before?
Dmitri cupped my face. “You said when you look at me a spell comes over you. Let it. Because I feel the same way when I look at you, and I’ve given myself up to it. Just surrender.”
My eyes pricked with tears. Real ones. I blurted out, “I don’t love you.” I could imagine my family gazing heavenward. Silly little Vice, gumming up the works.
Dmitri canted his head, trying to read my expression. “Could you?”
As I considered his question, moments and impressions played in my mind. . . .
His teasing tone as I’d ogled his ass. The way I fit on his lap. My protectiveness toward him. The connection I felt when he drew my forehead to his. How he’d beheld my body as if it were a gift he’d treasure forever. His touch. His kiss.
I told him the truth: “Yes. I could.”
He offered me his hand. Cuts remained across his palms from his nails. Because he’d fought to hold out last night. To keep his promise to me.
How could I not take that hand?
His eyes lightened to gold. “You’re going to be my wife, aren’t you?” His lips curled. His first half-smile.
My heart thudded. And. I. Was. Done.
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In front of the justice of the peace, I fidgeted.
The ring was like a brand around my finger. The fit was perfect, but I kept banging my cheekbone every time I tucked my hair behind my ear—a nervous tell I’d trained myself out of when little.
Of course, I had no ring for Dmitri, since I hadn’t had the time or the money to buy one. But standing here empty-handed still felt weird.
Since I’d met him, my life had been like quicksand; the more I tried to right myself—to do right by my family and by Dmitri—the deeper I sank with him. As if fate wouldn’t have it any other way.
What were his issues? What would he do when I asked for a divorce?
A traitorous thought arose. What if I . . . didn’t?
Sounding so proud to be marrying me, Dmitri had already said, “I do,” in a deep, resounding voice.
I was really about to get hitched. Not really really. But it seemed genuine.
My turn. I met his eyes. As Dmitri had asked of me, I let the spell take over. As if from a million miles away, I heard myself murmur, “I do.”
When the man said, “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” my lips parted on a pent-up breath.
I could see a new emotion in Dmitri’s gaze, and it frightened me more than any red flag.
Burning in his eyes was . . . hope.
CHAPTER 21
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“The property begins here,” Dmitri told me as the limo from the private airport turned onto a winding drive.
Gigantic sequoias flanked the way. Their shade was damp and green, so different from Vegas.
At every second on the plane ride here, I’d expected him to regret his rash behavior. Instead I’d detected relief. He’d proudly introduced me—to the pilot, the flight attendant, and his bodyguards—as his wife, Victoria Sevastyan. When he’d taken a brief call from Aleks, Dmitri had said my name a few times in their conversation, his gaze falling on me, satisfaction brimming in his eyes.
When I’d told him his jet was badass, he’d corrected me: “Our jet.” Then he’d suggested I contact my family and update them while he made a couple of business calls.
To manage his empire? I could be a supportive fake wife. “Of course. Take your time.”
I’d furtively snapped a pic of the ring to text, then dialed our conference line, keeping my end of the conversation as bland as possible. Pandemonium had reigned in the immediate family, everyone talking over each other. I kept picturing the Muppets overtu
rning the Muppet Theater.
Dad, Al, and Gram wanted me to keep my new husband and be a happy billionairess girl. As Dad had said, “Sevastyan’s mad for you, and we’ll work out something on our end. We always do.”
Mom, Pete, and Karin wanted me to “lose” the ring, smuggling it to them. After all, Dmitri would have it insured, and the take would be plenty to pay off the cartel for good.
Al had estimated its worth at . . . eight million.
Once the debt was squared, they suggested reconvening on this whole “marriage to a gull” problem. Because grifting wasn’t just a job; it was a way of life.
Benji casually mentioned that a nine-figure divorce settlement wouldn’t go amiss.
I’d never leave my family to the wolves. Two options remained. . . .
Now I glanced at my husband, sitting beside me in the limo.
He held himself very still, staring at me, taking in my reactions. How could he possibly read me when I didn’t even understand what I was feeling? I knew only one thing for certain: Dmitri Sevastyan’s generosity and trust had floored me.
Before I’d hung up earlier, Gram had asked, “Did you tell him the truth when you said you could love him?”
My face had burned to recall some of the other things Dmitri had told me just prior to that question (cough, wanton, cough). But again, I’d admitted the truth: “Yes.”
What if I lose the ring and gain a husband? Then I wouldn’t be such a bad person.
Maybe he needed me to defend him and his ridiculous wealth—from people like me. I could identify and ward off cons. I could protect him.
But keeping him would mean distancing myself from my past—and my family, to an extent. Rich people and con artists . . . cats and dogs.
Barely able to look him in the eye, I turned and surveyed the forest.
“I think you will like our new home,” he said, “but if you don’t, we will buy more houses until you feel at home.”
The second man today to call his house my home.
Had Dmitri’s fight with Brett been only hours ago? My ex would hear that my wedding had taken place; everyone would. I didn’t want to hurt Brett needlessly, but this news would force him to finally move on.
“You have been quiet since we left the courthouse,” Dmitri said. “And you hardly ate lunch.” A four-course affair with silver and china, served at thirty thousand feet. “Again, I struggle to read you. Just don’t . . . don’t regret this, Vika.”
I turned to him, my nerves getting the better of me. “You are going to regret it! You’re going to wake up and realize what you’ve done.” Again I told him, “You don’t know anything about me.”
He parted his lips to say something, then clearly rethought it. “I know enough.”
“Would you really have told me good-bye today?”
“Never,” he said like a promise.
I narrowed my eyes. “Then you lied.”
“Did I?”
Say yes or say good-bye. Tricksy Russian!
“Perhaps I manipulated you into this”—oh, not quite, Dmitri—“but I will never lie to you.”
My family had maneuvered him, plotting in the background, using Brett in the service of our biggest con.
Dmitri reached for his briefcase on the opposite seat. “I had my lawyers draw up a contract for you.” He pulled a folder out. “Here. I printed it before we landed.” Our jet had an office. Natch. “Read this, and sign it.”
Ah, the dreaded postnup. With all that talk about trust and spells and potentially love, I’d found myself getting caught up in the fairy-tale-esque nature of our courtship. Now reality reared its head.
Because fairy tales didn’t exist.
Though I would probably be divorced soon, I felt a twinge of disappointment in him. I opened the folder, finding only a couple of pages. One was the postnup, the second an identical copy. Both had been signed by Dmitri in a bold, sharp scrawl.
I read it, my bemusement deepening. “This . . . this says once the marriage is consummated, I get half of everything in the case of a divorce. Pretty much no questions asked.”
“I want you to feel comfortable about the international ramifications of this marriage. That contract will be filed in both the United States and Russia.”
Talk about trust. Or else craziness. “Are you dicking with me?” I would take a picture of the page and text it at the earliest.
“No. I am not.”
Only one thing about the wording pinged my suspicion radar. “Is a consummation clause standard in Russian marriage contracts?” To work my con, I’d have to sleep with him. It fully sank in that Dmitri Sevastyan and I would be having sex. Soon.
“Is that objectionable?”
“No, of course not.”
“If you will . . .” He gave me a pen.
I flattened my left hand on the page to sign, but my ring glared at me accusingly. Damn it! I faced Dmitri. “Look, why don’t we take care of business stuff tomorrow when you’ve had a chance to mull everything over?” asked the grifter who was one signature away from five hundred million dollars.
I was having a crisis of identity! All because of this man. His craziness was catching!
“Nyet. I need you to sign this now. I told you I dislike uncertainty. Do me this service.”
As in, do him a favor? He looked unbending.
Think of Mom and Dad, I repeated to myself. I signed my name to both copies and kept my own. Just because I could bilk Dmitri for half a billion didn’t mean I would. Right? I only need a nibble. “Speaking of uncertainty, will you tell me what you meant by issues?”
I got the sense he regretted mentioning that. “We have all the time in the world to discuss such things. For now, let’s enjoy our wedding day.”
As a grifter, I should let the subject drop right there. Nothing should be allowed to get in the way of our wedding day—and night—enjoyment. Consummation equaled payout.
But as a woman utterly fascinated with this man, I said, “If you’d like to talk, I’m right here.”
He wasn’t budging. “I will keep that in mind.”
I glanced out the window. We were still on the driveway? A brook flowed alongside the drive. Squirrels played on the lichen-covered logs, twitching their tails between rays of afternoon sunlight. Magical.
Any minute now I would wake up in my depressing apartment and realize this had all been a dream. Surreal did not begin to describe my day. And it was far from over. “How long have you lived here?” I asked him.
“I never have. I bought it with the idea that one day I might have a wife and children. The property’s size lends it privacy.”
“Lemme guess, you bought this place about a year ago?” I asked, angling to find out about his near-death experience.
He didn’t bite. “Approximately.”
“How big is the property?”
“Thousands of acres. And miles of frontage.”
I raised my brows. “Miles of the Cali coast? That must have been expensive.”
“I hope you will find it worth the price.” He motioned toward the window.
The drive widened, opening up to a breathtaking scene.
Fields of windswept wildflowers. Sun-dappled water. A mansion perched on an oceanfront cliff.
The spectacular structure was modern with glass everywhere. Glass doors, soaring windows, even some transparent walls.
My jaw dropped. “It . . . this place . . . I . . . seriously?”
“Vika, your reaction is even better than I had imagined. And I imagined it countless times.”
I could barely wait for the car to stop. I scrambled out to see better, Dmitri right behind me.
I followed that stream all the way to the front entrance. To reach the door, we crossed square stepping-stones over the water. “How cool is that!”
We entered, and I about fell over. The stream meandered under the house. I knew this because a winding swath of the floor was glass. “Holy shit.”
The open layout
meant the Pacific was already visible. French doors allowed in a sea breeze and the muted sound of waves. A large pool and a hot tub dominated the terrace out front.
Between breezes, food scents hit me. I followed them to a dazzling modern kitchen.
Two men were finishing up what looked like a banquet for a hundred people. Dmitri explained they were our chef and his assistant.
Our chef. Of course. Why the hell not? The two men spoke to Dmitri in French. He translated: “The refrigerators and larders will be stocked for days.”
“Oh. Um, that’s great.” I thanked them, then resumed my exploration. I started toward the water, but a stairway came into view. The contemporary steps were unconnected, appearing to float in the air.
I headed up, with Dmitri unobtrusively shadowing me. I appreciated that he was letting me take everything in at my own pace.
From the landing, I entered a glass-walled gallery, my heels clicking over the polished hardwood floor. I crossed the threshold of what had to be the master bedroom suite. We passed a dressing room. A middle-aged housekeeper was already unpacking my things.
The smiling woman finished up, speaking to us in Russian.
Dmitri replied in the same, but I heard my new name in there. To me, he said, “This is Galina. She speaks little English. But you’ll be picking up Russian soon enough.”
Mouth gone dry, I said, “Sure thing.” I eked out a smile for the woman as she left. Then I continued inside.
In keeping with the modern design, the master bedroom had built-ins and sleek cabinets, but minimal furniture. A handwoven rug that screamed of money broke up the stretch of wood flooring. An abstract canvas made a focal point above the fireplace mantel.
And then there was the huge platform bed. We’d have sex there tonight. Whoa.
Opened french doors led to a balcony. As if in a trance, I made my way to the glass rail.
Seagulls hovered on air currents not thirty feet away. Below us, the pool’s surface shimmered in the late afternoon sun. A manicured walkway connected the terrace to a cove with a sandy beach.
And beyond: the water.
An endless sapphire expanse.
I murmured, “Dmitri, I’ve never seen so far.” I’d once bought a bolt of cloth in “Pacific blue,” but I hadn’t comprehended the color.
