by Jasmin Quinn
Then Rusya again, at her side, taking her elbow. “We need a moment,” he said to his parents, then led her out of the room, down a hall, stepped into his father’s study and closed the door. “Are you okay?” he asked, genuine concern in his voice.
The fogginess that had infused her during the ceremony was dissipating. She could look into his face now without her knees threatening to give out. Maybe acceptance was settling in because it was too late to change things. And his concern, was she okay? So many things she wanted to say to him. Okay? Fuck no! Married to the scariest man she knew. Forced to. Now it was different. Before he knew the truth about her, she thought he might kill her. But now, now she was sure he would. She kept the thoughts inside as she nodded. “I’m okay.”
He touched her face, cupped her cheek with the warm palm of his hand and she thought he was going to kiss her, but then he released her. “Let’s make the best of this for my mother. She’s been good to you.”
Fuck you too, you arrogant asshole. “Yes. She has.” She was almost grateful for his words, a bucket of cold water, bringing her back. Back to being Esma.
They rejoined the guests, milling, everyone with drinks in their hands, Olga handing Esma off a champagne glass with sparkling water and a napkin with some canapes. Toasts were made, speeches. Clinking of glasses and Rusya and Esma would take a small kiss. A lot of laughter, chatter. Food. It was a blur, Rusya pulled away by some men, and she, finding a chair to sit in. Alone, watching from the sidelines until her mother-in-law swooped in with a woman, Olga’s age, maybe older.
“Esma, this is Raisa, Yuri’s sister, Rusya’s aunt.”
Esma offered her hand. “Hello.” Raisa responded with a slight upturning of her lips as she took the hand and gave it a squeeze. Rusya’s aunt was thin, bent, deeply-etched lines on her face betraying a difficult life though the beauty she’d been in her youth leaked through in her small smile. Esma saw Yuri and Rusya in the way she held her eyes, but other than that, little resemblance.
“Can I sit the two of you together for a few moments? You can chat with each other.” She shoved Raisa in the chair next to Esma’s without waiting for a response from either and then disappeared.
Raisa turned to Esma. “You’re a beautiful bride. Rusya is happy.”
Esma searched out Rusya, found him talking with two men, both Yuri’s age, his face inscrutable. “How can you tell?”
Raisa followed the line of sight and shrugged. “It’s time for him to remarry. He’s hung onto what happened to Irina long enough.”
Esma cocked her head, shifted in her chair so she was facing Raisa more directly. Maybe Raisa would help her understand Rusya better. “What exactly did happen to Irina?”
Raisa’s eyes widened a fraction. “You don’t know?”
“Not really.” A little lie.
“She was killed by Lev. I don’t know why he did that. Another fight with Yuri because of me, I guess.” She shrugged.
A new name. “Who’s Lev?”
“My… he was… my son’s father. Dimi’s father. Rusya killed Lev, you know.”
Esma head was spinning. “Rusya killed his uncle?”
Raisa shook her head. “No, we were never allowed to marry.” Her eyes took on a far-away look, lost their focus. “You’re lucky Yuri is letting you marry Rusya. You’re lucky he didn’t send you away.”
Chills slid up Esma’s spine as her eyes searched for Rusya. He was now talking to his father and another man, very old, in his 80s at least. “Who’s that old man talking to Rusya and Yuri?”
Raisa looked like she’d swallowed a shot of tequila as her eyes landed on the three men. “My father. That bastard will never die.”
Welcome to the family, Esma. She settled back in her chair, wishing this night over. Wishing she could disappear. Hide somewhere. Raisa stood, her movements ungainly, lacking grace. She lurched towards the three men as Esma watched. Three generations. The men, Raisa’s father, her brother and her nephew, their attention turned toward her, watching her approach. But before she reached them, Olga intercepted, stopping Raisa with a hand to her arm, some words in her ear. Raisa frowned, shook her head at Olga, but didn’t resist when Olga turned her from the men, steered her to a pretty young girl who was talking with a couple of women. They were standing close to Esma, enough that she could hear the conversation between the girl and Olga.
“Take her home, Aleksandra. She’s going to cause a problem.” Olga moved further from the women, and Aleksandra followed. Closer to Esma now. “I don’t want her ruining Rusya’s wedding. Or drawing Kostya’s anger.”
Aleksandra nodded and turned to the frail woman who seemed no longer concerned with the three generations of Savisin men. “Yes. It’s time to go, Raisa. Past your time for medication.” Raisa accepted the kiss on her cheek from Olga and allowed herself to be led out of the room by Aleksandra.
Esma watched as the women retreated, then glanced back to the three men. Her husband, her father-in-law and the elder Savisin. She wondered what would happen if she decided to approach the three men. Would Olga swoop in and take her away too? But Aleksandra was gone, so who would Olga enlist to look after Esma. Esma decided to test the theory. She was married now. Perhaps reluctantly, but in the moment, there was nothing she could do about it and her brain seemed to accept that. She stood, let a small wave of dizziness pass, then made her way over to the men. When she reached them, she linked her arm into Rusya’s, to his surprise.
“Hello,” she said to the senior Savisin. “I understand that you are Rusya’s grandfather.” She held her hand out to him. “I’m Esma.”
Rusya’s hand circled her forearm, banded tightly, a warning not to play games. Three Savisin men, all bratva leaders. But the senior still alive, did he carry the most power? It seemed that Rusya had more power than Yuri, but how could she be sure of anything.
The old man offered a little bow as he took her hand with a surprisingly strong grip for his seeming frailness. “I am Konstantin Nikitich, but since you are family now, you should call me Kostya.”
She smiled. “I’ve also had the pleasure of meeting your daughter, Raisa. She’s lovely.”
Rusya’s grip turned steel. Don’t fuck around with the old man. Kostya said, “Ah, Raisa. My disappointment, but she’s good now, hey?” He looked around the room as if looking for her. “Did she leave?”
It was a game, because he knew she had. They had all seen the exchanges between Olga and Raisa’s caretaker, but Esma played by the rules. “Yes. She was tired so her companion took her home.”
The silence lingered then until Esma patted Rusya’s arm, looked into his face. “I’m tired. Would it be rude of me to go lay down for an hour?”
“No. I’ll walk you up.”
She shook her head. She did not want Rusya to walk her up. “I’m okay. Will you send someone to wake me for dinner if I don’t come down?”
“Yes, of course.”
She leaned up on her toes and kissed his cheek. He didn’t like that she was fucking around with him and she felt the bite of his fingers on her arm before he let her go. Too bad for him, she thought as she made her way to her bedroom, an empty room now, her few belongings in Rusya’s, and lay down on the bed. She needed a little peace and quiet. She wanted not to be here anymore. She wanted to go home. As she settled, she mulled over that word. Home. So long since she’d had one. So long. She slipped off Olga’s earrings and put them on the night table, then closed her eyes.
Chapter 61
Rusya panicked when he opened the door to his bedroom and Esma wasn’t in it, but he pulled it together quickly, walked down the hall and opened the door to what had been her bedroom before today. She was there, curled up on the bed, deeply asleep. He stood a moment at the foot of the bed and drank her in. She was beautiful. Always beautiful, but when she walked to him in that dress this afternoon, it made him emotional. He saw her trembling uncontrollably and she couldn’t look at him. He wanted to hug her to him, promise that everything
would be okay.
He didn’t know if he could make that promise.
And now, asleep. Soft breaths, hands tucked under her face. An angel until she opened her mouth. He allowed a small grin at the thought. Sometimes an angel when she was awake. It was time for the dinner meal and with the exception of his grandfather all of the guests had left. A late dinner with Kostya and then he and Esma could go to bed.
His eyes touched her. He missed her, wanted her and he intended to have her. He wondered if she understood that. She was his wife now. He wanted no other, intended to have no other. His memories of them together stoked his lust and he wished that this day was done so they could be alone with no expectations from his family. He approached her, sat on the edge of the bed next to her, and drew his hand down her arm.
She opened her eyes, confused for a moment, then focused on Rusya. “I slept.”
“Looks like. Dinner will be served in a half-hour. Time to come for a drink.”
She nodded, struggled to sit up in the dress. Struggled to do so without coming in contact with Rusya. It irritated him that earlier she’d linked arms with him, kissed his cheek and now she was being coy. She was usually forthright in her words and her actions, but for some reason, this afternoon, she thought it wise to toy with Kostya. Rusya was not afraid of his grandfather, but at the same time, Kostya was a powerful man. Even at his age, he was formidable.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” she mumbled avoiding his eyes. “You go ahead, I’ll be right down.”
Rusya nodded. Stood and walked to the door and stopped. “Esma, your room is down the hall now, with me. In future, use it.”
He watched as she narrowed her eyes, but she bit back whatever response was forming on her lips. He wondered why. She wasn’t usually so diplomatic. He left the room but didn’t leave the hall, instead he leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets and waited. Five minutes later, she opened the door, startled when she saw him, then stepped out of the room. Stepped up to him. “Ready.”
She walked beside him down the stairs, her head not quite reaching his shoulder. He placed his hand on the small of her back, ushered her towards the living room. Olga looked up, clapped joyously as she rushed to Esma’s side and gave her a hug. Esma hugged her back, untangled herself and took Olga’s hand. “The earrings,” she said as she tried to bend Olga’s fingers around them.
“No, Esma.” Olga pushed the earrings back, a frown creasing her face. “They’re yours now. My wedding gift to you. You’re part of the family.”
Esma stepped back, had no where to go as she bumped into Rusya. “I can’t.” Her voice broke.
Rusya took the earrings from his mother and put them in his pocket. “Thank you, mom.”
Olga’s smile was plastered back in place. “Let’s have dinner, okay? Then you two can be alone.”
Rusya led Esma to where Yuri and Kostya were standing, drinks in hand. Olga hurried to the bar busying herself, bringing a shot of vodka to Rusya and sparkling water to Esma. They murmured their thanks and once Olga was back in the living room with her wine in hand, Kostya raised a glass. “To the newlyweds, and Rusya, to you for keeping the Savisin lineage alive.”
Rusya smiled at his grandfather. The old bastard was worse than his father. Esma need only carry the baby, birth it and raise it. But Rusya would get the credit. It’s the way it was. He raised his glass and took a sip of his drink as he seated Esma on the couch beside his mother and then hemmed her in from the other side.
“When’s the baby due?” Kostya asked Esma.
Rusya watched as Esma struggled for an answer. Tired, he guessed, maybe unwell, overwhelmed. She was usually sharp, sharper than most. He answered for her. “Seven months, we think. We won’t know for sure until we’re back in Vancouver.”
“You have a good doctor for Esma?” This from Olga who had her hand wrapped around Esma’s fingers.
Rusya sighed to himself. This was going to be a trying evening. His mother was smothering Esma and Esma was trying her best to keep from falling apart. “I have a good doctor, yes. He’ll look after Esma well.”
“He better.” Now Yuri entered the fray. “Your wife needs good medical care.”
Esma stiffened beside Rusya at the reference to wife or maybe it was because it was Yuri speaking, but either way, Rusya felt unaccountably emotional. His wife, his to have, his to hold, his to keep. He dropped his head to his vodka to hide his elation, his feelings. Then when he thought himself in control enough, he said, “We should eat. My wife hasn’t had enough food today.” He grinned at Yuri, widely. His happiness gathered up inside him and for a moment he felt the best of his life. But only for a moment, because his bride was not happy and he would have to find a way to change that.
Dinner was more of the same, the focus on Esma and the baby. Five courses and by the time Rusya was done eating, he was stuffed. It had been too many days since he’d worked out and his appetite was waning. He would be happy to be back in Vancouver, back to a routine. Maybe. With Esma there as his wife, his world would be chaos for a while. His mind flitted to Janice. She would smooth it out for him – he decided to call her in the morning, so she understood all the problems he was bringing back with him. Then he stopped himself – were they problems?
Some coffee and then Kostya said his goodnights. Rusya was relieved that Esma had been quiet, not talkative. Kostya was a hard man and even if she was his granddaughter-in-law, even if she was pregnant, he’d think nothing of striking her if he didn’t like what she said. And then Rusya would have to kill him and he did not want to kill the old man. He was almost already dead.
As Kostya made his way to the car with Yuri’s help, Rusya turned to Olga. “Thank you for everything you’ve done, Mom. It made this a good day. Esma’s tired though and I think we should go upstairs.”
Olga tucked a loose curl of hair behind Esma’s ear. “You are tired.”
“I am,” Esma said, but then leaned into Olga, kissed her cheek. “Rusya is right. You made this a good day. Thank you.”
It made Olga beam and Rusya was glad for that. “We’re leaving tomorrow, going home. The flight’s mid-morning, so there won’t be much time to say our good byes.”
Yuri had returned by then, closing the front door on the chill of the winter. “Would be nice if you could stay, but we understand. You have business to get back to.”
Rusya nodded. Yes, business and home. “See you both in the morning.” He took Esma’s hand and led her upstairs to his room. She said nothing, not a word as she walked into the room and kicked off her shoes, kicked them across the room and into a corner. Not like a soft eager bride, but Esma-style, a casual habit. Thank god he had a house full of staff who would pick up behind her.
He loosened his tie and stripped it off along with his jacket as he watched her. “Do you want to shower?”
Esma’s eyes raked his chest as he shrugged out of his shirt. He slipped out of his shoes as he watched her watching him. As he reached for the buckle on his belt, she said, “No. I want to go to bed.”
Rusya cracked a small grin as he sat on the bed and pulled off his socks. “We will.”
“No.” She stood out of his reach. “I did what you wanted, Rusya. Married you so the baby wouldn’t be a bastard. I’ll put up appearances if that’s what you want. But that’s where it stops. I won’t sleep with you. We won’t fuck.”
Rusya didn’t feel anger, not really. He knew this was coming, knew that this wouldn’t be so easy. Had been waiting all day for her to take a stand. He’d actually thought it be sooner and was grateful she had a modicum of judgement not to fly off the handle in the presence of his grandfather. He stood, turned towards her and gazed into her defiant eyes, until she dropped her gaze. He was going to have her tonight. It was their wedding night.
Chapter 62
Esma was shaking inside but holding it there so he couldn’t see how unsettled she was. Today, she’d been forced to marry the deadliest man she knew. She’d witnessed three gener
ations of Savisins in the same room, all arrogant, all savage, all unyielding. And now, this man, her husband, wanted his wedding night. She’d been good today, said her vows, kissed him when needed. Gracious to his friends and family. Everything for him and she hadn’t once said a word or did a thing that would offend or embarrass.
That was her wedding gift to him.
But if she gave into this, she’d lose her will. It was the last thing she had that she could hold on to. When she was young in Turkey, newly married, her husband pressed himself on her and she never once said no. She didn’t know then that she could or should. She was a wife, it’s what wives did. But she was no longer a young bride in Turkey. She was a woman, almost 30 with a history that no one in the world would want. A history that brought her to this day, standing in front of a leader of the bratva, who had hard expectations of her. Who wanted, demanded, but had no give. And she let him have it, everything, but she had to keep something for herself. She couldn’t give this last thing up or she’d having nothing left of her own. If he wanted this, he would have to take it from her.
“Take the dress off, Esma.” He was standing now, staring into her face, his eyes black like the devil’s and unforgiving. Already she was weakening, her longing taunting her as he approached, no shirt, his hard chest, corded muscles. She kept her hands fisted at her sides. He wanted the fucking dress off, he was going to have to tear it off her.
When he reached her, he turned her, held her arm as he released the buttons, deftly, one by one. The cool air touched her back and woke her up. She tried to step away, tried to turn to face him, but he pulled her to him, threaded his fingers through her hair, and held her head against his chest. She resisted and he tugged on it, hard enough to make her squeak.
