by Sienna Blake
Alena starts, blinking at me a few times. “Me?”
“We can’t tour the gardens without the mistress of the house. Isn’t that right, Emily?”
I catch the look of disappointment on Emily’s face before she hides it with a forced smile. “Of course you should come, Leni.”
“And she will,” her husband says, patting Alena’s hand as if she were a well-behaved dog.
“But, Edgar,” Alena begins to protest, “tomorrow I must—”
“Nonsense. Mr Wolf is our guest. You shall do whatever it takes to make his stay a pleasant one.”
Alena sinks back into her chair with a nod of acquiescence.
A sense of triumph goes through me. At the same time, I want to hit Edgar Worthington for being such a sexist, patronizing ass.
Alena catches my eye and straightens, a flare of fire and defiance going through her, an echo of the girl I stupidly used to love. I glare right back.
This is who you chose, Alena. This is who you threw away our love for. I hope you regret your choice. Even if you don’t, you will soon.
23
____________
Alena
Dimitri spears the last piece of chicken on his plate with his fork. “This was delicious, Emily. Thank you.”
She giggles like a twit. I strain not to kick her under the table, especially since we all know that she didn’t actually cook anything. We have staff for that. “Thank you, Mr Wolf,” says Emily. “I aim to please.”
I lift my eyes—dammit, Alena—in time to see him gift her with one of his dazzling smiles, a smile he used to reserve only for me. “Please, call me Dimitri.”
Emily’s breath releases in a sigh. “Dimitri. Such a strong name.”
“It doesn’t sound American,” my husband says.
I cringe. Even with all his money, he’s an uncultured boor with no sense of much beyond the borders of England.
“It’s Russian, actually,” Dimitri says.
“Oh,” Emily cries, “Alena is Russian too.” I almost choke on my chicken. “Whereabouts in Russia are you from?”
“St Petersburg.”
Emily gasps. “So is Alena! You two could have met before.”
“No,” Dimitri and I both say together.
I clear my throat. “St Petersburg is a big city. Lots of people. You could grow up there all your life and never really know the person living beside you.” I shoot a small glare towards Dimitri.
He stares back, a lazy smile on his face like he doesn’t care.
“Say something in Russian,” Emily begs him, “please?”
Dimitri’s smile widens as he gazes at her, Russian leaving his mouth. “Look at you fawning over me, you beautiful, naive creature.”
My stomach stabs.
“What did you say?” Emily asks him.
“I said you are the most beautiful creature in all of England.”
Emily giggles, her cheeks staining pink. “Now say something to Papa.”
Dimitri turns to my husband, but not before glancing at me. “I will take from you what you took from me.”
My limbs start to drain of blood.
“What was that?” my husband asks, not a clue as to the threat Dimitri just delivered in Russian.
Dimitri grins. “I said I hope we’re able to form a productive partnership.”
Emily claps her hands. “Ooo, now say something to Alena.”
Dimitri turns the full force of his stare upon me. “Of course. How could I forget about Alena?”
I am incensed and terrified. I hate that I am hopelessly locked into his stare, breathless for his words.
He speaks to me in Russian, his beautiful lips moving like music, so gently that it sounds like a lover’s caress. His words are velvet-coated daggers. “You will regret the day you left me.”
My blood drains from my face.
Emily lets out an excited squeal and claps. “Dimitri, what did you say?”
Dimitri’s eyes bore into mine. “Ask Alena.”
“What did he say, Alena? What did he say?”
I hide my face behind a napkin, pretending to wipe my mouth, borrowing time to compose myself. I know why Dimitri is here. He’s not here for me. He’s here to make me suffer for running off five years ago. Dear God, how many times must I pay for it? How many scars must I carry because of one mistake?
I lift my chin, staring the devil right in his piercing blue eyes. I won’t be cowed away. “He said, ‘God gave you two ears so you can listen twice as much as you speak.’”
Dimitri’s eyes flash. I stare right back, heat rising up my neck to my cheeks.
“So, Alena,” Dimitri says, “if you grew up in St Petersburg, how did you meet your husband? I’m sure it’s quite the love story.”
I almost choke.
My husband lets out a small curt laugh. “I was on a business trip in St Petersburg. I saw her and had to have her.” He doesn’t mention that he saw me in Isabelle’s catalogue.
“How interesting. So it was love at first sight. How romantic.” Dimitri’s sarcasm bites at me. I can see that neither my husband nor Emily have picked up on it.
“And are you…married?” Emily ventures.
“No, I’m quite single.”
She giggles. “How is that even possible, a handsome, charming man like you?”
“Perhaps my tastes are…too specific.”
Emily rests her chin on her hand. “What does that mean?”
“I think I have a very clear idea of my perfect woman.”
“Do tell.”
“Well, she needs to be…imaginative, generous to a fault. She’s hopeful with a dreamer’s heart. A little wild like I am, and yet, she is the only one who can tame me.”
The roots of my scalp start to burn. That’s how he used to describe me.
He is describing me.
My heart begins to flutter. Here is hope alive. Here is the start of him forgiving me. Perhaps he came for revenge but our love will break through it, I know it will.
“That is my perfect woman,” Dimitri continues, “A woman I would make my wife. That is, until I grew up,” he faces me, “and realised that my perfect woman was a lie.” His hateful eyes bore straight into me, piercing my hope with icy shards.
Emily lets out a soft laugh. “Oh, Dimitri. Surely you have more faith in your future wife?” She places a hand softly on Dimitri’s arm. I want to rip it away.
Dimitri turns towards her and his entire countenance softens completely. Only I used to be able to soften him like that. “Sweet Emily. I’m sure you’re right. I’m sure I just haven’t met her yet.”
24
____________
Dimitri
The next day, I am shrouded in a cold detachment as Emily, Alena and I set out from a back door of the Worthington mansion, through their gardens. Alena is wearing jeans that cling to her slim legs and shapely hips. A thin jumper that hugs her woman’s body. I feel a stab in my gut when I see her, before shoving it aside. It’s a relatively warm day by England standards, even if it is already the end of September.
I deliberately walk alongside Emily, forcing Alena to walk behind us, making her the third wheel in our little party. I can feel Alena’s eyes boring into my back. I can hear the strained huffs she lets out when I gaze down at Emily. Her obvious fury feeds me, making it easy to smile.
My plan is working. She deserves it after what she did to me. How I burned over the last five years, knowing that another man was touching her, kissing her, fucking her. The wind howling through my soul like the devil was at my door. She will burn as I did. She will suffer as I did.
“Are you okay, Mr Wolf?” Emily is gazing at me with concern on her pretty features.
I realise I’m grimacing. I shove my thoughts aside, forcing my features to relax. “Fine. I didn’t notice any pictures of your late mother,” I say to distract her.
“There are none in the house.”
“Why not? She must have been very beautiful to pro
duce such a lovely daughter.”
Emily lets out a wistful sigh. I can almost hear Alena choking behind me. I want to laugh out loud at each of my mini-triumphs. This is just the beginning, Alena. Just a taste of the pain you have tormented me with these last five years.
“I don’t know,” Emily says. “Papa doesn’t like to keep any photos of her, I guess.”
We make our way through the manicured gardens, which I dislike instantly. They’re too neat and soulless, straight rows of perfectly trimmed hedges, polite little roses and posies. Emily is like a bubbly child as she points out her favourite wrought-iron bench or a treasured rectangular section of delicate pink carnations. I am forced to fake interest in them.
Emily craves order and safety, I muse. She’d make a placid, polite little wife for a wealthy stuffed shirt. We reach the end of the gardens, a wall of bushes separating us from the grounds beyond.
Alena has said nothing this whole time.
“What is your favourite part of the garden, Alena?” I blurt out, spinning on my heel to face her for the first time since we started walking. For some stupid reason, I want to hear her voice. I want to know what she thinks.
Alena starts. She seems startled that I’ve even spoken to her at all. As startled as I am. I had planned to say nothing to her, to let her suffer in silence as I flirted with her pretty stepdaughter in front of her.
Alena considers me with suspicion. “I…I don’t really like the gardens.”
I raise an eyebrow. “No?”
“No.”
“Why not?” I shouldn’t be so anxious to hear her answer.
“They’re too…perfect.”
My chest kicks with agreement. “Where would you take me, then?”
She lifts her chin. “I’m not sure a man like you would enjoy the things I do.”
I take a step towards her. “What is that supposed to mean?”
She takes a defiant step towards me, her eyes glittering with rage. “I like the part of the estate past these bushes. It turns into wild rolling moors, rough, craggy and open to the sky.”
Suddenly I’ve closed the distance between us. “I think that sounds wonderful.”
“They say the moors are haunted.” I’m inches taller than her so she has to lift her chin to meet my eye. Even so, I feel like she’s looking down on me. “That only pure souls can enter without fear of going mad. Is your soul pure, Mr Wolf?”
“As pure as yours, I suspect.”
“The brambles will rip your perfect coat.” She sneers.
I lean in. “I think I can handle a few insignificant pricks.” I can smell the sun on her and the scent of her simple clean soap. It hits my lower gut, flinging me back to a time when her smell used to comfort me.
She doesn’t give up any ground. If anything, she leans in too. “Your shiny leather shoes will get dirty.”
“I don’t mind getting dirty.” My gaze drops to her lips. They part as she sucks in breath. My stomach coils with a strange heat. I remember how they used to feel against mine—so soft, so—
I shove that thought away and look up to meet her gaze.
“Really?” she breathes. “You look like you’ve not had to get dirty in a long time.” She has this soft look in her eyes despite her barbed words.
“You have no idea, Alena.” If only she knew what I went through to get here.
25
____________
Alena
Dimitri is so close that I can smell his cologne. Underneath I can smell him. Warmth and safety and love, if these things had a smell. I should step back. I can’t help but lean closer, drawn in by hope. His eyes keep drawing to my mouth. Every time they do, I remember his lips on mine. I remember his hungry, intimate kisses, the way his soft tongue invaded me, claiming me, worshiping me. I know he remembers too. Something in his eyes softens and his answers lag, as if he is too distracted with remembering what we used to be.
We can still have that, Dimi, I want to whisper. It’s not too late.
“Perhaps,” I say quietly, “I have misjudged you.” He leans towards me, as if he’s trying to hear me better. He’s being drawn to me, closer and closer, like I’m drawn to him. The air crackles between us. “Perhaps you do deserve to walk these moors.”
“Perhaps,” his voice has gone soft, “the moors have been waiting for me.”
“They have,” I admit. “They can get…so lonely out here.”
“That will not do.” His eyes drop to my lips again. I suck in a breath as he leans in.
“Guys?” a soft voice calls.
I jolt away from him and spin. Shit. I’ve completely forgotten that Emily is here, watching us now with a confused look on her face. What did I almost do? I almost let him kiss me. I almost gave us away. What excuse do I have for us being so close?
I clear my throat, turning to Dimitri for his help. His face has already changed. The softness that was there is now gone, hard lines ridging his forehead, his eyes flaring with anger. As if this is my fault.
He spins on his heel and strides to Emily’s side. The lingering heat of him is like a ghost.
He weaves his arm through her elbow. “Carry on, Emily. You were going to show me the hothouse next.” As if nothing had almost happened.
“You…don’t want to go to the moors?”
“The moors.” He snorts, his voice dripping with derision. “What a stupid idea.”
My mouth drops open.
Bastard.
I had forgiven him for what he did. I was prepared to overlook his behaviour thus far. He does not deserve my forgiveness. Stupid, prideful man.
They begin to walk away. Something snaps in me. I won’t be strung along like this. I won’t follow along behind them like a kicked puppy.
I dart through a break in the bushes and run across the moors to get away. With the wind in my hair and the wild heather brushing against my jeans, I feel free. I ignore their calls behind me, both Emily and Dimitri.
I keep running. I run so fast I think I could take off. There’s a small ruin of a castle within the grounds just over this small hill. I often go there to be alone. It is where I am queen and no one can harm me. I aim for that.
When I reach the castle, I dart inside the crumbling ruins and slow down. Two hands grab me from behind, spinning me.
“Stop running, Alena. You’ll trip on a root and break your neck.” Dimitri’s eyes and his voice are full of angry concern. His hands, where they’re touching me, burn right through me. They mark me, branding my soul.
No, I won’t fall for his tricks again. He’s nothing but hell’s magician. I won’t give myself false hope. I shove at him. “Why do you care?”
He lets go of me like I’ve burned him and staggers back. His hair has gone wild about his head. In that moment he looks so much like the Dimitri I used to know, I almost start crying.
“I don’t care.” He straightens. “I don’t care at all.” He turns on his heel, walking back the way he came.
Anguish bubbles up inside me, spilling over. “Go on, leave!” I cry. “You’re good at that.”
He freezes. His shoulders tense up to his ears. For a second I think he’s going to turn around. Even from here I can see his chest is heaving, his wide lats drawing in and out.
“Dimi…?”
He lifts his chin. And keeps walking. The sight of him striding away from me hits me like a knife, cutting open that wound again. I sag against a crumbling wall, clinging to the stone.
Oh God, I don’t think I can survive losing him again.
26
____________
Alena
I slip through my husband’s personal living area. I need to speak to him. I need to figure out what he knows about Dimitri. Does he know that Dimitri and I were once in love? Does he know that Dimitri was the man I wanted to pass off as my “brother”? I don’t think so.
He could be hiding his knowledge. My husband is a powerful man. Would he allow Dimitri into his house without doing a check o
n his background?
As I approach his bedroom I can hear voices. Two voices.
I creep closer, until I’m pressed against the wall right beside the crack in the door.
“What do you even know about this Mr Wolf?” I recognise Terrance’s slight nasal voice, can hear the bitterness in his tone even though he tries to hide it. He sounds a little like a boy trying to withhold throwing a tantrum.
Regardless, Terrance is asking a very good question. A question I’m desperate to know the answer to.
Terrance holds my husband’s dinner jacket so my husband can slip his arms into it.
Edgar stares at himself in the mirror. It’s angled in a way that I can see him but I’m not in the reflection. “I know he’s rich and he wants to invest in my company.”
“I’m supposed to be your advisor. You didn’t even tell me you were thinking of doing a deal with him until he bloody showed up here.”
My husband chuckles. “Don’t act like such a jilted lover, Terrance. You are still my advisor. You still have a place by my side even if we merge with Mr Wolf.”
Terrance throws his hands up. “I’m trying to look out for you. You’re making it very difficult—”
“I know what I’m doing.” My husband knots his tie as he stands in front of the mirror, Terrance fuming at his side.
“Do you really need his investment? Letting this… this foreigner stick his nose into the business?”
My husband flinches, just for a second. His fingers halt at his neck. He clears his throat and continues working on his tie, his fingers fumbling. “It would be advantageous.”
“Advantageous for whom?”
“For both.” The tie is unbalanced. One side is much too long, the other too short.
“I just think you’re making a grave mistake inviting a communist foreigner—”
“If he doesn’t invest, we will sink,” my husband snaps, yanking his tie from his neck and throwing it over the back of a chair. He turns to Terrance, his chest rising as he takes giant breaths. “Maybe not this year, but definitely the next.”
