Tangled Vows

by Yvonne Lindsay

  “Okay, so I was a nerd.”

  “And you’re very good at dodging a direct question.”

  She was about to protest when she realized that was exactly what she had done. She looked down to the end of the pool.

  “I should turn the jets off.”

  “And there you go again. It’s okay. They can stay on for now.”

  “Fine. In answer to your first question, I went to Match Made in Marriage because I didn’t trust myself to find the right guy for me.”

  That was partially true, at least. Her own track record with men was not the best. It didn’t help that she’d never really considered what she wanted out of a relationship. That, combined with her reluctance to allow people to get close to her and really share her life, tended to send her beaus away in frustration. People didn’t like being shut out all the time. And she’d thought Match Made in Marriage would be safe, especially with its out clause if they turned out to be incompatible. Of course, if she’d known Alice Horvath was behind the matches she probably wouldn’t have approached them at all.

  “How about you?” she asked.

  “I guess my reason was similar. I trusted Nagy to find the right woman for me.”

  “I heard you guys call her that. What is it? Russian?”

  “No, Hungarian. My great-grandfather was a scientist and lecturer. Prior to the outbreak of World War II he began to grow uneasy about what was happening across Europe. He decided to move his family out of Hungary and to the States. Even though she was mostly raised here in California, my grandmother still clings very much to the old ways. More so as she grows older, I guess.”

  He fell silent for a bit then spoke again. “Do you think Nagy got it right, pairing us?”

  “It’s early days, but we’re not an abject failure yet, are we?”

  “No. So, why now? What made you decide this was the time you wanted to get married?”

  Boy, he was like a dog with a bone on the subject, wasn’t he? Yasmin raked her mind for a suitable response. There was no way she’d tell him that she had to marry now because of the Hardacre contract. Had Horvath Aviation pitched for the same business? How would Ilya feel when she won it out from under him? she wondered. Especially if he knew he’d handed it to her on a platter by marrying her. You haven’t got the contract yet, she reminded herself.

  In answer to his question, she shrugged. “What can I say? I’m thirty-two years old. Yes, I know that’s still young but, like most people, I want a family and stability. Now felt like the right time.”

  She paused before she inadvertently let too much out. Her current stability hinged on the Hardacre contract but she couldn’t let Ilya get a whiff of that information. She let out a breath before continuing, knowing she’d have to dig deep into a part of her she kept hidden, even from herself, if she was to satisfy Ilya’s curiosity.

  “I didn’t have the most traditional of upbringings. I knew I had someone who loved me, even if Granddad wasn’t the best at showing it. But I have to admit to having had some envy for the other kids at school. The ones whose parents came to sports days or helped in class. Some of the kids used to complain about it, that their parents were always right there. They had no idea how lucky they were. It just seemed so normal, y’know?”

  “And being brought up by your grandfather made you different among your peers, didn’t it? That and the fact you were such a nerd.” He smiled and leaned over to bump shoulders with her, taking any imagined sting out of his words. “I get it. I never thought about things that way. I mean, my parents didn’t show up at everything but they put in an appearance when it mattered enough to me to ask them to. Until my dad died, anyway.”

  Yasmin drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Granddad was always sparing with his approval, but it didn’t stop me working hard to earn it. In its own way, that set me up for life. You can’t always expect sunshine and lollipops, right? You need to learn to roll with disappointment and get up and just keep going.”

  * * *

  Ilya listened to Yasmin and felt a pang of sympathy for the child she must have been growing up. He knew Jim Carter had been a cantankerous old bastard, but not to show encouragement to a little girl trying to find her place in his life? That was downright mean. Ilya’s children would never doubt that he was behind them in whatever they chose to do. And, yes, while it was his dream that they would follow him into Horvath Aviation, as he had done with his father and he with his father before him, Ilya certainly wouldn’t force them to do it. Encourage them, maybe, but force them? No.

  “What about you, Ilya? What made you use your grandmother’s service? I could use the same argument you did. It’s not as if you’re all that ugly or anything.”

  He could recognize deflection along with the best of them. Yasmin was obviously uncomfortable being the topic of discussion. If he was going to earn her trust and get down to the layers that really made up the woman, he was going to have to give a little of himself, too. He swallowed. Opening up to someone who was essentially a stranger, even though the license said they were married, didn’t come easily. Growing up a Horvath had taught him to be careful around people, especially those who thought he was an easy meal ticket because of his family’s wealth. The one time he’d let his guard down... No, he didn’t want to waste this beautiful day thinking about past mistakes.

  “Thanks for the compliment,” he responded lightly. “I guess my reasons are the same as yours. I’m thirty-five. Again, not old, but I’m ready for the next stage of my life. I’m ready to be part of a partnership and all that brings—including children. Family is really important to me.” He barked a humorless laugh. “Everything to me, to be completely honest with you. I just want the chance to do it right the first time. And people can be so fake. The lines are so blurred now it’s hard to tell who’s being real and who isn’t.”

  Yasmin’s face was set in serious lines and she looked as if she was about to say something, but she was distracted by a notification tone from her cell phone sitting on a nearby chair.

  “Will you excuse me? I’m expecting this.”

  “Sure.”

  Ilya slid forward on the pool edge and allowed himself to slip into the water. It was a bit of a comedown—having bared a piece of his soul only to be interrupted by an incoming message on her phone. But, he reminded himself, it was early days yet.

  He sank down in the water, letting the silky softness of it close over his head and caress his skin before he popped back up to the surface. He slicked his hair back off his forehead and looked across at Yasmin, who was standing by the chair. Nope, the water definitely wasn’t cold enough, he thought as he let his gaze roam from her bare feet and up her long, slender legs. Even though she wore a modest one-piece suit, there was no mistaking the lean muscles of her body. The woman looked after herself, there was no denying it.

  His gaze traveled over the gentle swell of her hips, to her narrow waist and then upward to where her swimsuit cupped her breasts. His mouth went dry and he dunked himself again, feeling just a little disgusted with himself for staring at her like some horny schoolboy. This time when he surfaced he realized she was still standing in the same position but something wasn’t right. Yasmin had her phone in hand and was staring at the screen with a stricken expression on her face.

  “Everything okay?” he asked, pulling himself up onto the edge of the pool and getting up to check on her.

  Yasmin put her phone face down on the table and looked up at him, swiftly composing her features.

  “Why shouldn’t it be?”

  He noticed she didn’t answer his question. “You looked upset. Is there anything I can do?”

  “You can do?” she repeated before shaking her head. “No, it’s nothing. Really.”

  “It didn’t look like nothing. If you want to talk—”

  “Really,” she emphasized. “Ther
e’s nothing wrong. Go, have your swim. I think I’ll go upstairs and get changed.”

  He watched her grab her phone and retreat—there was no other word for the way she left the pool area. There had been something on her phone that had bothered her, he knew it as surely as he knew the maximum fuel uptake of every aircraft in his fleet. And, like the man who knew his business inside and out, he wanted to know Yasmin inside and out, too.

  Eventually he’d find a way to break through the barriers she had around her. It wouldn’t be easy, but something told him that if he persevered, it would be worth it. But first he needed to earn her trust. And that might be the hardest thing of all.

  Seven

  Yasmin couldn’t get to her room fast enough. The moment she was upstairs she secured her door and opened the email. And there it was. There were no words, no subject header. Just that photo.

  A shudder ran through her body from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. She’d believed that dreadful night was behind her. That no one had any further cause to hark back to what she’d done. Oh, sure, she had behaved under extreme pressure. And her desperation to be included in the sorority made up of all the cool girls had been the catalyst for what would lead to her greatest shame.

  Why would anyone hold on to something like this? And why bring it up now? She’d changed universities; she’d moved back West; she’d severed all ties. In fact, the very thought of coming face-to-face with anyone who had been there that night, egging her on to drink another shot every time she got a question wrong in that stupid quiz they made her and the other pledges take, was unfathomable.

  Bile rose in Yasmin’s throat as she looked at the photo. She looked just like any other college girl having a good time, but even though she’d already been feeling the effects of the vodka shots, she’d been horribly uncomfortable posing with the sex toy someone had thrust in her face that night. But her desire to win at any cost had seen her outlast her fellow pledges and the challenges had just kept on coming. She’d fulfilled that challenge, and the next one, and the one after that, but by the time they’d made her enter the lake and swim out to the pontoon, blindfolded, she’d also been highly intoxicated. The alcohol in her system, the cold of the water and her sense of disorientation at being blindfolded had combined in a perfect storm that had led to her losing consciousness before she could complete the challenge.

  She had no idea who’d rescued her from the water, or who had called the ambulance that had taken her to the hospital where her stomach had been pumped and she’d been rehydrated and treated for hypothermia. She did remember the letter she’d received from the sorority, though. The one saying that, on reflection, they felt she wasn’t the caliber of student they were looking to have join them.

  It had been hard, going back to class and facing the pitying looks from some of her peers. Worse was the outright laughter from others. These people had seen her at her worst, at her most desperate, her most vulnerable—and she knew she couldn’t continue at college in that environment. At the end of the semester she’d transferred back to California and completed her education closer to home. Her grandfather had never questioned her choices; he’d been only too pleased to have her close again. His health had begun to fail, and his reluctance to follow doctor’s orders and make simple changes in his lifestyle aggravated existing conditions. And, as soon as she graduated, she’d gone to work with him full-time.

  She’d honestly believed that what had happened out East was behind her, but now it appeared it wasn’t. Even though it was more common now to report extreme hazing incidents for the cruel bullying they were, back then she’d been so ashamed of her own desperation to be one of the “in” crowd, and what she’d been prepared to do to be accepted, she’d never made a report to the campus authorities or the police. And now it was coming back to bite her.

  It seemed obvious that her marriage to Ilya had triggered this, but who was behind the hisgirl email address? What did they hope to gain? Worse, what would happen if this photo, and potentially others—because she knew there’d been a lot of people taking pictures of her that night—were shown to anyone else? Anyone, for example, like her new husband, her employees—or the Hardacres? She’d lose all her hard-earned respect from everyone.

  Yasmin hadn’t responded to any of the emails she’d been sent so far. She hadn’t wanted to engage with whoever was behind this, but she had far too much riding on getting that Hardacre contract. She couldn’t afford to let anything derail her plans. Her finger hovered over the reply icon on her screen, but she let her phone drop onto her bed. If she didn’t answer, maybe they’d give up and leave her alone. And if they didn’t? Would she have to bring this to the attention of the police? There was no actual threat in so many words. Could the police even do anything? She hadn’t wanted to bring the whole sorry incident to the police all those years ago and she certainly hadn’t changed how she felt about that now.

  Yes, she was doing the right thing, she told herself as she grabbed a change of clothes and went into her bathroom. Right now, ignoring hisgirl had to be the best option. After a quick shower, Yasmin left her phone where she’d tossed it and returned downstairs.

  Ilya was stretched out on a sun lounger by the pool. His body was strong and tanned and healthy with altogether too much flesh on display for her peace of mind. For a second Yasmin wondered what it would have been like to become involved with him outside of the hothouse atmosphere of their arranged marriage. Would they have found compatibility with each other had they met like a regular couple? She mentally shook her head. It was unlikely they’d have interacted at all, except in the most formal manner. Being competition for each other in their field of business, they had everything in common and yet were poles apart at the same time.

  And now they were married and had to stay that way until she at least won her contract and saved Carter Air from oblivion. Her gut twisted at the thought of losing her company, but at the same time she hated that it had come to this. That she’d entered into a marriage contract with someone who appeared to be approaching their relationship with every intention of this being a forever thing. And, to be honest, that had been at the back of her mind, too. She hadn’t been entirely lying when Ilya had pressed her for her reasons for using Match Made in Marriage, but she certainly hadn’t given him the full truth, either.

  Being purposely deceitful sat uncomfortably on her shoulders—but, she reminded herself, sometimes you had to walk a fine line.

  And if her husband had been anyone other than Ilya...?

  She swallowed against the lump that rose in her throat at the thought that right now she could have been on honeymoon with another man. She couldn’t fool herself. She doubted very much that another man would appeal to her on the same level Ilya did. He was everything she would have looked for in a husband—if he hadn’t been her rival. If their families didn’t have that yawning rift between them. If his grandmother hadn’t broken her grandfather’s heart and made him eventually settle for marriage with a woman he didn’t love enough, breaking her heart in the bargain.

  But Yasmin was married to Ilya. To the beautiful man right here in front of her. He took off his sunglasses and looked at her now with his sexy, blue eyes in a way that made her feel as though she was wearing nothing at all. He gave her a welcoming smile.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you’d decided to take a nap.”

  “Naps are for old people,” Yasmin snorted.

  She sat down on the edge of the lounger next to his. The evening sun felt warm through her clothes and on her bare arms and legs.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes they’re called for. Like those times when you’ve expended a whole lot of energy and need to restore.”

  A whole lot of energy? Somehow she didn’t think he was talking about their morning hikes in the hills. Her skin prickled.

  “I’m going to grab a glass of juice,” she said, getting back to he
r feet. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Maybe a beer?”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Yasmin avoided looking at him as she went into the kitchen and got their drinks. But she couldn’t erase the image of his near-naked body imprinted on her retinas. Ilya Horvath dressed was hard enough to deal with, but undressed? Her hand shook, making her spill a little of the juice onto the countertop. She cursed under her breath as she reached for a cloth to wipe up the spilled liquid. They didn’t even have to be in the same room and she was a mess about him. Something had to give. Maybe she needed to rid herself of the itch that crept under her skin on a daily basis. Maybe she needed to take him up on that offer to share his room when she was ready.

  Was she ready? Could she take that step? While it would no doubt assuage some of the perpetual hunger for him that simmered through her body, would it provide relief or would it do more harm than good? Would it cement this orchestrated relationship they had, or would it just make things a whole lot more complicated?

  There’s only one way to find out, nagged that pesky voice at the back of her mind.

  She ignored it and snatched up their drinks, taking them back out to the patio. She put Ilya’s beer on the small side table next to his chair, careful to avoid accidentally touching him. Right now she felt so tense with anticipation that she worried what a single touch from him might do.

  “Thanks,” he said, reaching across for the drink and taking a long pull. “Ah, that’s great. Nothing like a cold beer on a hot evening when you’ve got nothing else to do.”

  Yasmin sipped her juice, relishing the cold sweetness but wondering if she shouldn’t have added a shot of something alcoholic just to take the edge off her nerves. Unfortunately, that brought her back to thinking about the photo she’d just received. It had been years before she’d trusted herself enough to touch alcohol again, and she’d always been a moderate drinker. Now Ilya had her thinking about having a drink.