Before I put on my costume, I use Renata as inspiration for my role, spending some time perfecting my appearance. I style my hair into perfect, long waves that softly curl over my shoulders and down to the middle of my back.
I paint my face with color, shading my eyes with a light shade of pink that makes the blue of my irises pop. I outline my lids with brushes of dark gray shadow and black eyeliner. I curl and plump my eyelashes, brushing them with black mascara to make them thick and sultry. I add a hint of bronze to my cheeks and draw dark pink gloss over my lips.
I put on my dress and stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The small, ominous black box—the box that holds the diamond rings Nikolai purchased for me—sits on the counter, resting forebodingly beside the two positive pregnancy tests that I just can’t seem to bring myself to throw away.
Not yet.
With a steeling breath, I reach over and pluck the box from the countertop, flipping open the lid. I’m met with a bright sparkle from the diamond rings within. It strikes an unresolved ache in my chest because I still don’t know what to make of all this.
If Nikolai wanted to marry me, why did he treat me as his slave?
These rings symbolize how Nikolai has controlled my life, even now from beyond the grave. It’s a symbol of my oppression, but it still stirs some strange feeling within me that I can’t place. It’s something I can only vaguely describe as gratitude, though I know that’s not the right word.
I feel no gratitude toward that man.
Then why do my eyes well with tears at the reminder that he’s gone?
I hear my bedroom door click open as Ezra returns to me. I sniffle back my sorrow and dab beneath my eyes to catch any tears that might ruin my makeup. I look at him as he crosses to me and the twinge of sadness fades away, and in its place, tremendous pride for the fact that I can call him mine.
He’s so ridiculously handsome wearing a black suit. He’s chosen a plain white shirt and a black necktie. He looks professional, in charge, prominent, and proud.
“You look perfect,” I tell him as I set the jewelry box down on the marble counter.
Ezra moves behind me, his hands skimming down my sides as we both regard our reflection in the mirror. “You look spectacular. Stunning.”
“Do I look like one of them?” I ask, hoping he’ll say yes but also hoping he’ll say no.
He nods before pressing his lips to my shoulder. “You look better than them. You are better than them. You look exactly as you should.”
“Queen Mikhailov?” I say jokingly with a small, twisted smile.
“Just a queen. You don’t have to be ruled by his name.”
I spin to face him and trap him in my gaze for a beat. Any gratitude I might’ve felt toward Nikolai slips away entirely, because there’s no room left for it when I’m filled to the brim with gratitude for Ezra.
He pulls away from my stare as his eyes draw to the sparkling diamonds on the countertop and he plucks the rings from the box. “I think you need to wear these.” He swallows hard and pinches his eyes shut, then opens them again. “They need to see you wearing these rings.”
I nod, though he doesn’t see it. His eyes are transfixed on the diamonds between us and I wonder what he’s thinking. I wait for him to tell me and eventually, he does, starting slowly.
“Nikolai owes me,” he says. “He owes me a life for the life he’s taken from me. He owes you a life, too. These rings…He wanted them to be a symbol of the life he took from you; a symbol that you belong to him. But I don’t want them to mean you belong to him because you don’t.”
I sigh, closing my eyes. “I belong to you, Ezra.” I open my eyes again just in time to see the corners of his lips curl up and I smile, too. He’s just so relentlessly sexy, especially when he smiles at me like that.
“You only belong to me if you want to.”
“You’re the only man I ever want to belong to.”
“If that’s true, then…maybe these rings are mine. Maybe yours is the life he owes to me and mine is what he owes to you.”
Oh, God.
That makes my heart beat wildly and my pulse thrums. “Ezra...”
“Maybe you can wear these and think of me. Maybe someday you can…marry me. And we can belong to each other forever. If we’re ever lucky enough to get that chance.”
I grab his face and kiss him. I kiss him with love and passion and gratitude. “You’re my forever. I already know it…however long our forever might be.”
He lets out a slow breath. “Then you’ll wear these for me? Not for him.”
“I’ll wear them for you,” I promise.
He takes my hand and slips both the wedding band and engagement ring onto my left ring finger. He doesn’t know that in Russia, women wear their rings on the right hand. And I’m glad he doesn’t know because wearing it on my right hand would feel like wearing them for Nikolai.
To wear them on the left makes it more special somehow.
It’s for Ezra.
I wear them for him.
I reach up with one hand to caress his cheek, my thumb brushing over his skin.
“We can do this, Anya. You and me. We can face this.”
“Mine?” I ask even though I already know the answer.
“Baby, I’m yours.”
Chapter 7
Ezra
My blue-eyed girl and I stand side-by-side on the gravel surrounding the helipad as an oversized helicopter gradually descends. My heart is thumping like crazy against my rib cage. I reach out and snatch Anya’s tiny hand in mine, tangling my fingers with hers and locking us together.
I don’t know what will happen and the uncertainty makes every muscle in my body seize with tension. I glance over at Anya as the chopper lands, the blades gradually slowing in their rotation.
She takes in a heavy breath and lifts her chin a little higher, pulling her shoulders back. I watch her face as she lets the coldness freeze her in determination—the same coldness she possessed when I first met her. She needs that now; she needs the fierceness that allows her to do what needs to be done.
I know all of that, but it still stings when her shields come up and she pulls her fingers free from mine. Still, she glances over at me appraisingly, asking me with her eyes if I understand and I nod in reassurance.
She needs to stand on her own as the regal, worthy queen of Mikhailov Manor.
The doors open and Murphy O’Shea is the first person out of the helicopter. He jumps out with intention, lands heavily on the asphalt, and pauses just long enough to straighten his waistcoat. His white shirt sleeves are already rolled up to his elbows, exposing his tattoo-covered forearms.