When I blinked back to the present and stared at my reflection, I noted my pinked cheeks, my dilated pupils. I was aroused. And all from a thought of that Russian beast.
I lifted my hands and smoothed them down my flat belly, along my curved waist, and stopped right under my small breasts. My focus was trained on my left hand, at my bare ring finger that soon would be bound with gold and a diamond. I didn’t even know what my ring was going to look like, didn’t know anything about my future husband aside from the basics that I had found myself.
My father certainly hadn’t given me any kind of background. But because Nikolai was in the Bratva I knew he was probably even worse than the men I’d known my entire life. I’d seen the cold calculation in his bright blue eyes, as if his mind had been working out every possible scenario and outcome of a situation.
A knock on the dressing room door drew me from my thoughts. Before I could tell them to enter the door was being pushed open. I felt surprise fill me when it was Francesca who entered, her gaze raking up and down me. Surprisingly enough there was appreciation in her expression.
“Not bad,” she said almost dismissively and I bit my tongue in a retort.
It wasn’t that I was weak or couldn’t stand up for myself. I just knew I had to pick my battles, and the only thing I’d accomplish going head-to-head with Francesca was severe annoyance.
I just didn’t have the energy to deal with her and everything else going on in my life. If she wanted to think she was better than me or everyone else, that was the energy she would have to put out.
She stood there looking me up and down for a second before she took a seat on the padded chair in the corner of the room. For long moments neither of us said anything and I was hoping someone would interrupt the awkward silence that descended in the dressing room
“Are you nervous?” she asked and I looked back at my reflection.
Francesca sounded pleasant enough, and dare I even say, genuinely curious. But I knew where her thoughts were going right now.
She was my age and her father would be marrying her off in the same way in the very near future.
I watched as she lowered her gaze to the ground and saw how she picked at the hem of her dress almost nervously. She was scared because as she looked at me I knew what she saw.
Her future.
Francesca was a bitch, a mega one, and a small part of me wanted to feel sympathy for her. Because if we were in opposite places right now all I’d be able to think about was when it would be my time to stand in front of this mirror as I looked at myself wearing my wedding dress.
Of course I didn’t even have to think about her question or the answer. I’d been thinking about all the things regarding this wedding for almost a month now.
I licked my lips and continued to stare at myself in the mirror, smoothing my hands down the dress, letting my fingers trail over the lace detailing. “I’m terrified,” I whispered so softly I wasn’t sure she heard me.
“I can’t think of anything worse than marrying someone you don’t love.”
I furrowed my brow at her tone. She sounded like she was speaking from experience. But surely that wasn’t the case since she wasn’t married off yet. She’d be locked away, keeping that precious virginity intact until her father could use her as a pawn.
Francesca’s expression morphed into irritation the longer I watched her. There is the girl I knew so well. So cold and hateful. She would probably be a better match for Nikolai.
And when she smirked I forced myself to break eye contact with her, knowing she was about to go to her default and be cruel.
“Are you ready for your wedding night?”
I didn’t bother answering, just kept smoothing my hands down my dress.
“I don’t think anyone is ready for their wedding night, especially not when you’re getting married to a killer.”
I swallowed roughly and her blunt, coarse words. Of course I knew this to be fact, but I felt irritation fill me. I looked at her then and she must have seen something in my expression because her body visibly tensed.
“No, I doubt it,” I said and let those words hang in the air between us. “I’m sure your mother felt the same way when she was forced to marry your father.” I felt this fire burn inside of me, knew I should have shut my mouth, but the words just kept spilling out. “And I’m sure you’ll feel the same thing when your father pawns you off, just like mine is doing to me.” Neither one of us spoke for so long I didn’t think she’d ever respond. But when her nostrils flared slightly I knew I’d hit a nerve.
Her lips pursed so tightly there was a thin line of white around her lips. “It hurts the first few times.”
I knew she was looking for a reaction, saying these things for shock value, pissed that I’d called her out that my fate was hers. Although I was a virgin it wasn’t as if I didn’t know the fundamental basics of sex or what happened on a wedding night. My mother had hinted to it over the past couple weeks, but she’d been too timid to go into the hard details of it all.
So I’d made it a mission to eavesdrop when my brother would talk with some of the guards and what he did with the girls he’d been with. I overheard staff talking about what they did with their partners in hushed detail that my face had heated unbearably.
If she was looking for a reaction she wouldn't get one. Not about this.
“Yeah, the first couple times hurt like hell, and of course blood. A lot of blood in my case.” I felt my eyes widen at her admission, but she kept talking. “Let’s hope your future Russian beast of a husband takes pity on you and doesn’t just push you on the bed, spread you open, and rut between your thighs like the animal I’m sure he is.”
She shrugged and looked down at her nails, examining them as if she found a chip in her new manicure.
“But that’s how these men are, aren’t they when they don’t care about you.” Her voice was soft, almost as if she spoke to herself. “Some of us are just a vessel for them to shove deep inside and fill with their babies.”
When she looked at me there was a nasty smile on her face. “Have you heard some of the things your future husband has done?”
Maybe I hadn’t kept my mask in place well enough because when her smile widened I clenched my jaw.
“He’s ruthless, and finds sport in killing his enemies. And you know what they say about the Russians, how barbaric they are, how they use and abuse their women.” She shrugged again and smoothed her hands down her dress. “I’m sure it won’t be any different with Nikolai Petrov. He probably likes it when the women he fucks bleeds and cries.”
I turned and faced her then. “How do you know all this?” Of course I wasn’t stupid and had heard her words, how it sounded like she was telling me all of this from experience. But surely that wasn’t her truth? Surely she hadn’t experienced it firsthand?
She didn’t answer for long moments and it was her expression that told me the truth. She knew these things because she’d done them. She wasn't just saying it to shock me, wasn’t fabricating any of it to be a bitch.
“When I get married it’ll be to someone I love and who loves me back.” Her tone of voice told me she honestly believed that.
I didn’t bother correcting her, reminding her that in our world there was no “marriage for love”. Let her believe what she wants.