Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Your parents,” Anya repeats in disbelief.
“Yes.”
“Wow. Okay.” She and Zoe come over, and Zoe throws her arms around Lara. “Welcome to Thornecroft.”
Lara stiffens and doesn’t hug her back, but something in her softens. I send Zoe a grateful look when she pulls back.
“This is Anya and Zoya. But she goes by Zoe.” I introduce them in Russian, so Lara will know she’ll have friends here who speak it, not that her English isn’t perfect. Of course, it would be. She lived her first few years here, plus she has an aunt and uncle and cousins in Los Angeles she probably visits.
“Nice to meet you,” Lara says.
“Leonid. Call me Leo.” Leo introduces himself in Russian and goes in for a cheek-kiss, which Lara accepts.
One part of me is grateful to Leo for his easy charm, but most of me wants to deck him for touching her.
“My parents had an arranged marriage,” Leo offers.
“Wait–what?” Zoe looks from Leo to Anya. “Aunt Sasha and Uncle Maxim had an arranged marriage?” Zoe is the house’s social media/publicity manager. She announces the parties we host and in exchange gets a cut of the door charge.
Leo nods. “My grandfather was on his deathbed, and my mom was about to inherit all the interest in his oil wells. He needed to keep her safe, and my dad was the only man he trusted.”
Anya turns her gaze on me. “Why was your marriage arranged?”
Damn her.
“That’s between my father and hers.” My tone says fuck off.
Anya lets it go. “Pozdravleniya.” She offers congratulations in Russian.
“Leo, you’ll need to code her thumbprint to the door.” I start handing out orders, as is my way. “Anya, hack into the registrar and see if they have a schedule for her yet.” Classes start tomorrow.
Anders and Phoenix appear with the other two suitcases. I switch to English because they don’t speak Russian. “My room,” I direct them. Anders picks up one suitcase I brought in and carries one in each hand up the stairs. Phoenix follows with the third.
“Are you hungry?” I ask Lara.
She shakes her head. She appears shellshocked. I get it. Baranov House and its occupants are a lot to take in, even to those who haven’t been abruptly uprooted and sent off to marry a stranger. “Let’s get you to bed–you’ve had a long day.”
Lara digs her heels in when I try to steer her toward the stairs and sends me a furious look.
I look back at her, keeping my expression mild.
Her mouth thins to a mutinous line, but she squares her shoulders toward the stairs and marches up them.
I pick up the final suitcases, drinking in the delectable sway of her ass as I ascend behind her.
Fume all you want, printsessa. You belong to me now.
Lara
I don’t know where I’m going, which makes my dramatic exit far less dramatic. All I know is that I don’t appreciate being controlled by the twenty-two year old gangster who has more swagger than half my dad’s men.
What…was all that?
My brain is having a hard time assimilating everything that’s going on around here.
At first glance, this seems like a normal college living situation with normal college students. Of course, I’ve never been to an American college before, but I’ve seen movies. Since we moved to Russia I’ve returned to visit the United States many times over the years. My aunt Nadia and Uncle Flynn live in Los Angeles.
I take it all in. It’s a big house–like the fraternity or sorority houses in the American comedies filled with friendly, good-looking young people. But the old Victorian-era house is in perfect condition, like it’s been newly renovated. A lot of money went into this place. And the thumbprint security? Why is that necessary? The furniture is high-quality, and the house is spotlessly clean–other factors that don’t go with student housing in my mind. And the weirdest thing is the way the students obeyed Benjamin’s orders like he’s their pakhan. One look from him, and they jump to comply. But several of them speak Russian, which means they could be born into it. Like him. Like me.
A shiver runs through me.
I’m in danger here. I can feel it.
I still don’t understand anything that’s happening. There’s a bigger picture I can’t see, and the undercurrent of secrecy and violence scares me.
I pass the Asian guy with a Norwegian name and accent–Anders, I think–and the slight-figured Phoenix, who might be trans, on the stairs. I must be headed in the right direction. I pause at the second landing.
“Keep going, malyshka,” Benjamin murmurs behind me.
I flush and whirl. “I am not your baby.”
He looks at me with no emotion–just that hint of amusement. Of power. I hate how his fathomless expression unnerves me. He says nothing, just looks at me. It’s somehow more intimidating than any reply he could have made.