“A criminalanda gentleman,” I remark. “You don’t want to consummate our marriage?”
“No—I meant, we do not have to tonight. If you are not ready, I?—”
“Are you?” I ask. “Not ready, I mean.” He looks stiff as a fucking board, but after a tense moment, he shakes his head.
“I am comfortable,” he says, though there is a strain to his voice.
“You’vehad sex before, I presume?”
His face turns perplexed, but a shadow of a smile makes itself known. “I have.”
My eyebrows pinch between my eyes, realization souring my stomach. It may not be just my age or his attentiveness keeping him so restrained; I hadn’t considered that Maxim Orlov might not want me at all.
I drop my eyes to the ground, embarrassed suddenly—not something I feel often. I don’t know how I could have justbelievedthat he would be attracted to me, would take no pain in our marriage bed. He could love exclusively blonde women. Models.Older women.
He’s never said he wanted me, only ever offered intense stares and tight-lipped smiles.
“Where have you gone?” he asks.
I take a deep breath and clasp my hands behind my back.
“I have asked a lot of you. Infinitely more than you have asked of me. I. . .”
My mind rolls over the wrong words, the ones that tell too much, that reveal me too plainly. I am not pathetic, I never have been, but I am not unrealistic. I am beautiful, I am strong, I am good at my job, but I’m headstrong, argumentative, and sometimes rude as my sisters are quick to point out.
I am not easy to love. Not even easy to like.
Maxim waits, quiet as he always is, so still and solid.
“I should have considered that you may not want that.” I force my eyes to his, though I would rather look elsewhere. “Sex,” I clarify. “With me. Unless necessary.”
“That’s not it, Marianna, I just. . . I want you to feel comfortable?—”
I believe that he wants me to be comfortable—he’s the type to worry about that type of thing, but I’m not fully convinced that he does indeed want to have sex with me.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I think we probablyshouldconsummate this thing. Don’t want anyone discovering my unbroken hymen,” I say, and suddenly Maxim looks extraordinarily panicked.
“Kidding, breathe. I think my hymen broke when I was learning to ride a horse as an eleven year old.” His shoulders hitch with a surprised laugh. The smile on his face is preferable to the strained seriousness that was there before.
“We can sleep together tonight,” I say with finality. “Unless, that is, you want a sexless marriage. In which case, I suppose I do have very many toys.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a brat?”
I blink, a smile taking over my face at his boldness.He has no idea.
“Maybe. But none brave enough to tell me twice.”
Maxim chuffs and shakes his head. My husband is perfectly respectful and, it seems, perfectly uninterested in me. I could take his offer to sleep separately, to get my bearings on my own, but why delay the inevitable? He needs a baby, I need his resources, and he probably will be more inclined to lend his support to my family if I am upholding my side of the bargain.
Thus, it’s prudent we move forward with the arrangement. Why wait?
I stand and step in his direction, fully aware that if I do not make the first move, Maxim’s propriety will keep him from doing so.
“I have no doubt that you are a noble man, Maxim Orlov. I trust that my body is safe in your very large, bloodied hands.”
He looks down at his hands, like there may actually be blood on his palms, then back at me, still inching toward him.
“You won’t break me,” I assure. With one last step, the space is closed between us and that cologne that’s already become familiar fills my senses. “I do not fear you.”
