My jaw clenches.
I force myself to relax.
“Did you know I chose Anya, but Kira insisted I marry her?” Roman smiles, like he’s amused. Like he believes Kira actually wants his nasty ass.
“I understood there was an agreement of sorts,” I reply.
“Ah yes, Kira playing the part of the martyr. She wants everyone to believe she’s making some great sacrifice by marrying me. Everyone knows that one is power hungry. She wants to be my queen. She didn’t like the idea of her sister filling that role.”
He’s a dick.
I say nothing and sip my drink instead.
“But why can’t I have both?” he asks.
“You believe the sisters would both want to marry you?” I ask.
“No need to marry both. I’ll marry Kira. She gives me stability, but Anya…”
He trails off with a lascivious look in his eyes that makes me sick.
"She's just a girl," I find myself saying. "Nineteen years old. Innocent."
"She's leverage," Roman corrects. "A tool. And tools are only valuable if they're used properly."
"Trotsky is a sadist," I say carefully. "Everyone knows his reputation."
"Precisely why I chose him." Roman's smile is satisfied. "Kira will know exactly what her sister is enduring. Every day. Every night. The guilt will eat at her. Make her more... manageable."
"And if Kira cooperates from the start? Is perfect?"
"Then we'll see." He shrugs. "Perhaps after a year of model behavior, we can extract Anya and send her to Paris after all. Assuming her husband hasn't broken her too badly."
The casual cruelty makes me want to reach across the table and snap his neck.
But I force myself to nod.
"Smart," I manage.
"I learned from the best." Roman raises his glass. "Your father always said: control what people love, and you control themcompletely. Kira loves her sister more than anything. So we control the sister."
We drink. The scotch burns going down, but not as hot as the rage building in my chest.
"You should get some rest," Roman says, standing. "Wedding is in twelve days. I'll need you sharp for the bachelor party. I've arranged some... entertainment. Very exclusive."
I don't want to know what kind of entertainment Roman considers exclusive.
"Looking forward to it," I lie.
He claps my shoulder and leaves. I'm alone with my scotch and my thoughts.
I should feel satisfied. Everything is going according to plan.
So why do I feel sick?
I drain the scotch and pour another. Then another. Trying to drown the memory of Kira's voice.
I finish the drink and head up to my room. There’s no way I’m going to be able to sleep with Kira’s essence still clinging to me. I step into the shower and feel the sting from the scratches that cover my shoulders and back.
