“Were you now?” He strode toward Rosalind and took her hand, lifting it so he could examine the sapphire. “I chose the largest stone the jeweler had. Only the best for my future wife.”
He brushed his thumb over the ring, but it pressed just a little too hard, causing the ring to dig into her skin.
She forced herself not to pull away.
“Has my fiancée been telling you all about our wedding plans?” He smiled at her friends; then his eyes shifted to her.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Because she hadn’t told them anything other than that the wedding would be in Sitka.
Because she’d spent most of the conversation thinking about Yuri Amos rather than the man she was actually betrothed to.
She looked down, never mind her hand was still caught in Leeland’s.
For the second time that week, she wished the floor would open up and swallow her, but she settled for pressing her eyes shut instead.
Come to San Francisco.
Oh, drat. Why was that the first thing she saw when she closed her eyes? Why did her mind dredge up the image of Yuri standing in the snow, offering to help her escape her father?
What if she had said yes? What if she had left Sitka right then?
Her father would have tracked her down by now, that’s what.
So where did that leave her?
14
Sitka; the Next Morning
Yuri swung the ax harder than necessary, splitting the log with a violent crack. He barely paused before grabbing another log, setting it upright, and swinging again. And again. And again.
Wood chips flew and sweat trickled down his back despite the cold wind off the ocean. He barely felt any of it, barely heard the rhythmic thud of the ax embedding itself in the stump. All he could hear was Vandermeer’s voice. All he could see was the smug look on his face as he spoke about Rosalind’s future.
She’ll have a household to run. Guests to entertain. Children to bear and raise.That deep, grating chuckle. As if he were sharing some kind of secret.
As if Yuri was in on it.
A man has to run his household properly. Women can get all sorts of ideas if you don’t set the right expectations.
Yuri’s grip tightened around the ax handle, and he swung harder, the force vibrating up his arms when the ax sliced clean through the piece of wood and landed in the stump. Howcould she marry a man like that? Didn’t she care that she’d be miserable?
He threw the split log onto the growing pile and balanced the next log on the stump.
“You planning to chop the entire woodpile before breakfast?” Mikhail’s dry voice cut through the air.
He hadn’t even realized his brother had walked up. Yuri swung the ax again, splitting the next log with a single swing. “I don’t mind the extra firewood. Just think how happy Alexei will be when he returns home to find it split and stacked. Maybe I’ll even get a smile out of him.”
Mikhail leaned against the side of the woodshed, which sat just a few feet behind the back door of the house. “But at this rate, you’ll have more than enough for our family. You might even be able to heat the entire town.”
“Maybe we’re in for an unusually long winter.” He positioned a new piece of wood on the stump, then swung the ax.
“If you needed to work off some anger, you could have just gone a few rounds with Mikhail’s punching bag in the warehouse,” Bryony said from where she stood on the stoop outside the kitchen door. He wasn’t sure how long she’d been there, but a glance at his sister-in-law revealed that she was dressed in a pair of Ilya’s trousers with dampness rimming the neckline of her shirt and sweat trickling down the side of her face.
Yuri just shook his head, then glanced at Mikhail. “I can’t believe you’re forcing your new wife to train with you. Did you make her use the punching bag this morning?”
“I like it,” Bryony said. “But not as much as I like the Indian clubs.”
