I exhale, running a hand through my hair. I should be thinking about the arrangements, about keeping appearances, about making sure nothing goes wrong. But I can’t stop thinking about her. She’s been ignoring me these past few days, only coming down to get breakfast or lunch when I’m not there, walking out of a room when I come in, all the petty stuff.
I’ve also tried to include her in the wedding prep as much as I can, but she’s refused to participate, leaving everything to me. I’m not worried; I can only hope she finds everything to her taste. I’m not one to plan parties like this. But I’m managingto throw something together since only a few people would be invited.
Mikhail moves the conversation to how the tables should be set, and who’s in charge of lighting. I nod along automatically, thinking about the guest list and the last-minute security checks.
“…and if we place the lights over here, it’ll—”
As Mikhail speaks, I look up from my position on the lawn. Sasha is walking through the rose gardens, a few steps ahead, sunlight catching her hair, the stiffness in her spine impossible to miss. Her eyes are sharp, her movements deliberate. She hasn’t softened. She hasn’t bent.
I blink. My chest tightens. She isn’t broken. She’s fire in human form. She hasn’t seen me yet, and I know if she does, she’ll probably swear at me and match the other way. So for now, I just stare at her, swallowing my longing and hunger.
Mikhail clears his throat, impatient. “Boss? You even listening?”
I shake my head, trying to focus, but my gaze slides back to her. “Yeah,” I mutter, though my mind and eyes refuse to leave her. “I’m listening.”
But I’m not. Not at all.
Mikhail nods and continues. “So I was saying we could—”
“You know what?” I say, cutting Mikhail off mid-sentence. My voice is sharper than I intend. “Finish the prep. I trust you.”
“Lev—” Mikhail starts, but I’m already moving.
I don’t wait for him to argue.
I follow Sasha. My steps quicken, closing the distance. She thinks she’s alone, thinks she can escape, but I won’t let her. Not now. Not ever.
I follow her through the house, silent, careful. My steps are measured, almost inaudible on the polished floors, while hers are light, easy—like she owns this world, unaware I’mtailing her. She doesn’t glance back, doesn’t sense me, and the thought makes my chest race.
She drifts past the hall, through the arches, and into the library.
I step into the library and spot her immediately—curled up in one of those hanging chairs, the soft light catching the edges of her hair as she reads. She looks impossibly serene, like the world has shrunk down to the pages of that book and nothing else matters.
I drag a chair over and plant it in front of her, turning the book slightly so I can see the words she’s reading. I sit, hands draped over the back, keeping my distance yet close enough that the tension between us hums in the air.
She exhales softly, tilting her head up. Our eyes meet. Up close, I can only see the beautiful blue of her eyes. There’s no fire in them.
“Are you following me?” she asks, voice sharp.
“Just wanted to ask,” I say, keeping my tone flat, controlled. “Have you picked a wedding dress yet?”
She scoffs. “I didn’t need a selection from twenty dresses. You could have just…picked one for me.”
I ignore the jab and repeat, “Have you made a choice?”
Her lips press into a line. “Yes. I’ve made a choice. You can send the others back.”
I lean a little closer, letting my gaze trace her face. “The necklace you refused in New York,” I say slowly, letting the memory linger between us, “I still have it. It’ll be waiting for you when you move into my master suite after the wedding tomorrow.”
She tilts her head, flat and sharp. “I don’t care about your money.”
I let a quiet edge creep into my voice. “It’s my money that’s saving you from a sad fate, Sasha. That’s what matters right now.”
Her eyes flash, but I don’t look away. I want her to feel the weight of it—the reality that her life, for better or worse, is tangled in mine. Bitterness flares in her eyes, the edge in her voice cutting sharper than I expected. “I can never forgive you for how you treated me in New York,” she snaps. “I meant nothing to you back then, and now suddenly you want to marry me? When I want nothing to do with you.”
I lean closer, letting my presence press against her without touching. “It wasn’t that I didn’t care,” I say, my voice cool. “It was a pretension—a way to push you away. I was scared, Sasha…scared of how much you mattered to me after just one night.”
Her gaze flickers, searching mine.
