“Welcome home, Katerina Montclair.” I can feel his smugness in his voice.
I cringe at the name. I hated being a Sokolov simply because of Viktor, but I never expected to replace it with a name so far from my roots. And I certainly never expected to call home a place with no ties to Russia. It’s an odd feeling.
As we walk up the steps, an older man opens the front door. He’s tall and bald and so stoic. I can’t get a reading on him.
“Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. Montclair,” he says sternly.
He holds the door open for us, and Dominic walks through first. I scoff at the lack of chivalry. Even if someone else is holding the door open for us, a man should always let his lady through first. Looks like someone wasn’t taught basic manners.
“Thank you,” I tell the man as I enter.
He nods slightly and closes the door behind me.
“Would you like me to show Mrs. Montclair to her chambers?” the butler asks.
“Yes, please do. And call me Katerina.” I can’t stand hearing any last name associated with my name. Maybe I’ll become like Madonna and just not have a last name.
Instead of showing me to my chambers, the man stares at Dominic, waiting for his instructions.
Assholes. Of course he’s not going to listen to me. How silly of me to forget only men are worthy of giving orders.
“No, Harold. She’ll be staying with me,” Dominic says after a moment of contemplation. His smile at his decision enrages me.
“Yes, sir,” Harold says with a nod.
“No! You said I’d have my own side of the house! That I’d get my own privacy and my own life!” I don’t care that I sound like a whiny, petulant child.
He’s taking away the freedom he promised me. He gave me hope, only to squash it. It’s not fair.
“I changed my mind,” he says it as though his decision is concrete. That there’s no changing it.
“No, no, no. That’s not how this goes. You said I’d get–” I start, but I must piss him off.
“I don’t care what I said. I’m now saying that I changed my mind.” He runs his fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends. “So, follow me. It’s late. Let’s get to bed.”
“I’m not following you anywhere. Harold will show me to my room. And I sure as fuck am not going to your bed!” I start to raise my voice, unable to contain my rage any longer.
“Harold, you’re excused for the night.” Dominic waves his hand, and my last shred of hope leaves with him. “You’re coming with me toourbed. My wife will be by my side on our wedding night. Now you can either come on your own two feet, or I can take you. It’s up to you.”
I’m furious now. I see an ugly black and gold vase within arm’s reach and pick it up.
“Fuck you, mudak!” I throw the vase at his head in rage.
His eyes flare as he watches it crash to the ground. It breaks into thousands of tiny pieces. He didn’t even have to move because my aim was terrible.
“Bad girl,” he muses.
Within a blink of an eye, he has me thrown over his shoulder and is marching down the hallway. I can’t keep track of where we’re going.
I punch his back and kick his stomach but eventually stop because his muscular body is so hard it’s hurting my fists and toes.
He finally opens a door, and we enter a room with a giant bed. The room is dark and mysterious. The main color is black, with accents of gold throughout it. It’s manly but not gaudy.
He throws me onto the bed, and I bounce. Then he prowls onto it until he’s hovering over me, trapping me.
The fury in his eyes would make a lesser girl shrink back, but I’ve faced angrier monsters. I can handle Dominic Montclair.
“Is this how our marriage is going to go,husband?” I hiss out ‘husband’ in disdain. “Are you going to boss me around, and when I don’t listen, you’ll manhandle me and overpower me by brute force? Not very nice of you. Imagine what Evelyn would say.”
