She raised one brow. “It’s a negotiation.”
That’s what she thinks this is. That I’ve settled. Found some girl with no ties, no name, no power—and brought her into this family to check a box.
She’s not wrong. But she’s missing the point.
I didn’t marry Bella to make my mother proud.
I married her so Filipp can never touch the throne.
I scan the ballroom until I find her. Bella.
Sitting with one heel off, the other barely hanging on. Her shoulders are stiff. Her glass is half-full and untouched. Her dress is stunning, but the exhaustion’s starting to show in the way she blinks—like her brain’s buffering every five seconds.
She’s been smiled at, complimented, whispered about, and politely interrogated more in the last hour than some of these people get in a year.
She hasn’t cracked. Not once. But I can see it.
And the worst part? I like how it looks on her.
I walk up behind her and place a hand on her hip, leaning in just enough to speak into her ear.
“If one more man looks at your tits like that, I’m going to need a new carpet.”
She exhales slowly through her nose, like the whole world’s testing her patience, takes a slow sip from her glass.
“If one more man tells me how lucky I am, I’m going to need a new dress,” she mutters.
“You won’t be wearing it long.”
“God, you’re romantic.”
“Married you, didn’t I?”
“You bought me.”
“Same thing.”
She nearly cracks a smile, but it doesn’t stick. Her eyes stay sharp, unyielding—like she’s buzzing with something electric now, a live wire I can’t stop watching. Good. My pulse is hammering right along with it.
She follows my gaze across the room, and her lips press together.
“Your mom hates me.”
“She hates everyone.”
“Good to know I’m not special.”
“You’re special,” I say, slipping my fingers into hers. “You’re the reason half this room’s trying not to shit themselves.”
“Aw. Sweet talker.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“I won’t.”
I smile. Not because she’s wrong—but because I’m starting to realize I don’t want her to get used to it. I want her a little raw. A little stubborn. Just like this.
Arseny appears like a ghost at my elbow.
