"Don't make me regret it."
She disappeared into the hallway, and I sat in the empty room, watching the morning light spread across the floor.
Forty-eight hours. Then Keira O'Shea would become Keira Rysev.
I pulled out my phone and started making calls.
Chapter 10 - Keira
The dress hung in my closet like an accusation.
It had appeared sometime during the night—a simple ivory sheath, elegant and understated, exactly what I would have chosen if I'd been choosing. Beside it, a smaller box contained shoes, jewelry, everything a bride might need for her wedding day.
I hadn't asked for any of it. But he'd provided it anyway, just in case.
I chose black slacks and a silk blouse instead.
This wasn't a wedding. It was a contract signing. A legal maneuver dressed up in matrimonial language. The less it looked like a real marriage, the easier it would be to remember what it actually was.
I told myself that as I dressed. Told myself that as I brushed my hair and applied minimal makeup, and stared at my reflection in the mirror. The woman looking back at me was a stranger—pale, composed, about to marry a man she'd known for three weeks to escape being sold to a different man she'd never met.
Forty-eight hours ago, my biggest problem had been maintaining professional boundaries with a patient I was developing feelings for.
Now that the patient was about to become my husband.
The absurdity of it threatened to overwhelm me. I gripped the edge of the bathroom counter and forced myself to breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. The same technique I'd taught hundreds of patients for managing anxiety.
It didn't help.
A knock at my door pulled me back to the present. I straightened, checked my reflection one final time, and went to answer it.
The woman on the other side was not who I expected.
She was much younger than Rodion, with dark hair and sharp eyes that assessed me in a single sweep. She was beautiful in the way all the Rysevs seemed to be beautiful: striking features, an intensity that suggested danger lurking beneath the surface. But where Rodion's danger was tempered by charm, hers was tempered by something softer. Warmth, maybe. Or the appearance of it.
"You must be Keira." She extended her hand. "I'm Nina. Rodion's sister."
I shook her hand, my mind racing. He hadn't mentioned his sister was coming. Hadn't mentioned anyone was coming except the judge and the necessary witnesses.
"He didn't tell me you'd be here."
"He didn't know. I told Demyan I was staying out of it, and then I got on a plane." She smiled, but her eyes remained watchful. "I wanted to meet the woman my brother is about to marry before he actually married her. I hope that's alright."
It wasn't a question. She was already stepping past me into the room, glancing around with the casual curiosity of someone who felt entitled to be wherever she wanted.
I closed the door and turned to face her. "Does Rodion know you're here?"
"He does now. I stopped by to see him first." She settled into the armchair by the window—the same one I'd sat in last night, having a conversation that had ended with me agreeingto this madness. "He's not happy about it. But he's never happy when I do things without asking permission first."
"And you do that often? Things without permission?"
"Constantly." Her smile sharpened. "It drives him crazy. All my brothers, actually. They're very traditional about certain things. Women staying in their place, following orders, letting the men handle the dangerous business." She tilted her head, studying me. "Something tells me you're not particularly good at following orders either."
"I wouldn't know. No one's tried giving me any yet."
"They will. The question is what you'll do when they do."
We regarded each other across the room. This was a test—I recognized it from years of sitting across from patients who were trying to figure out if they could trust me. Nina Rysev was taking my measure, deciding whether I was worthy of her brother.
