Chapter 151
His face darkens. “That’s exactly what needs to change. I don’t like other men looking at things I own.”
The word lands like the slap I should have given him. He doesn’t stop.
“It’s probably the way you dress,” he mutters, like I’m a problem he plans to fix. “But it doesn’t matter. Once we’re married, you’ll be too busy raising our sons to be seen by anyone else.”
My jaw tightens. I don’t speak. Not yet. Because if I do, I might end up doing something that will get me arrested or lose my job.
I’ll be damned if I lose my job over a man.
—
“You really think I’m something you own?” I say, voice dropping into something sharp enough to cut glass. “Let me be perfectly clear,
Dimitri. You couldn’t afford me even if you sold this hotel, your family name, and whatever’s left of your dignity.”
–
—
His mouth opens — probably to bluster, or beg – but I don’t give him the chance.
“You talk about sons like they’re trophies, and wives like they’re livestock. And the fact that you think I’d ever carry your children makes me want to bleach my entire reproductive system.”
He recoils like I slapped him. Good. Not nearly enough, but it’ll do for
now.
I lean in, just enough for my words to sting in private.
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“Touch me again without permission, and I swear to God the next thing you’ll be holding is your own teeth.”
Then I turn on my heel, heels clicking as I leave him standing there stunned, humiliated, and exactly where he belongs.
—
Five minutes. That’s how long I give it before my mother calls, shrieking about how I’ve “ruined” yet another chance at being someone‘ s submissive little bride. That I’ll never get married if I can’t romanticize harassment and serve men like tea on a silver tray.
Blah Blah Blah.
I make my way toward the lobby, scanning for somewhere to sit before this nauseating swirl in my stomach turns into something public and humiliating. The nausea started when they served eggs at breakfast Dimitri’s leering face must’ve amplified it into a full–body revolt.
–
I find a bench tucked near a window and lower myself onto it, trying to collect what little remains of my composure. One deep breath. Just
one.
But before I even inhale, a voice slices through the fog.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter, dragging a hand over my face — too late.
“T–Taisiya?”
I freeze. Lower my hands.
Akim stands a few feet away, eyes wide like he’s seen a ghost. He says my name again, louder this time, like he’s not sure if it’s really me or a hallucination from whatever party he crawled out of.
He’s flanked by two men I vaguely recognize which either makes them his friends or people I’ve kissed at one of those regrettable, wine-
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fueled family weddings.
Wonderful.
I don’t bother standing or smiling at them. I might just throw up if I do. “Akim,” I say, voice dry as gin. “Congratulations on the wedding. Truly.”
To my horror, his eyes well up. Tears. Real ones. And just like that, I remember why I dated him in the first place.
He forgets the people trailing behind him and sits beside me like we’re the only two people in the room. Takes my hands in his like he’s about to propose all over again.
I’m too stunned
–
—
or maybe too tired to yank them back.
“Taisiya…” His voice cracks. “I’ve missed you so much. I didn’t think I‘ d ever see you again. Not after… after the way you ended things.”
I glance down at our intertwined fingers. Can’t stop my brow from arching.
“Is
my
cousin okay with this little hand–holding reunion or…?”
He drops my hands like I just told him they were laced with cyanide. His face twists into something between panic and guilt. I laugh. Quiet, bitter.
Men.
Well, I guess that’s what Anastasia gets for drooling after my leftovers.
God, I might actually/vomit.
“I’m sorry,” he starts-
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“What the fuck is this?”
The voice is loud enough to turn heads. I don’t need to look to know who it is.
Dimitri storms toward us, jaw clenched so tight I can practically hear his teeth grinding. His fists ball at his sides, and for a moment, I actually think he’s going to throw a punch.
“Of course,” I mutter, getting to my feet. “Because today wasn’t unbearable enough.”
Akim rises, eyes narrowing. “Dimitri.”
“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” Dimitri spits, jabbing a finger at him like he’s personally offended by the oxygen Akim dares to inhale. “First you steal her. Then you dump her. And now, on the morning of your own goddamn engagement party, you’re crawling back like a dog.”
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