Seduction: A Dark Bratva Fake Marriage Romance (Wicked Vows)
Seduction: Chapter 19

Markov lies beside me. He runs his fingers through my hair, combing it from my face.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says. He’s just cleaned me with a warm washcloth and is tucking me into bed. “You handled that like you were meant for it.”

“Meant for it?” I ask. My words sound slurred. “Or meant for you?”

As soon as I say it, I regret it. His eyes shutter, and his face grows flinty, almost as hard as he did when we first met.

“I shouldn’t have—I’m sorry I⁠—”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he says with a sigh, shaking his head. “I’m not upset with you. Come here, baby. That couldn’t be further from the truth.”

He pulls me onto his chest and holds me. I listen to the beating of his heart and close my eyes. I’ve never felt so safe in my life.

I’ve read about things like this before. How men like him can be dominant yet nurturing. . .

I never knew I craved a blend like that. . . until him. I never knew I needed something like this. . . until him.

“You need to eat, Vera.”

“I don’t want to move,” I tell him, not opening my eyes.

He waits for a beat, just holding me, before he continues. “It’s important that you get food after something that intense. You work hard. We’ll go on a run again in the morning, but we have to get something to eat, even something simple.”

I smile in the dim light of dusk when my eyes fly open.

“Oh God. That window’s open. Oh my God. I thought it was closed.”

He leaps out of bed, and for one brief minute, Markov looks as terrified as I am. It scares me. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him scared before.

“Shit. How could I have been so careless? I closed the other shades and didn’t realize this one was still open. Fuck.”

Even though there’s a slim sliver of light at the bottom of the shade, it’s too risky. Anyone could’ve seen us, and if anyone in my family ever caught wind of what we were doing. . . I can’t even imagine what would happen. The punishment for me would be severe, but for Markov. . .

My belly churns with anxiety. What are we going to do?

“Stay here. I’m going to investigate.” I sit up and clasp the blanket to me as he turns around and pins me in place with his glare. “My job is to protect you, Vera Ivanova. You do not leave this room.”

He turns and is gone.

I stare at the window and see his large form move past the window. My mind reels with the possibility of what could happen. Even if no one in the Ivanov Bratva saw us. . . even if there was no evidence of the two of us together. . . he just dominated me. What if another student or one of the professors caught wind? Would I ever be able to live that down?

But right now, our safety is a bigger concern, especially after everything we’ve been through.

I’m still trembling and boneless from our lovemaking.

Will life with Markov ever be normal? Does he even want a woman like me? I’ve been sheltered my whole life. I don’t know anything about what it’s like to be. . . normal.

What have I gotten myself into?

The door opens, and Markov steps inside, his face impassive and flinty as usual.

“Irina passed by a few moments ago, but she was on the other side of the campus and only waved to me. There’s no way she saw anything.”

I feel my eyes flutter closed as I sink back on the pillow.

“Okay, alright. So we did this thing as an undergrad in one of my emergency preparation classes. We had to envision the worst-case scenario and then imagine ourselves walking through it.” I blow out a breath. “Let’s do that.”

Markov shakes his head and sits on the edge of the bed. “Worst case scenario? The worst-case scenario is someone sees us together and makes me leave your side. The worst-case scenario is your father knows we’re an item and tears us apart.” He shakes his head. “I don’t give a shit about what he’d do to me, but if he takes me away from you. . . if I can’t protect you anymore. . .”

I reach a hand to touch his arm. I can feel the tenseness of his muscles. “Markov. . .”

“You want me to walk myself through it?” he continues. “Yeah, I can do that, Vera. It would be ending anyone that got in my way so I could get back to you. To make sure you were safe and no one hurt you.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “The worst case for me would be losing you. If you got hurt, Markov. . . if they took you away from me. . . I don’t know what I would do.”

He half-laughs while cringing. “We need a plan, Vera.”

“Can our plan involve running away where no one will ever replace us? Change identities and try out witness protection? I’ll leave everything, Markov.”

“Nyet.” He shakes his head, his Russian coming out in full force. “Ty etogo ne sdelayesh. You will not do that. You worked too long and too hard for you to give it all up for me. I won’t allow it, Vera.”

“I don’t care,” I say, feeling like a stubborn child. “Those all mattered to me more before I realized what matters to me most, Markov.”

“Vera—”

“Listen to me,” I say, tears shimmering in my eyes. “I’ll call my father. I’ll explain everything. I’ll tell him how you’ve taken care of me, how good you are to me. He has to understand. Surely, I can make him see reason⁠—”

“Vera.” He grasps both of my hands in his. They’re warm and rough. . . like him. “You don’t really know me. You know the man I am here. You know the role I play here. But I’ve done wicked, terrible things.” He leans forward. “Unforgivable things, Vera. If you knew what I’ve done. If you really knew who I am. . .” his voice trails off in a ragged whisper. “You’d never forgive me.”

I blink, a lone, fat tear rolling down my cheek. “I know you aren’t the classic definition of a good man, Markov. I know that.” I sniff. “I’m a smart girl, remember? And those were your words, not mine. Life is complicated. We can make this work. We can.”

He pulls me to his chest in a grip so tight I can hardly breathe before he releases me, both hands on either side of my face, his gaze burning into mine.

“Life is complicated. Yes,” he says with a nod.

“We can do this,” I whisper. But even as I say it, I can feel the futility of my words.

He slams his mouth onto mine, and all thoughts come to a screeching halt. I can hardly remember what we were arguing about. I can hardly remember how we got here or where we go from here. When his tongue tangles with mine, I taste the salty essence of my tears.

We pull away, press our foreheads together, and entwine our fingers. Hold each other. Hold this space of fear mingled with love and of past misdeeds mingled with grace.

Can I forgive him for the atrocities he’s committed? How much do I really, truly know him?

“You are right,” he whispers as he licks his lips. “Whatever comes. . . whatever happens. . . We take grave risks, but it’s nothing we can’t handle.”

Why do his words seem hollow?

Why do I question his sincerity?

Where, truly, do we go from here?

“Let me make a call,” he whispers. “Let me see if surveillance saw anything. We don’t have to make a decision right now other than whether or not we’ll go to tonight’s team dinner.”

“Right. Yes.”

I watch as he takes a phone out of his drawer and texts, scowling at it, before I push myself out of bed and replace something to change into. The window’s closed now, as it should’ve been in the first place.

I step into a pair of jeans and tug on a fitted top. Even though he’s on the phone, he crooks a finger at me.

I walk over to him, and he grins at me—one of those wide, toothy grins that splits his whole face into two, as rare as a solar eclipse and as bright as the midday sun in summer. I kiss his prickly jaw.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he says. “We’re going to make this work, Vera.” The deep timbre of his voice somehow seems foreboding when he says, “No matter what.”