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I hadn’t let up, not from the kitchen to here, not through my shower as I ripped off that pretty dress and ruined my curls in the hot water, and not even when Katja brought me my nightly hot cocoa. The tears just kept pouring, as if the giant cavern inside my chest is overflowing with water and that was their only escape.
My beautiful red dress lay crumpled on the floor where I’d discarded it, untouched even by Katja, as I’d been unable to connect how badly this night had turned out when compared to the utter delight of my kiss.
“I’m sorry, Alena,” Katja says quietly. “I wish there were something I could do.”
“Me too.”
She lingers for a few more minutes, then slowly turns down the light and closes the door, leaving me to my grief.
I tried to tell my parents about Mikhail until I was blue in the face, but they were adamantly against believing me no matter what I said. Even more so when I couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse as to how I got away. I refused to drag Kristof into that mess, refused to taint the beautiful memory of that kiss. Any attempts to talk them out of the wedding had also failed. All my father cared about was making sure the Kuznetsovs never found out about my accusations because there was no way I could be telling the truth. Not at the expense of the family.
All the good, exciting feelings left over from kissing Kristof vanished.
Even worse, Mara had grounded me. A laughable punishment since I was never allowed to leave the estate anyway, but she had been very clear in her rules.
“Just because you’re an adult now does not mean you can wander freely and risk even more disgrace to this family. If you won’t act for the family’s best interests on your own accord, then we will have to do it for you!”
The best interests of the family. That’s all that matters, all that will ever matter.
Out of the two, I have no idea which hurts worse.
Tucked up by the bay window, I bury my face into the crook of my elbow and sob. My chest aches, my eyes burn, and each breath is a struggle as pain wrenches from me with every sob. Tonight was supposed to be perfect. It was perfect for a little while.
Kristof kissed me. Handsome, sexy, dangerous Kristof, with his almost permanent scowl and strong arms and tattoos, took my first kiss.
Like a dream.
Picturing him and the kiss finally calms my tears. As they slow, I lift my head and stare out the window down to the garden where the nightly patrol passes beneath each spotlight around the perimeter. Like statues, five sets of three men walk back and forth across the paving stones and past the outer hedges.
I wish he were here.
If anyone could sweep in here and rescue me, it would be Kristof.
Following the path of one group, I slowly close my eyes and imagine just that.
Kristof knows the patrols by heart, so he knows exactly what path to take to avoid them all. He darts across the gardens like a panther, then climbs up the trellis and sweeps onto my balcony, prying my window open with his bare hands. He tells me he wants me, that no one else can have me, and then takes me into his arms with a kiss so strong that the pain in my chest is simply from having no air. Then he throws me over his shoulders and steals me away into the night with promises to love and protect me for the rest of my life.
My parents never find us, consumed with guilt over how they treated me, and Mikhail never touches me again.
As my fantasy plays out, the tears slowly fade to nothing, and my heart flutters at the prospect of being so close to Kristof for longer than a few snatched minutes.
Kristof takes me to his home. I bet it’s as rugged as he is, with normal furniture, no diamonds or silk, just ordinary and safe. Maybe a few paintings and some leather couches, but nothing as extravagant as here. He’d kiss me again and take off my clothes, touching me everywhere like I’m the most precious thing and?—
No.
My own fantasy suddenly halts, and I open my eyes.
Kristof wouldn’t be like that. He’s not soft, and I don’t think there’s a gentle bone in his body. That aspect of him doesn’t bother me. It excites me. Everyone in this house is so calm and perfect, but Kristof is rough around the edges. He’s mean and powerful. He takes what he wants and seems to enjoy people being beneath him, if how he treats the staff here is anything to go by.
Would he rip my clothes off instead? Pull my hair and throw me down onto his bed. During our kiss, I noticed his palms were rough. A subtle shift of excitement rushes through me as I picture those rough hands grabbing at me all over. He definitely strikes me as the kind of man who likes to bite, who takes what he wants.
He’d hold me down and fuck me for his own pleasure. He’d use me, and I’d thank him for it. The thought of pleasing him makes my heart ache.
Footsteps in the hall outside my door drag me back to reality, and my fantasy crumbles into dust.
That’s all it is, after all.
Just a dream.
