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“Don’t take me for a fool, Igor,” I hiss. “Is it true that I have to marry Nikolai fucking Volkov because you popped Anastasiya Gargarin’s cherry?”
“I wanted to tell you, but Papa wouldn’t let me.” He waves me off, seemingly unbothered.
Frustrated, I run a hand through my long hair. “Fuck, Igor,” I groan. “This is your mess. You need to fix it.”
“I’m working on it, printsessa,” he says in a gentle tone, finally dropping the pretense.
My brother, with all of his good looks and charm, attracted the only girl who, due to her own family connections, was off limits. Of course, like the womanizer that he is, he didn’t care about the consequences.
It’s not like I have any right to judge. I have a lot of my own baggage when it comes to hooking up.
“How exactly are you planning on doing that?” I snort and throw up my hands. “It would be great if you’d turn on your mind from time to time.”
“She never told me her name,” Igor insists. “I swear if I’d known who she was, I would’ve found someone else to regale myself with.”
“Not helping your case,” I bark out and cross my arms over my chest.
I’m not sure if he’s ready to hear the whole story, but I decide to say it anyway. Let’s hope my brother’s recklessness has an upside somewhere.
“I tried to convince Papa to make you marry Anastasiya as a peace offering to Gargarin,” I say. Igor flinches, his eyes wide in horror at the possibility. “Of course, he rejected my idea from the start, insisting that the Sokolovs will never dirty their blood with the Gargarins.”
Igor nods at my remark. “He’s got a point. The Gargarins are our rivals, after all. You don’t just forget generations of hatred for the sake of one silly mishap that resulted in the deflowering of one girl,” he muses. “In the grand scheme of things, it’s irrelevant.”
“Are you even listening to yourself?” I groan, shaking my head. “It’s not just an oopsie, and it’s certainly important! They threatened to start a war with our family. I’m being sold off to marry Nikolai fucking Volkov to save your ass.”
I notice how the muscles in Igor’s face twitch at my words. With visible anger, he curses under his breath.
“I’m going to talk to Papa again,” he promises with new determination. “But even if he says no, don’t worry, printsessa. I told you that I’m working on it.”
I roll my eyes. “Does Papa know about your plans?”
“No, of course not,” he replies curtly.
“That’s not good enough,” I scold, but he cuts me off.
“I’ll figure it out,” he vows and storms off, presumably to the shooting range.
As I watch my brother walk away, my mind doesn’t let go of the predicament he put me in. My fury toward Igor threatens to escape in the form of heated tears.
My phone rings in my pocket, stopping that urge.
“This better be fucking important!” I snarl as I pick up the phone without checking the caller ID.
My boss‘s voice answers me. “Now Miss Sokolov,” he reprimands me. “We’ve gone over your attitude more than once. You’d better get it under control because I can easily find someone better suited to do your job.”
“Forgive me, Mr. Jackson,” I murmur apologetically. The last thing I need is to piss off my boss. I don’t want to stay at home decorating or whatever is normal for rich wives to spend their time doing. “I just had a fight with my brother,” I try to explain.
“Not interested,” he replies. “I have a band that’s been on our radar for a while now. They’re playing at Solanum tonight. It’s at the last minute, so we don’t have an invite. I’ve been told that you can get in.”
“I’ll make a few calls,” I respond confidently. I’d been at their opening night with Mila and managed to exchange numbers with the owner himself.
“Good,” Mr. Jackson says. “My secretary will send you the details. If they’re willing, you have my go ahead to sign them on the spot.”
The line cuts out, leaving me alone with the mess inside my head.
Mentally exhausted, I’ve been pushing away the uncomfortable thoughts of what my life has become. Just as my career is starting to take off, my family’s life of crime gets me stuck in an arranged betrothal. Nikolai doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d allow his wife to stay out all night, get drunk, and dance with strangers in clubs all over New York City. As soon as my thoughts circle to Nikolai, my brain switches into panic mode.
I quickly take the phone out of my pocket and dial Mila’s number.
