Page 32 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

"How are you really doing here?" Benedikt asks after we've walked in silence for several minutes. "And I want the truth, not the polite answer you'd give your father."

"It's complicated." I pause beside a fountain, watching water cascade over smooth stones. "Samuil is not what I expected. He's difficult and controlling and absolutely infuriating. But he's also more complex than I gave him credit for."

"Complex doesn't mean safe." Benedikt moves closer, lowering his voice even though we're alone. "I don't trust this engagement, Ana. I don't trust him. The Galkins and Rostovas have never gotten along, and suddenly, your father arranges a marriage? Something doesn't add up."

"I know." I trail my fingers through the fountain's cold water. "I've been trying to figure out what my father isn't telling me. Why this marriage is so important to him."

"Whatever the reason, it puts you in danger." Benedikt's hand closes into a fist at his side.

The words should frighten me. They should make me want to run back to my father's estate and refuse this entire arrangement. But instead, I find myself defending Samuil. "He's never been anything but honest with me. Blunt, yes. Cold, sometimes. But not dishonest."

"That's what worries me most." Benedikt turns to face me fully, and there's something raw in his expression. "You're starting to see him as more than a power Pakhan your father wants you to marry. You're starting to care what he thinks and how he sees you. And that makes you vulnerable in ways that have nothing to do with physical safety."

I want to argue, but the truth is, he's right. Last night when Samuil sat with me while I cried over my mother's letter, something shifted. A crack formed in the armor I've been wearing since this engagement was announced. And I don't know how to seal it back up.

"I can take care of myself," I finally say.

"I know you can." Benedikt's voice gentles. "But you shouldn't have to."

We walk back to the house in silence, and I can feel the weight of his concern following me like a shadow.

By early afternoon, I'm trapped in what can only be described as wedding planning hell. The sitting room has been transformed into utter chaos, with fabric samples spread across every surface, flower arrangements crowding the side tables, and a wedding planner who speaks in rapid-fire sentences that leave no room for interruption. This is all thanks to my father, of course. He decided I couldn't be trusted to organize my own wedding.

"The ceremony will be held at the Galkin family chapel," Margaret announces, consulting her tablet. "Pakhan Galkin was very specific about that. No exceptions."

"I haven't even seen the chapel." I shift in my chair, trying to find a comfortable position. "What if I want something different?"

"Your father and Pakhan Galkin have already agreed on the venue." Margaret doesn't look up from her notes. "The guest list is being finalized by both families. Just a few people, all carefully vetted for security purposes."

I already knew this, since Samuil said as much the other night. Despite my wish to have a big Cinderella wedding, that's not going to happen.

I bite back my frustration. "What about the reception? I'd like something elegant but not overly formal. Maybe an outdoor venue with string lights and⁠—"

"The reception will be held in the Galkin estate ballroom." The wedding planner makes a note on her tablet. "Pakhan Galkin has already approved the menu and the entertainment. Classical orchestra, traditional Russian dishes alongside American cuisine, and a strict timeline for speeches and toasts."

"Of course he has." I stand abruptly, needing to move before I say something I'll regret. "What exactly am I allowed to decide about my own wedding?"

She looks genuinely confused by the question. "Your dress, of course. And your jewelry, though I understand your father is providing family heirlooms. You'll also choose your bouquet from the approved flower selections."

"How generous." The sarcasm drips from my voice.

I excuse myself and head toward Samuil's private study, my heels clicking sharply against the marble floors. I don't bother knocking, just push open the heavy door and find him seated behind his desk, reviewing what looks like financial reports.

He glances up, his dark eyes assessing. "Something wrong?"

"Everything is wrong." I close the door behind me with more force than necessary. "I just spent an hour being told about my wedding. The wedding I apparently have no say in planning."

Samuil sets down his pen with deliberate care. "The arrangements are being handled by professionals. That's what we pay them for."

"I don't care about professionals." I move closer to his desk, planting my hands on the polished surface. "This is supposed to be my wedding, Samuil. Mine. But every single decision has been made by you or my father without bothering to ask what I want."

"What you want isn't the priority here." He leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "This wedding is about solidifying an alliance between our families. It's about tradition and respect and showing strength to everyone watching. Your personal preferences are secondary to those considerations."

"Secondary." I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Of course they are. Because I'm secondary, aren't I? Just another piece being moved around the board in whatever game you and my father are playing."

"That's not what I said."

"It's what you meant." I straighten, crossing my arms. "Tell me something, Samuil. In this marriage you're so carefully orchestrating, where exactly do I fit? Am I supposed to smile prettily at your business dinners? Produce heirs on command? Stay quiet and grateful that you've allowed me into your perfectly controlled life?"