Page 34 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

I read the passage three times, each word settling heavier than the last.

Another journal, this one from my grandfather in 1978, describes how quickly alliances can become weaknesses when family and power become intertwined. He writes about a business partner who became a brother, then a threat, then a corpse. The progression took less than two years.

"Love makes you vulnerable. Family makes you weak. The only way to maintain control is to keep everyone at a distance. Trust no one completely. Need no one desperately. The moment you do, you've already lost."

These warnings leave me unsettled and conflicted about my upcoming marriage to Ana. Even though I've read the passages many times over my life, which is probably why I am the way I am today, they never seemed more relevant than right now. I've spent my entire adult life following these principles, and now I'm about to marry a woman who makes me feel things I've spent decades avoiding.

I close the journals and return them to the shelves, but the words stay with me as I leave the room and lock the door behind me.

By mid-morning, I find myself heading toward the library. I tell myself it's to review some contracts, but the truth is I'm looking for her. I need to see if yesterday's argument changed anything between us or if we're still locked in this constant battle of wills.

Ana sits in one of the leather chairs near the tall windows, sunlight streaming across her face as she reads. She's wearing dark jeans and a soft gray sweater that make her look younger, less like the polished princess and more like an ordinary woman enjoying a quiet morning. I hate when she looks like this because it makes her more real, more attainable, and I don't need extra reasons to want to take her to my room and fuck her until we're both breathless and sated.

She looks up when I enter, and I expect to see anger or frustration in her eyes, but she looks at me with… what, relief? About what?

"Can we talk?" she asks. "Without arguing for once?"

I move to the chair across from her and settle into it, studying her carefully. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. What is she up to now? "About what?"

"I overheard some of your men yesterday." She sets her book aside. "They were discussing how you never intended to marry or have children."

I raise my eyebrows. That was no secret. "And?"

"Is it true?" She meets my eyes directly. "Did you really swear you'd never have a family?"

No sense in lying. Since she's going to be my wife, she needs to know what to expect. "Yes. I decided a long time ago that this life isn't compatible with marriage or children. I've seen too many men lose everything because they let their guard down for the people they loved."

She's quiet for a moment, processing this. "I assumed Gregory was your biological son," Ana says, surprising me. "There's the photograph in your office of the two of you that says Number 1 Dad, and then there's the way you talk about him."

I shake my head. "Gregory lost his parents in a car accident when he was twelve." The memory of that night still sits heavily in my chest. "I took him in because no one else would. I raised and educated him and taught him the business. He's the closest thing to family I have, but he's not my son. Not by blood."

"But you love him like one." It's not a question.

"I care about what happens to him." I don't use the word love. I never have. "He's earned my respect and my protection."

Ana nods slowly, and I see understanding in her eyes. "I never wanted children either," she admits. "My entire life has been shaped by obligations and expectations as the last royal heir. Everyone assumes I'll produce the next generation of Rostovas, continue the bloodline, and fulfill my royal duty." That last bit comes out in practically a snarl. "But I've never wanted that. I've never wanted to bring a child into this world just to satisfy other people's expectations."

For the first time since this engagement was announced, we've found something we genuinely agree on. Something important that changes the entire dynamic between us. And freaks me the fuck out. I'm trying to find ways to distance myself from her, but instead, it's like fate itself is throwing us together.

I'm a little surprised Princess Ana doesn't want children. In my experience, most women do. As lonely as her life has been, I'd think she'd want a child, someone of her own she can love. The fact that she doesn't want kids will make our marriage easier since I won't have to listen to her bitch and complain, begging me for a baby.

She pulls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "But at least we won't be fighting about children and family planning on top of everything else," she says, as if she'd somehow read my thoughts.

The conversation puts her at ease and the defensive walls she usually keeps raised lower slightly. This is a different side of the princess—not the spoiled, selfish woman who is used to getting everything she wants. Or the manipulative seductress who likes to practice her charms on men. Right now, she seems like a down-to-Earth woman who just wants to make the best of a bad situation. And this version of her is far more dangerous to my control than any of the others.

"For what it's worth," I say carefully, "you're not what I expected either."

"Is that a compliment or an insult?" One corner of her mouth tilts up in a start of a smile. My dick springs to life, and it's all I can do not to go to her and nibble on that lip.

"It's an observation." I stand, needing to put distance between us before I make good on my thoughts and ruin this tentative peace between us. "I have a meeting with Gregory this afternoon," I say suddenly, changing the topic to something less comfortable which I'm reasonably sure will irritate her. "Security briefing about the wedding."

"Of course you do." She picks up her book again. "Don't let me keep you from your perfectly scheduled life."

I leave the library, but the conversation stays with me. Fuck. I'm in deeper trouble than I thought. I'm sinking like I'm wearing cement shoes in a deep river, and I have no idea how to stop it.

Gregory arrives at two o'clock sharp, dressed in his usual dark suit, his expression serious as he follows me into my private study. I pour us both whiskey even though it's early afternoon, because something tells me we're going to need it.

"Wedding security," I say, handing him a glass. "Walk me through the current plan."