Deceitful Vows by Brook Wilder
Chapter 35
Paige
I stare at the blue lights flickering across the dashboard as the numbers on the speedometer rapidly increase.
From the corner of my eye, I see Andrei is watching me. He pushes the Lamborghini to its absolute limit, gunning the engine so that a hum turns into a roar.
Speeding won’t help. It won’t get us away from our troubles any faster. I glance at the rearview mirror, and his car has outdistanced the hulking jeeps holding his guards.
The engine shrieks, but I refuse to tell him to slow down. I don’t give a shit about his testosterone.
How can Andrei do this to me? Or to her? How can he use me like this? Just thinking about the rage in Talia’s eyes sends another tremor through me. I dig my nails into the seat.
Andrei glances at my hands; his eyes aren’t on the road. Is he waiting for a big reaction? Does Andrei want me to beg for him to slow down? Is he trying to force me to talk to him? I refuse to respond by questioning the shit he’s pulled on me.
He must care about her. He never reacts like that with me.
As soon as we stop, I leap out of the car and head to the front door. Guards in their black suits rush behind me into the mansion as if I’m being hounded by the paparazzi. Security has been overly attentive since Andrei dragged me out of the restaurant by my elbow.
I rush upstairs to our bedroom, kick off my heels, and slam the door shut. Andrei should sleep in the other room tonight. On some nights, he occupies a bedroom upstairs alone. I’ve never been in his private room, but the maids have. The guards have. And Eva and Sonia too.
If I had to guess, I’d bet that Talia has been in his room and his bed too. And I have no doubt in my mind that one day, she’ll be back in both.
I tug at the sleeve of my tight dress but stop when Andrei enters the room. I don’t look at him glaring at me from the door. He watches me with his hands on his hips as if I’m to blame for this mess.
His dark eyes burn holes into the side of my face, but I refuse his gaze. He owes me an explanation, and he knows it.
Instead, I look around our bedroom, pretending to search for something while purposefully ignoring him.
I take in the familiar perfect room with its snow-white carpet and glossy wallpaper depicting a pale silver trellis on white. The furniture is all white, and the accent pieces are gleaming silver. Oil paintings of wildlife adorn the walls as the only hint of a personality. In the center of the room stands a king-sized bed in front of two French doors leading to a balcony.
I stare hatefully at the bed—our marriage bed—with its mattress covered in cool blue linen sheets and pillows beneath a white-tufted headboard. I decide to sit at the vanity table far across the room.
Andrei sighs loudly and turns away from me. As much as I want to hate him, I don’t want him to leave the room. Am I that desperate? I want him to say something comforting while he holds me tight.
But he’s not wired to lie to be kind. He only likes to tell the truth when it hurts. There are worse people.
My wrist pulses and I turn it over, looking at a streak of blood where Talia’s nails broke the skin. It was stinging before, but I didn’t know I was bleeding. I run my fingertips over the torn skin, smearing the blood over my palm.
I’m out of my depth.
“Did she do that? Did she hurt you?”
I jump, not realizing that Andrei is standing over me. I try to hide the blood by turning my hand over, but he swiftly reaches for me. I hiss as Andrei grabs my hand, and instantly, his grip relaxes.
His eyes widen, startled that he can hurt me. Does he only realize that now? Then, almost as if he’s holding onto air, he turns my wrist over and gently touches the bloody scratch with his fingertips.
“She shouldn’t have done this.” His voice shakes low with temper. “She’ll be sorry for what she’s done.”
“What she’s done?” I snatch my hand back and stand up quickly. “Why don’t we start with what you’ve done.”
“What have I done?” The cold calm returns, erasing the concern from his expression.
I want him enraged, not hiding behind a mask of control. I want Andrei to understand how much he’s ruined my life. He fought with her. He showed his emotions to her.
And what has he ever shown me? The size of his cock? The feeling of his mouth between my legs? How much did this whore cost you, Andrushka? Is that all I am to him? Will he abandon me once I’m of no more use to him?
“You turned me into the other woman!” I fight back the tears to keep my voice even. “Even after you knew that my own ex-fiancé cheated on me!”
“Talia is nothing to me, Paige,” he replies evenly. “Nothing but a business deal that I ended.”
“How can you be so unfeeling?” I stare at him in wonder. “I saw her being dragged out of the yard. What did you say to her? Did you blame it on me? Were you fucking her while I was kept a hostage before our wedding?”
Andrei reaches for me, but I rush past him, dodging his hands. I look back at him, and he dissolves into splintering rays as tears fill my eyes.
“Will she be your mistress?” I clench my fists like a petulant child. “Don’t all Bratva men cheat on their faithful, obedient wives?”
Andrei answers me with a short laugh. “I want nothing to do with her. I never touched her.”
I shake my head, unable to believe him. The pain in Talia’s eyes wouldn’t exist unless he put it there. I know that familiar hurt and betrayal. Having lived it, I know.
“I can’t trust you,” I tell him between gasping sobs. “After everything you’ve done.”
“And what, my dear wife, is that?” His voice is soothing, too smooth.
The sound of it flows over my feverish skin as I inhale deeply, and my body longs for Andrei to touch me. The day we married, a part of me really did want him. I hoped a part of him would want me equally as much.
Whenever Andrei stares at me, I feel like I’m his world. But now, it’s clear that I’m only a tool for getting something bigger. What’s worse, I can’t even bring myself to throw those awful words in his face.
That he made me the one thing I hate more than anything else in this world.
Andrei moves closer and takes my hand in his. His sultry eyes hold me captive, not the locks on the doors. I raise my hand to touch his rising and falling chest but put it down again. I have to hate Andrei, or I might fall carelessly in love.
He lifts my bloody wrist to his mouth and presses his lips to it. I feel his tongue against the wound and my eyelids lower.
“We would do this as children,” he explains. “Kiss it better.”
I yank my wrist away from his mouth.
“No.” I shake my head. “I won’t. I can’t. And you can’t make it happen. You won’t get your way.”
The silence in the room weighs down on me as my ragged breaths fill the space between us. I shouldn’t have said that. It was too much. His hand drops to his side, and I stand there foolishly, my wrist in midair. I lower my gaze, hoping the floor will open up and I’ll drop through it to the floor below. I want to run as fast as I can away from him.
I lift my gaze but can’t read the thoughts behind his dark eyes. So inscrutable I can’t even figure out what he’s thinking. There is a hidden secret to him that I can’t decipher, and that leaves me feeling frustrated and confused.
I want to know, but Andrei will never tell me the truth.
Andrei is fixed to the spot as if my raw emotions have blown his brain.
Closing my eyes, I pray as hard as I can that Andrei will pull me into his arms. I wish for him to tell me that I’m wrong, that none of the awful things I heard are true except that I am his wife.
I open my eyes and stare at him desperately, but Andrei says nothing.
I tug the wedding ring off my finger and fling it onto the silver tray on the vanity. It makes a harsh clattering sound as it bounces against the metal. Andrei starts when I take off the earrings. Maybe he does care.
“Why did you marry me?” I stare at my pale reflection in the mirror. “Tell me the truth.”
“I needed you.”
Liar. “Why?”
He falls silent again.
“You know what? I don’t care anymore.” I toss the earrings down beside that gaudy ring. “I’m tired of being a part of other people’s plans. I’m tired of playing a supporting role in my life, not knowing what will happen next. Nobody cares what I want to do with my life. So do whatever you want and take what you want. And to hell with you.”
I stumble into the bathroom and take down my hair. Flinging open cabinets, I search for a band-aid. I won’t ask for his help as I throw open cabinets, looking. My wrist leaves a bloody mark against the pristine white paint. I don’t care because this place is not who I am. None of this is.
With spite, I swipe my wrist across the cabinet, leaving behind a jagged red mark. As if I’m tagging the walls with graffiti.
I stand in front of the sink and brace myself against it. I wait like a pathetic fool for Andrei to appear. I wait for him to prove me wrong and check on me. I wait for his lips to touch my skin as tenderly as he held my wrist and tell me that having me is the plan.
Instead, I hear nothing but deafening silence, and I wonder what he’s doing until I hear his phone chime.
“Da.” The door to the bedroom opens, and then Andrei is gone.
I peek out of the bathroom to make sure that the bedroom is empty. Rushing toward the door, I grip the knob and turn it. Locked. I lift my fist to bang on it but stop myself just in time.
Why give Andrei anything else, including my anger?
Why give him any more than what I’ve already given? He loves to see me hysterical. He’s always acting superior while he goads another trashy reaction out of me. I glare at the door as if he’s standing in the doorway. Finally, I head toward the bathroom, pausing to yank off my dress.
The bandages are inside the cabinet over the sink. A neat line of boxes, as if the room’s occupant constantly needs mending. I place cotton over my wound and then bind it with gauze.
The cut across my wrist doesn’t sting anymore. And I force myself to stop crying.
Why cry over him? Why cry over the vain asshole using me and ruining my life?
A choked sob cuts my pity party short. And I battle an irritating thought forming in my head: because I want Andrei to return. I want to hear one final lie.
Even if Andrei doesn’t want me, I just want him to tell me:
That when it’s over, I’ll be okay.
