Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Lev smiles, but there’s a sadness in his eyes. I, too, have borne the pain of not being enough for my family based on where I came in the lineup and having nothing at all to do with my actual talents, gifts, what I could do, or who I am.
“I know what that’s like,” I mutter to him in a low voice.
“Having to get stronger than five brothers?” Lev asks, his brow lifted teasingly. “Glomming endless YouTube videos on how to best someone bigger and stronger than you in a match like David defeating Goliath? How many of your older brothers did you have to beat up?”
I shrug and stretch, mimicking buffing my nails.
“All of them,” I say with a yawn.
He snorts. “I thought you only had one brother.”
“Well, yes, but that’s all of them.”
Mikhail continues and Lev’s eyes twinkle a bit. He whispers in my ear, “I’d like to hear that story sometime.”
I whisper back, “It seems we both have some stories to share.”
“And now,” Mikhail says, holding his glass up. “We’ve seen the youngest among us rise to the top. He’s fought every adversary that’s come his way and proven himself tirelessly the most loyal, the most dedicated, the most dependable brother we could ask for.”
“Hey,” Aleks says with mock effrontery.
Mikhail ignores him, and his mother, a regal woman with gorgeous silver hair and twinkling blue eyes, laughs. “It’s not a competition, son.”
“Oh, but it is,” Lev whispers to me. “I might have to knock you up with triplets. You game?”
I bury my face in the wine glass and pretend I didn’t hear him. I absolutely love sex. Love. It. I swear to God, people who don’t aren’t doing it right. But the thought of other little humans occupying my body—well, I’m not quite there yet, especially if said humans contain Romanov blood.
What have I gotten myself into?
“Do you have like… breeding competitions?”
Lev seems to be mulling this over. “Well, that’s a crass way to put it.”
I feel my brows shoot into my hairline. “Is there another way to put it?”
“Mmm,” he says but nods toward Mikhail, who’s finishing up. We’re putting a pin in this conversation, pronto.
“On behalf of the entire Romanov family, we want to thank you, Lev, and welcome you, Isabella. Though our future is uncertain, know this: By marrying into the Romanov family, you are now one of us, and we welcome you.”
My nose feels all tingly, and my throat surprisingly tight.
I guess he maybe, probably, has to say something like that, but it doesn’t mean I’m not eating it up.
They all cheer, and we clink glasses. I lift my glass for Lev to refill.
But Mikhail is still standing up. “On a practical note,” he begins. “Our enemies will be on the prowl.”
We all know without him saying that said enemies are my family.
“They will be looking for you after word gets out that you’ve been married. I’ve decided it’s in everyone’s best interest for you two to take a honeymoon in an undisclosed location. When we’re done here, Aria will give you all the details. Even I don’t know where you’re going.”
“Heavily encrypted!” Aria says with a grin. “But I promise, I found a perfect spot. You’re gonna love it.”
Lev can’t disguise the look of surprise on his face. “A honeymoon?”
I shift in my seat, not making eye contact with him. I know what happens on a honeymoon. He knows what happens on a honeymoon. Whatever happened when he interrogated me in the basement only stoked my appetite. We’re going away?
“Yes, a honeymoon. You two will go away for a week, and in that time, we’ll keep a close eye on any developments.”
I don’t need him to tell me exactly what those developments could be. I know as well as he does.
“For now, a toast to the newlyweds.” He lifts his glass and pronounces something in Russian.
“What does that mean?” I ask Lev.
“It means may the happy couple have lots of babies and lots of practice trying.”
I stare, my mouth agape when I notice him smirking.
“You lied!”
He shrugs. We toast and drink, and the doors open, and staff pour in.
“In my family, weddings are practically acts of war.”
“Why does that not surprise me?”
“Mmm. During my cousin Eduardo’s wedding, someone secretly poisoned the champagne used for the toast. Several guests were in agony after toasting. Another time, when I was a small girl, a bride’s brother was kidnapped and beaten before the ceremony was about to begin. We had to reschedule the wedding and negotiate his release. Another time, during a celebration, an older uncle who was kind of an asshole disguised himself as wait staff and launched a surprise attack.” I sip my wine. “My family’s fucked up.”
“Got it,” he mutters into his wine glass. “Don’t expect a wedding gift.”
I stare at the platters of food.