Chapter 1 - The Bride Nobody Wanted
Elara jerked away from her father's hand and whispered, "Don't call me that."
Vadim Sokolov entered the bridal room carrying the marriage contract.
One sentence had been circled in black ink.
UNFIT FOR A NORMAL MARRIAGE.
Vadim looked at Elara.
This wasn't the arrangement he'd been promised.
Three hours earlier, Elara Fagan had still believed there might be a way out.
She had been sitting in the smallest bedroom of the Fagan mansion with a book open across her knees when her father appeared in the doorway.
Patrick Fagan never knocked.
He didn't need to.
Everything inside the twenty-three-room Chicago mansion belonged to him, including, apparently, his daughter.
"You're marrying Vadim Sokolov."
Elara looked up.
She waited for the punch line.
There wasn't one.
"What?"
"Saturday."
Her fingers tightened around the book.
"This Saturday?"
Patrick checked his watch.
"As opposed to another Saturday?"
Elara slowly stood.
At twenty-seven, she had learned that raising her voice around her father accomplished nothing. Anger entertained him. Tears irritated him. Silence was usually safer.
But this was different.
"I don't know Vadim Sokolov."
"You know enough."
Everyone in Chicago's shadow economy knew enough about Vadim.
He had come to America from Eastern Europe decades earlier and built an organization people mentioned only when doors were closed. Newspapers called him a businessman. Prosecutors used less flattering descriptions. Men who owed him money tended to become extremely punctual.
He was nearly fifty.
Elara had never spoken to him.
"I won't marry him."
Patrick laughed.
Not loudly.
That somehow made it worse.
"Elara, men aren't exactly lining up."
The words struck precisely where he intended.
She stared at him.
Patrick's eyes traveled over his daughter's body with familiar disapproval.
Elara had inherited her mother's brown eyes and soft features, but not her narrow frame. She had been plus-size since adolescence, and Patrick had treated every pound as though it were a personal act of rebellion.
At fourteen, he'd removed dessert from her place at Christmas.
At seventeen, he'd told a boy picking her up for prom that he deserved hazard pay.
At twenty-two, he'd introduced her to business associates as "my difficult daughter."
Eventually, Elara stopped attending his parties.
She stopped dating before she had really started.
She stopped believing compliments.
Patrick called that proof he'd been right.
"You should be grateful," he said.
"For being traded?"
"For being wanted."
Elara's face went still.
Patrick stepped closer.
"The agreement protects this family. Sokolov gets legitimacy and access to several investments. We get his protection."
"And what does he get from me?"
Patrick looked at her for a long moment.
"A wife."
Then he left.
Elara remained standing until his footsteps disappeared.
Only then did she sit.
Saturday arrived with terrifying speed.
Now she sat inside an ornate bridal room at the private estate where the ceremony would take place.
Her lace gown covered her from throat to wrist. The bodice had been tailored perfectly rather than designed to hide her body, which had surprised her.
She hadn't chosen it.
Vadim's staff had.
Her brown hair was pinned beneath a jeweled tiara. A long veil spilled behind her.
She looked like someone else's bride.
Patrick stood beside her.
"Remember," he murmured, "this marriage matters."
"To whom?"
"Don't start."
A knock interrupted them.
The door opened.
Vadim entered.
Elara had seen photographs.
They had not prepared her.
He was tall, broad through the shoulders, with silver-white hair swept back from a face that looked carved rather than aged. A close beard framed his jaw. His white shirt was immaculate beneath a fitted black vest and tie.
Part of a tattoo showed beneath one rolled cuff.
He didn't smile.
His eyes went first to Patrick.
Then Elara.
Then to Patrick's hand gripping Elara's shoulder.
"Remove your hand."
Patrick blinked.
Vadim's voice remained quiet.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
Patrick released her.
Vadim carried a leather folder.
He placed it on the table and opened it.
"I received the final contract twenty minutes ago."
Patrick's face changed.
Only slightly.
Vadim noticed.
"So?"
"There is language I didn't approve."
Elara glanced toward the document.
Vadim turned it around.
A paragraph had been marked.
Patrick stepped toward it.
"Legal boilerplate."
"No."
Vadim tapped the page.
"This describes your daughter as psychologically and socially unfit for a conventional marriage."
Elara felt heat climb her neck.
She hadn't known.
Vadim continued.
"It waives several protections normally given to a spouse."
Patrick shrugged.
"I was being transparent."
"About what?"
Patrick glanced at Elara.
That glance told her everything.
Vadim saw it too.
"My daughter has issues."
Elara stared at the floor.
"Patrick," Vadim said, "leave."
Patrick laughed.
"This is my daughter's wedding."
"And this is my contract."
The two men stared at each other.
Patrick finally walked out.
Vadim closed the door.
Elara immediately stood.
"You don't have to do this."
His gaze settled on her.
"Do what?"
"Marry me."
"Why?"
She almost laughed.
"You read the contract."
"I read what your father wrote."
"Same difference."
"No."
The answer came so quickly that she looked at him.
Vadim pulled out a chair but didn't approach her.
"Sit if you want."
She remained standing.
"Are you going to ask what's wrong with me?"
"Is something wrong with you?"
Elara couldn't tell whether he was mocking her.
Apparently her expression answered him.
His face softened by a fraction.
"I asked because your father made allegations without specifics."
She swallowed.
"What did he tell you before?"
Vadim didn't answer immediately.
"That you were difficult. Reckless. Experienced with men. That previous relationships had created complications."
Elara stared at him.
Then she laughed.
It escaped before she could stop it.
Vadim frowned.
"What's funny?"
"I've never had a relationship."
Silence.
"Never?"
"No."
Vadim studied her.
Elara hated how exposed she suddenly felt.
"He told you I slept around, didn't he?"
"He implied it."
"I've never slept with anyone."
Vadim's expression became unreadable.
She wished she could disappear.
Instead, she lifted her chin.
"There. Now you know."
"Know what?"
"Why this is ridiculous."
His eyebrows drew together.
"I don't understand."
She gave him a tired smile.
"My father convinced a Bratva king that his embarrassing fat daughter was some kind of scandalous seductress."
Vadim's jaw tightened.
"Don't call yourself that."
"What?"
"What you just called yourself."
"It's accurate."
"No. It's something you've been taught to say."
The words landed differently from anything Patrick had ever said.
Before Elara could respond, someone knocked.
The ceremony coordinator announced they were ready.
Vadim extended his hand.
Elara stared at it.
"You don't have to take it."
That surprised her more than the gesture.
She slowly placed her hand in his.
He didn't squeeze.
He simply waited.
Then they walked toward the ballroom.
The ceremony passed like a dream she couldn't quite remember.
She heard vows.
She signed papers.
Vadim signed beside her.
Patrick watched.
Two women stood behind him—Elara's cousin Mara in burgundy and her younger cousin Sofia in dark teal.
When the officiant pronounced them husband and wife, Elara's stomach tightened.
She knew what usually came next.
Vadim turned toward her.
She froze.
He noticed.
Instead of kissing her, he leaned close enough that only she could hear.
"May I?"
Elara's heart slammed against her ribs.
Everyone was watching.
Patrick was watching.
She couldn't make herself move.
Vadim stepped back.
"No kiss," he told the officiant.
Whispers spread through the room.
Patrick's face hardened.
Later, while photographs were being arranged, Elara sat in an ornate gold chair beneath the chandeliers.
Vadim stood beside her.
Patrick watched from the left.
Mara and Sofia remained behind him.
It was almost exactly the arrangement the photographer wanted.
But the photographer had temporarily stepped away.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Vadim noticed a curl fallen beside Elara's cheek.
He lifted his hand.
She flinched.
He stopped instantly.
"Why are you afraid of me?"
"I'm not."
"Elara."
She looked up.
His hand remained suspended, never touching her.
She didn't know why the truth came out.
Maybe because he had asked permission at the altar.
Maybe because he had defended her before he knew her.
Maybe because she was tired of being ashamed.
"I've never done this before."
His eyes narrowed.
"What?"
"Any of it."
She swallowed.
"I've never even been kissed."
Behind them, someone inhaled sharply.
Vadim slowly lowered his hand.
His gaze moved toward Patrick.
"He told me you were damaged."
Elara's eyes dropped.
"That's what he calls me."
Patrick stepped forward.
"Vadim, you don't understand my daughter."
Vadim straightened.
"No. I think I'm beginning to understand exactly what you did to her."
Patrick's expression shifted.
His right hand moved toward his jacket.
Vadim's attention followed it.
Something white protruded from Patrick's pocket.
Not a weapon.
An envelope.
Elara recognized the handwriting across the front.
Her mother's handwriting.
Patrick saw her looking.
He shoved the envelope deeper into his jacket.
Elara stood.
"Dad."
Patrick backed away.
"What's in your pocket?"
"Nothing."
"That was Mom's handwriting."
Patrick turned toward the ballroom doors.
Vadim moved once and blocked him.
The room went silent.
Then Mara whispered from behind them.
"Elara, there's something about your mother you were never supposed to know."
Patrick spun toward her.
"Mara, don't."
Mara went pale.
Vadim looked from Patrick to the envelope.
Then someone on the other side of the ballroom doors knocked three times.
Patrick's face lost all color.
May you like
The doors began to open.
And a woman's voice called Elara's name.
