Ginny listened to Tony’s message, then shamelessly played it again. Reluctantly, she deleted it. She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t risk Fedor somehow hearing it. And besides that, she didn’t need the temptation. That deep voice set feelings ablaze inside her she had no business considering.

She sat at her old vanity table in her childhood room. There were still stickers of Strawberry Shortcake stuck to the mirror and Barbie stickers all over the wood. Her mother hadn’t even minded when eight-year-old Ginny had ruined the furniture. She encouraged her daughters’ artistic expression, even if it involved sticky adhesive that ruined antique furniture.

Ginny had moved back into her parents’ house earlier in the week. She’d have to give up the lease on her apartment soon anyway when she married Fedor, so she figured she might as well do it now. Besides, she was having trouble making the rent since she hadn’t taken a salary in months. How could she when the company could barely cut checks for the other employees? If a miracle didn’t happen soon, they might be forced to do lay-offs.

She looked in the mirror and applied another coat of lipstick. The shade was Wantonly Crimson, and not her style at all, but Fedor liked her in flashy clothes and makeup. She hated drawing attention to herself but it was a small thing and it made him happy.

She hoped if she made enough small concessions, she wouldn’t be forced to make any big ones. Though it was naive, she clung to that hope. It was one of the only things helping her hold on.

She barely recognized herself in the reflection staring back at her. Her eyes were done up in smoky eyeshadow with thick black eyeliner and several coats of mascara, but even all that makeup couldn’t hide the dead look in them. Was this what it was coming to already? When would it end? She’d already compromised so much and she hadn’t even sealed the deal yet.

Her lower lip quivered and tears filled her eyes. She pushed back from the counter, keeping her head tilted back to stop the tears from falling. She didn’t have time to patch up her makeup.

She gripped her phone in her hand, squeezing so hard the case left indentations on her fingers. Tony had said to call anytime for any reason. How she wanted to take him up on that offer, to throw feminism to the wind and ask him to save her from this mess. To let him be her knight in shining armor.

Instead, that was the role she was playing for her family, and they didn’t even realize it.

Her mom knocked on the nearly shut door and Ginny gestured for her to come in.

Her mom was perfectly suited for her father—they were both artistic dreamers. However, unlike her father, her mother hadn’t been expected to take over the family business. Instead she spent her days painting and sold her art at a local gallery downtown.

“Fedor just pulled up,” she said. Her mom coming in with that announcement almost made it feel like she was in high school and her prom date had arrived. Those days her biggest worry was how far she was going to go with Steve Epson. These days Steve was a successful real estate mogul with two children. He had a happy successful life, but she couldn’t say the same for herself.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself. She’d made her own choices. This wasn’t like her—she needed to snap out of it. It was as if all the dark makeup had coated her soul as well.

“Thanks,” she told her mom. “I’m almost ready.”

Instead of leaving, her mom sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you excited for your date tonight?”

Now it really felt like she was in high school. She was just as reluctant to talk to her mom about her love life now as she was then, though for much different reasons. How could she possibly explain to her mother—who’d stressed the importance of her daughters being strong, independent women—that she was compromising her morals so much? And if she told her mom what Fedor had told her about Veronica, that would break her heart. She couldn’t do that.

“Sure.” Ginny tucked her lipstick in her clutch.

“It doesn’t sound like it.”

Ginny looked over at her mother’s knowing eyes. This whole time she thought she’d been fooling her, but no. She should have known. Her mother adhered to the notion that children should make their own mistakes and learn from them, so she’d had a long leash as a child. Now that she was an adult, was her mother adhering to the same principles? Or had she not said anything because her children were now adults?

“I’m tired.”

“I just wonder if you’re really happy with Fedor.”

Ginny looked in the mirror at her mom’s reflection, then averted her eyes. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I wouldn’t have chosen him for you. He seems more like Veronica’s type.” She stood moved to stand behind her daughter. “And this?” She picked up a curled strand of hair and gestured to the heavy makeup. “Also Veronica. So it makes me wonder.”

It was easy to forget that her mom actually had a strong mother’s intuition when she wasn’t immersed in her art. Ginny wondered if her mom had had a similar conversation with Veronica before she married Barry. Barry had been older and much more conservative, so for a time, Veronica had put aside her brazen style in favor of a demure one. But then again, Veronica had always been somewhat of a chameleon, changing her looks to suit her needs.

“Just trying something new,” Ginny replied. Her mother’s concerned expression made this harder. She didn’t like lying, especially knowing she was going to have to continue the farce for years to come.

Her mom nodded, although her expression said she clearly wasn’t convinced.

The two women walked downstairs. Fedor and Ginny’s father sat in the front room. Her father was talking and waving his hands animatedly. While Fedor indulged her father’s talk, he thought the man was silly, and though he’d never said so, Ginny knew he didn’t think very highly of her father. He had no respect for a man with no business sense. Besides that, her father was blind to the real circumstances of Ginny and Fedor’s impending nuptials, even though it was happening right in front of him. That was also a cause for lack of respect. Ironic, wasn’t it?

Fedor actually didn’t respect most people and it was a perpetual thorn in his side that he was forced to suck up to people he considered beneath him so he could gain footing in society. He had contempt for those who came from old money because the families hadn’t had to work for their wealth and privilege—the individuals had simply been born into it. It was a warped catch-22—he hated them, but he was also dying for their respect and acknowledgment, the one thing money and intimidation couldn’t get him.

Born into it or not, some of them still worked their asses off to keep things afloat. Though, on the other hand, she could understand Fedor’s point. He was an entirely self-made man. She could respect that, except that he’d built himself up on questionable means.

“I’d considered selling this place,” her father said, continuing the conversation that Fedor had no interest in, “but then I thought we might want the space for the grandchildren.”

Fedor nodded. “There is plenty of room for children to play. I’m sure they will enjoy visiting.”

Ginny stopped. She knew Fedor wanted—and expected—children, but hearing him and her father talk about it so casually make her palms go slick.

Fedor would be the father of her children. Her children would wear his face and have his name.

Bile rose in her throat and she forced it back down. Fedor chose that moment to notice her, and she quickly forced a smile. But she wasn’t fast enough. His lips stretched into a thin line of displeasure as his eyes raked over her body. She shuddered, goosebumps forming on her skin.

“Shall we go, luybov moya?”

* * *

Fedor’s arm struck out before she’d even registered what he intended to do. Something hard struck her cheekbone, and the intellectual side of her brain deduced that it must have been the gaudy signet ring he always wore.

Her head jerked to the side and pain exploded in her eye socket.

Although it felt like this was happening in slow motion, she wasn’t fast enough to shield herself.

A second blow knocked her to the floorboard of the car, and she tasted the coppery wetness of her own blood.

“Stop! Please!” She raised her arms to cover her face, and he grabbed her wrist, twisting it so painfully she cried out.

His foot struck her leg, making her shin bone feel like it was going to shatter.

“Get up, cyka,” Fedor growled. He grabbed her hair and used it to haul her back up onto the seat.

“Please, help me!” This time her plea was directed at the driver, but he didn’t even turn around. Fedor had him trained well.

Fedor gripped her chin and shoved her face back until her skull collided with the window. He spat in her face, then backhanded her again, this time striking her other cheek.

They’d only left her parents’ house five minutes earlier. She’d expected Fedor to be surly, but this . . . this was beyond anything she expected.

She put her palms flat against his chest, using all her strength to push him away, but it was no use—he was too strong.

The car was slowing, so she gripped her clutch in one hand and felt behind her back for the door handle with the other. She flipped the lock to open and just before the car pulled to a stop at a red light, she flung around the purse, striking Fedor in the side of the head. She didn’t think she’d be able to hurt him, but she was hoping it would distract him just enough for him to loosen his hold on her.

She quickly pulled the release on the handle, and the door gave way behind her. She slid out of the car, her ass and her elbows landing painfully on the asphalt. She cried out as her knee twisted unnaturally. Her feet were still stuck in the car, one of them tangled in the seatbelt.

She yanked at it, disengaging her foot. Then she scooted backward a few feet and got up. She took off in a hobbled run. Daring a glance over her shoulder, she saw Fedor slam the car door closed. The light turned green and the car pulled into the intersection.

Ginny ducked into an alley and leaned against the side of the building. He isn’t coming after me.

True, he could tell the driver to circle around and look for her, but somehow she didn’t think he would. In a twisted way, she was insulted. It was salt in her open wound—she wasn’t even worth the effort to retrieve.

Still, she wasn’t taking any chances. She went further up the alley, each step causing a pain to radiate up her leg into her knee, but still she kept going, her hands shaking. After about ten blocks, she stopped and pulled her phone out of her clutch.

She stared at it. Who should she call? The police? Probably, but she wouldn’t, and Fedor knew that. Calling the police put Veronica in danger.

Her parents? No, she wanted to keep them out of this.

She scrolled through her contacts list, her thumb hovering over a number. He’d said to call anytime. God, she hoped he meant it.

It rang twice, three times. “Pick up, pick up,” she begged into the darkness of the alley.

“Sorry to have missed your call—”

She ended the call with a curse.

Tears spilled over onto her cheeks. When she wiped at them, her hands came away tinged with blood. God, what had he done to her face?

She’d never felt more alone. She had no one else she could call.

Sure, she had some local girlfriends and society acquaintances, but she had no one she could call to pick her up in the middle of the city when she was battered and bleeding.

She was a fool to think she could handle the situation with Fedor, a fool for thinking a marriage to him would be a solution for anything. For every problem the arrangement would solve, a bigger one had sprung up in its place.

But she couldn’t stay here. She opened the Uber app on her phone and entered her location.