Page 12 of His Ruthless Vow

Alana moves gracefully, but when she stops beside me, she splays a hand on my chest and looks right in my eyes. "Thank you," she says quietly, "for wanting to help end this. You're not at all like your brother."

That feels like a compliment, given what Ivan did, but I'm not exactly sure how to take it. I watch her walk out the door and then hear the outer door of the church shut as she exits, but all I can do is stand there chastising myself as my phone buzzes in my pocket, receiving her message. I'm not supposed to catch feelings for her.

So why do I want to chase her down and hold her again?

9

ALANA

The air is crisp as I hover near one of the stalls in the Christmas market that sells handmade ornaments, glass bulbs painted with red, silver, and gold decorations and tied with green ribbon. They're cute but not anything I could hang on our Christmas tree at home. Mamochka would turn her nose up at it. She prefers creams and golds, not the traditional red and green.

I'm waiting on Dimitri to show up, though I'm not happy about being out here in the open in a public place where anything could happen. I haven't explained to him what really happened inside my heart when his brother attacked me or how I find it difficult to go places on my own. He probably assumes I'm a normal woman with an independent streak and the boldness to live on my own and do normal things. I wish I could say I am. But I'm not.

Every time someone walks past me from behind, I stiffen in fear. When I hear a man's voice that has a certain baritone rumble to it, I shudder. Ivan destroyed my ability to trust in the goodness of mankind, and it's crippled me.

"Seven dollars," the stall owner says to me, nodding at the frail golden bulb in my hand which I keep touching. I smile at him, but I have no intention to purchase any decorations. I'm just here to meet with Dimitri and find out what he has to say about this little mission he's on to stop our siblings' wedding.

"Thank you," I mutter, turning toward the path between stalls and moving on. That particular stall felt safer, more visible to a lot of people than some others, but I don't want the merchants to think I'm loitering and clogging up their stalls so other customers walk past because they're busy.

When I stop beside a stall selling hand-sewn dresses, I sense someone watching me. Eyes tracking my movement or following me. I turn to my right hoping to see Dimitri, but no one in particular stands out. But a hand finds the small of my back and I jump out of my skin, whipping around and almost falling over.

Dimitri is there with steadying hands, grabbing my shoulders and holding me in place. "Hey, whoa. slow down," he soothes, as if I'm a horse or a dog. But his eyes are calm as my heart jackhammers in my throat.

"I thought… My God, don’t do that to me." Pressing a palm to my chest where I feel my thready pulse racing, I take a step back and breathe in deeply to calm myself. This is a huge market. I knew he could be anywhere, and I just wasn’t ready for the shock.

"I'm sorry for startling you. I didn't realize." Dimitri looks genuinely vexed that he upset me. His eyebrows draw together and he runs a hand through his dark, wavy hair. Any other day, on any other street, a man who looked like him would send me running for the hills. His skin is stained with ink just about everywhere I can see other than his face, and his beard and the persistent storm in his eyes make him so intimidating.

But I know better, and that anchors me, allowing my heart to calm.

"It's okay. Really." The drop from fight-or-flight into safety is so deep, it's dizzying. I lean into him and press my cheek to his, then back away. "You wanted to talk?" I know the fastest way to make my body regulate again is to move on to the real reason we're here.

Dimitri gestures for us to walk and glances around the market. Maybe he's afraid of people seeing us together, or maybe he's worried that someone followed him. I let his hand ride the middle of my back as he guides me along the footpath through the market to a place where the crowd thins and the stalls are farther apart.

"Are you okay?" he asks, pulling a peppermint from his pocket and working the wrapper with one hand. It's like he doesn't want to remove his hand from my back for any reason. It's okay. I don’t mind it there. It feels safer knowing I'm not alone now.

"It's just… I guess…" I fumble with my words because opening up and telling an almost-stranger why I'm so jumpy and how much I hate being in public alone doesn't feel right for this atmosphere.

"Say no more," Dimitri says as a scowl darkens his face. The storm intensifies in his eyes as he puts the peppermint into his mouth and jams the wrapper into his pocket. I can't read his thoughts, but he doesn't seem very happy.

"I'm sorry. We're just in public, and I don't know you very well." The memory of his arms around me comforting me in the chapel last week is haunting. I enjoyed it so very much—so very much, I didn't want to leave that night, and I knew I had to. What the hell is the point of breaking up this wedding and the alliance it brings if I fall for the fucking enemy anyway? How weak am I?

"Alana, I know what my brother did and I'm sorry for that. It's obviously had a huge effect on you." The fact that he skirted my excuse and drove a nail right into the center of my flimsy defense mechanism is both terrifying and disarming. He can see through my excuses and he's being gentle about it, not pointing it out or calling me out on it.

We walk for a moment in silence until we're at the foot of St. Michaels, where we met last week. He hasn't brought up whatever information he has or why he asked to meet with me. And I'm not sure why I'm here today. I should be at home avoiding Natalia and her pesky questions about which ribbon she should wear in her hair or whatever nonsense she's focused on today.

"So," I say, turning to face him as we stop under the shadow of the building. It's a cool day with a brisk breeze. The sky threatens snow, but my heavy parka and thick wool cap keep me from shivering too badly. Dimitri grits his teeth against the cold and glances up at the steeple before looking back at me.

"We went to church here when we were little. You'd think Ivan and my father would’ve picked up a few lessons on morals and what is right and wrong."

It's odd hearing a man like Dimitri in the world we live in discuss morals and righteousness so casually. A God-fearing man would run as fast as he could as far away as he could from any semblance of evil, including his own family name, if he were part of the world we grew up in. But I stopped questioning my father and his moral compass a long time ago. Murder is no greater sin than stealing a cookie from Mamochka's cookie jar, in his opinion.

So it's puzzling to hear Dimitri discuss this cover-up his father took part in as if it's so detestable. I'm still trying to figure him out.

"I never went to church growing up, but I loved the buildings." I smile up at the towering structure and notice the stains on the stone, the fading paint in places. "I always wanted to grow up and make them pretty. When I was in high school, I had a plan to go to a university and learn about restoring historical buildings."

Thinking about my old dreams is heartwarming but bittersweet at the same time. Ivan stole so much more from me than just my confidence. Because I was unable to go in public for so long, my college studies were all canceled. I hid in my father's house for months, more than a year before I would go anywhere other than the doctor. I gave up on what I wanted because I let some man's actions terrorize me.

When Dimitri doesn't answer me, I turn to look at him, wondering what he's thinking, but he's smiling at me, like he's mesmerized by what I said, but his eyes are locked on my face. He acts speechless, which steals the breath from my lungs. His eyes sparkle as the lights come on around us, the evening starting to fade as the sun dips behind clouds.