The ring was like a brand around my finger. The fit was perfect, but I kept banging my cheekbone every time I tucked my hair behind my ear—a nervous tell I’d trained myself out of when little.

Of course, I had no ring for Dmitri, since I hadn’t had the time or the money to buy one. But standing here empty-handed still felt weird.

Since I’d met him, my life had been like quicksand; the more I tried to right myself—to do right by my family and by Dmitri—the deeper I sank with him. As if fate wouldn’t have it any other way.

What were his issues? What would he do when I asked for a divorce?

A traitorous thought arose. What if I . . . didn’t?

Sounding so proud to be marrying me, Dmitri had already said, “I do,” in a deep, resounding voice.

I was really about to get hitched. Not really really. But it seemed genuine.

My turn. I met his eyes. As Dmitri had asked of me, I let the spell take over. As if from a million miles away, I heard myself murmur, “I do.”

When the man said, “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” my lips parted on a pent-up breath.

I could see a new emotion in Dmitri’s gaze, and it frightened me more than any red flag.

Burning in his eyes was . . . hope.

CHAPTER 21

“The property begins here,” Dmitri told me as the limo from the private airport turned onto a winding drive.

Gigantic sequoias flanked the way. Their shade was damp and green, so different from Vegas.

At every second on the plane ride here, I’d expected him to regret his rash behavior. Instead I’d detected relief. He’d proudly introduced me—to the pilot, the flight attendant, and his bodyguards—as his wife, Victoria Sevastyan. When he’d taken a brief call from Aleks, Dmitri had said my name a few times in their conversation, his gaze falling on me, satisfaction brimming in his eyes.

When I’d told him his jet was badass, he’d corrected me: “Our jet.” Then he’d suggested I contact my family and update them while he made a couple of business calls.

To manage his empire? I could be a supportive fake wife. “Of course. Take your time.”

I’d furtively snapped a pic of the ring to text, then dialed our conference line, keeping my end of the conversation as bland as possible. Pandemonium had reigned in the immediate family, everyone talking over each other. I kept picturing the Muppets overturning the Muppet Theater.

Dad, Al, and Gram wanted me to keep my new husband and be a happy billionairess girl. As Dad had said, “Sevastyan’s mad for you, and we’ll work out something on our end. We always do.”

Mom, Pete, and Karin wanted me to “lose” the ring, smuggling it to them. After all, Dmitri would have it insured, and the take would be plenty to pay off the cartel for good.

Al had estimated its worth at . . . eight million.

Once the debt was squared, they suggested reconvening on this whole “marriage to a gull” problem. Because grifting wasn’t just a job; it was a way of life.

Benji casually mentioned that a nine-figure divorce settlement wouldn’t go amiss.

I’d never leave my family to the wolves. Two options remained. . . .

Now I glanced at my husband, sitting beside me in the limo.

He held himself very still, staring at me, taking in my reactions. How could he possibly read me when I didn’t even understand what I was feeling? I knew only one thing for certain: Dmitri Sevastyan’s generosity and trust had floored me.

Before I’d hung up earlier, Gram had asked, “Did you tell him the truth when you said you could love him?”

My face had burned to recall some of the other things Dmitri had told me just prior to that question (cough, wanton, cough). But again, I’d admitted the truth: “Yes.”

What if I lose the ring and gain a husband? Then I wouldn’t be such a bad person.

Maybe he needed me to defend him and his ridiculous wealth—from people like me. I could identify and ward off cons. I could protect him.

But keeping him would mean distancing myself from my past—and my family, to an extent. Rich people and con artists . . . cats and dogs.

Barely able to look him in the eye, I turned and surveyed the forest.

“I think you will like our new home,” he said, “but if you don’t, we will buy more houses until you feel at home.”

The second man today to call his house my home.

Had Dmitri’s fight with Brett been only hours ago? My ex would hear that my wedding had taken place; everyone would. I didn’t want to hurt Brett needlessly, but this news would force him to finally move on.

“You have been quiet since we left the courthouse,” Dmitri said. “And you hardly ate lunch.” A four-course affair with silver and china, served at thirty thousand feet. “Again, I struggle to read you. Just don’t . . . don’t regret this, Vika.”

I turned to him, my nerves getting the better of me. “You are going to regret it! You’re going to wake up and realize what you’ve done.” Again I told him, “You don’t know anything about me.”

He parted his lips to say something, then clearly rethought it. “I know enough.”

“Would you really have told me good-bye today?”

“Never,” he said like a promise.

I narrowed my eyes. “Then you lied.”

“Did I?”

Say yes or say good-bye. Tricksy Russian!

“Perhaps I manipulated you into this”—oh, not quite, Dmitri—“but I will never lie to you.”