Page 21 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

12

SAMUIL

Istare down at Princess Anastasia Rostova standing at the bottom of my front steps, and my first instinct is to call Ivan and tell him to come collect his daughter immediately. This is insane. I didn't agree to have her move into my home. Hell, I didn't even receive a courtesy call to let me know he was sending his daughter. The engagement was forced enough without adding cohabitation to the list of indignities.

But even as the thought crosses my mind, I know it won't change anything. Ivan made this decision, and arguing with him will accomplish nothing except making the situation even worse. So instead, I unclench my jaw and force myself to respond with something resembling civility.

"Does your father know you're here?" I already know the answer, but I need to hear her say it.

"He's the one who sent me." Her smile is too bright and cheerful, if a bit forced. She may not want to marry me, but she's enjoying seeing me put on the spot like this. "Apparently, we need time to learn to tolerate each other before the wedding. His words, not mine."

Behind her, three SUVs sit loaded with boxes and suitcases. Her bodyguard stands nearby, his expression dark with barely contained fury. I remember him from Ana's estate, of course, but also from the gala that set this whole fucking situation in place. He had been standing in the shadows, watching me with barely controlled hatred. What the hell did I ever do to him to make him hate me so much?

Inwardly, I shrug. Maybe I killed one of his family members or friends. Wouldn't be the first time, and definitely won't be the last. I'll worry about him later. For now, I need to deal with my new house guest.

"Unload her things," I tell my head of security, who's appeared at my side. "Prepare the visiting royalty suite on the east wing."

"Yes, sir." He moves immediately to coordinate with the staff.

I descend the steps and stop in front of Ana, keeping my voice low enough that only she can hear. "You're a guest in my home, Princess. Not a prisoner. But you will respect my rules and my privacy. Understood?"

"Perfectly." Her eyes flash with challenge. "As long as you understand that I didn't want this any more than you did."

"Then we're in agreement about something." I gesture toward the entrance. "Come inside. I'll show you to your rooms."

The interior of my home is exactly as I designed it. Dark wood floors, high ceilings, and furniture that's expensive but functional. No unnecessary decoration or pretentious art. Everything serves a purpose. The space reflects discipline and control, two things I value above almost everything else.

Ana follows me through the main hall and up the grand staircase to the second floor. Her heels click against the hardwood, the sound echoing in the quiet. I lead her down the east corridor, past several closed doors, until we reach the suite I've designated for visiting dignitaries.

I open the door and step aside. "This is yours."

She walks past me into the room, and I catch the scent of her perfume. Something floral and expensive that makes me think of the kiss in my office. I push the memory away and focus on her reaction to the space.

The suite is generous. A large bedroom with a king-sized bed, sitting area with a fireplace, private bathroom with a soaking tub, and a walk-in closet that could fit a small car. The windows face east, offering views of the gardens and the tree line beyond.

Ana walks to the window, looks out for exactly three seconds, then turns to face me. "This won't work."

"Excuse me?"

"The view is terrible. And this room is on the opposite side of the estate from your private quarters." She crosses her arms. "If we're supposed to be learning to tolerate each other, shouldn't I be closer?"

"You're close enough." I keep my tone flat. "My private quarters are off-limits. This suite has everything you need."

"Everything except proximity to my fiancé." She emphasizes the last word like it's a weapon. "What will people think if we're living in separate wings?"

"I don't give a fuck what people think." The words come out harsh and final. "You wanted space from me at dinner the other night. Now you have it. Be grateful."

"Grateful?" Her voice rises. "You think I should be grateful for being shipped off to live with a man I barely know in a room that feels like exile?"

"It's a guest suite, not a prison cell." I move toward the door. "Your things will be brought up shortly. Dinner is at seven. Don't be late."

"Wait." She takes a step toward me. "We're not done discussing this."

"Yes, we are." I pause in the doorway and look back at her. "Welcome to your new home, Princess. Try not to break anything."

I leave before she can respond, closing the door behind me with more force than necessary. The sound echoes down the hallway as I head back downstairs, already regretting every decision that led to this moment.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see a message from one of my captains. Problem at the warehouse. Need you here now.