Beautiful Revenge (A Good Wife #1) - Sienna Blake Page 0,21

in the pit of my stomach, making me feel ill. I feel his fingers on my hips, his erection between my legs and I shut my eyes.

I hiss as he invades my body, a sharp pain cutting through my numb shield. He smells all wrong, like tobacco and a woodsy perfume that tickles my nose. He starts to move. With every thrust of his I chant.

I hate you, Dimitri.

Fuck you for leaving me.

I hate you.

I hate you.

I love you.

My husband jerks behind me. He comes with a moan, calling out what sounds like another woman’s name. When he pulls out, relief floods me like warm liquid. No, it is warm liquid, running down the inside of my thigh. I stumble to the en suite, a museum of marble and mirrors, and clean myself up, taking my time. There is it, stark red on white tissue, the remnants of my innocence. I look up, catching my reflection in one of the full-length mirrors. I don’t recognise the girl I see. My cheeks burn. I find the robe behind the door and cover my body up.

When I return to the bedroom, my new husband is lying across the sheets, mopping the sweat pouring from his forehead with a handkerchief. He asks me something in English.

I shake my head. “Sorry,” I say in my heavily accented English.

He points at me and yells, “Brother? Brother?”

It takes me a moment to recognise this English word. He is asking about Dimitri. Where is Dimitri?

My numbness grows brittle. It starts to crack. The tears seep out before I can stop them.

My husband makes no movement to comfort me. He merely frowns at me.

In the back of my mind, I realise that my tears are annoying him. I can’t annoy my husband so soon after we’re married. He’s all I have now.

I gather all my childish feelings like scattered toys and place them into a box in my mind. I am a woman now. A married woman. I have no room for these things anymore.

I wipe my face and try for a smile. “I sorry,” I say in an attempt at English. It’s a language I will have to learn. I doubt my husband will learn Russian for me. Besides, Isabelle told me we’d be living in England after our short honeymoon here in St Petersburg.

“Brother?” my husband asks once more.

Dimitri’s face appears in my mind again.

Dimitri left. I am all I have.

I shake my head, my lips pinched. “Brother dead.”

16

____________

Alena

The present…

It’s late afternoon. Emily, my husband and I are standing in a row in the foyer waiting for the venerable Mr Wolf. Standing opposite us are Terrance and Mrs Bates. It feels so formal I almost want to burp, just to break the tension. It’s like we’re about to receive the queen. My husband demanded that we make ourselves presentable, i.e. uncomfortable. He keeps tugging on the sleeves of his tailored black suit and fixing his navy-blue tie. Emily looks sweet in a pale pink chiffon spaghetti-strap evening dress that falls to her knees, her hair pulled up into a French twist, showcasing her slender pale neck.

I’m dressed in a couture champagne-coloured dress that fits like a glove, feathers and beads dressing the skirt of the dress, made specifically for me by Vivienne Westwood, a present from my husband. He’s always sorry after he lashes out at me. He only says it with diamonds or couture. On my feet are a pair of Jimmy Choos, a stylish stiletto in a nude colour. My usually wild hair has been styled straight as a waterfall, cascading down over one of my smoky eyes and bright red lipstick.

My husband demanded that I wear the most expensive pieces of jewellery, so dripping from my ears are a pair of vintage chandelier diamond earrings. Around my neck is a heavy centrepiece necklace of white and yellow diamonds. It’s almost like a collar. The gold and diamond links drip down between my breasts. My husband thinks I look fit to stand beside him. I think I look like one of those stars you place on top of the Christmas tree. Funny how I used to dream of wearing things like this. Now I would trade it all to have Dimitri back.

Through the frosted glass in our entrance doors, I spot a car pulling up into our circular driveway, gravel crushing underneath the tyres.

My husband stiffens at my side, then hisses down to me. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that this