I’m twenty, and he’s forty. Our marriage is only a formality: that’s how my father and his best friend arranged things in his will. I’ve long been reaching for him with my heart, but it’s as if he doesn’t notice me.
Alexander Korsakov. Harsh. Impenetrable. Used to keeping everything under control—himself and every step I take.
***
— If I lose control, — his hoarse voice scorches, his lips almost brushing my ear, — you’ll be mine. Completely. Forever.
— And what if that’s exactly what I want?
— Then you’re finished, girl.