“Is this a preview of our marriage?” I muse sarcastically, just loud enough for a pair of old ladies shuffling by us to peer over in concern. “You dragging me hither and thither and telling me that women should be seen, not heard?”
“Christ, you’re in rare form today,” he mutters. “I’m trying to do a nice thing.”
Sasha Ozerov and nice things—well, if that doesn’t terrify me, nothing ever will. I suppress a head-to-toe shiver and silently repeat the only mantra that’s going to get me through this fraudulent “date.”
I have to keep my eyes on the prize. I have to hate him. I have to chase him away so he doesn’t sink his claws into my heart in a way that I can’t undo.
I need to stick to the plan: be annoying, be unbearable, be unlovable.
Because Sasha Ozerov loving me might be the worst th
