Terrible Beauty (Molotov Betrothal #1) Read Online Anna Zaires

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Mafia, New Adult, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Molotov Betrothal Series by Anna Zaires
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Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
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Fuck, I hope I’m making sense. I’ve never felt like this before, completely out of it, yet on edge. My heart is racing madly, my palms are sweating, and my eyes can’t stop scouring his face, his body… every strong, vital inch of him. Is it possible he’s grown even harder, more intimidating, in the fifteen months since my prom?

Twenty-three or not, the powerful, self-assured man in front of me seems more than capable of ruling a dark empire—or the Leonov organization, which is one and the same.

“I’m still celebrating it,” he says as his eyes travel over me again, raising goosebumps on my arms and making heat ignite under my skin. “The night is not over yet. And in twenty minutes, we’ll have another reason to celebrate.”

I blink up at him, my brain operating maddeningly slowly. It takes me a moment to realize he must be referring to the engagement announcement—the very reason I need to talk to him ASAP. I’m about to blurt exactly that when he reaches into his jacket’s inner pocket and takes out a small black velvet box.

The words freeze on my lips as my lungs cease to function. Paralyzed by horror, I stare at the box as my mind flashes back to the other such box he gave me, the one that held Dan’s ring. Frantically, I try to think if there’s someone else, some other man in my life who could’ve given Alexei the erroneous impression that—

He pops the box open with a casual flick of his thumb, revealing a gorgeous princess-cut diamond surrounded by emeralds. Set in a delicate, diamond-encrusted platinum circle, it’s unmistakably a woman’s ring… and exactly what I would’ve wanted for my engagement, if I’d wanted the latter at all.

I should feel relieved that it’s not another gruesome gift of the kind a cat might bring to its owner, but a different kind of horror grabs hold of me as Alexei orders softly, “Give me your hand,” and takes out the ring, slipping the box back into his pocket. Frozen, I watch as he clasps my left hand in his and slides the ring onto my finger, leaving no doubt of what this gift is supposed to signify.

Possession. Ownership.

The end of my freedom.

No. No, no, no.

I don’t even realize I’m saying the word out loud until Alexei’s hand tightens painfully around mine.

“What the fuck do you mean, no?” His voice is low and dangerous, his jaw set in a harsh line. “You are my fiancée.”

I yank my hand out of his grasp. “No, I’m not!”

Faces turn toward us, eyes wide with curiosity. I must’ve spoken louder than I thought.

Alexei’s face darkens further, and with a sinking feeling, I realize I’m completely fucking this up. This was supposed to be a private conversation during which I would calmly explain my rationale for not wanting the engagement while appealing to his probable desire for freedom. We weren’t supposed to fight, and I certainly wasn’t supposed to embarrass him in public.

I might as well have let Nikolai speak for me. The outcome couldn’t have been worse.

Maybe there’s still some way I can fix this. Dragging in a shaky breath, I reach over and clasp his big hand apologetically, ignoring the way my skin tingles from the warmth of his. “What I meant is… thank you. I love the ring, but can we please go and speak someplace private?”

The tiny muscles around his eyes tighten, but he gives a curt nod. “Let’s go.”

He leads me by the hand, ignoring the heads that turn to follow our progress. I can hear the titillated whispers in our wake, and a sick feeling invades my stomach. Announcement or not, we’re now linked in these people’s minds, our names to serve as fodder for the gossip mill for weeks or months to come.

Not only is this the first time anyone’s ever seen me holding hands with a man, but he’s a Leonov on top of it. The tongues will wag so hard they’ll be in danger of falling off.

We exit the ballroom into the hallway leading to the restrooms, but Alexei turns in the opposite direction, lengthening his stride until I’m all but jogging to keep up. Stopping in front of one of the doors at the other end of the corridor, he pushes it open and pulls me inside before slamming it shut behind us. Only then does he release my hand.

I immediately back up a few steps. We’re in another ballroom, a much smaller and empty one, where chairs are stacked legs up on top of a dozen round tables. Behind us is a stage with a large rolldown screen—probably used for lectures and presentations. I take all of this in on autopilot, having received training in situational awareness from Pavel over the years. He’s also trained me in shooting and hand-to-hand combat—the latter being something I hope I won’t need tonight despite the dark anger evident in Alexei’s expression.


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