Page 39 of Weeping Roses
We end up on the ground floor in the perfumery where I do the same with the make-up, perfumes and skincare and as we stop by the jewelry counter, I point out several pieces that catch my eye.
Polly’s horrified expression brings out the devil in me and I select even more to prolong her agony and as we finally reach the entrance, I propel her in front of me and say to the extremely grateful assistant, “I expect it all to be delivered within the next hour.”
“Of course, Mr. Romanov.” She half curtseys and as we leave, I take in a deep drag of oxygen to prepare me for the verbal battering that is sure to lie waiting for me.
CHAPTER 22
POLLY
Iam horrified. I have never seen anything like that in my life and I’m struggling to even comprehend how much money Valentin just spent. I will never be able to pay this debt off now and as soon as the door closes, I say icily, “If you think I’m impressed with that frankly reprehensible display of macho pride, then you can think again.”
“Macho pride?” He laughs out loud. “You amuse me, Polly.”
“Well, you infuriate me.” I snap. “What were you thinking? I don’t need that stuff. Everything I need is in here.”
I lift the carrier bags and hiss, “And back in Sussex, where I actually live and would prefer to head back to tomorrow.”
“Lived.” He says with a smirk and I stutter, “Live, you arrogant piece of shit.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize my mistake, his warning on disrespecting him hanging heavy in the air along with the promise of what he would do.
I can’t take them back, so I brazen it out and his eyes glitter dangerously as he says in a deep growl, “What did you call me, Polly?”
I swallow hard.
“You heard me.”
”I want to hear you say it again.”
He says ominously and I edge away from him against the side of the car and say in a high voice, “I don’t remember and anyway, I don’t want your things. You should return them all for a refund, or waste your money for all I care. That was your posturing show and you can deal with the consequences.”
Before the final word leaves my mouth, I find myself lying across his knee and I scream in mortification as he bunches my skirt around my waist in one hand and slaps me hard on the ass with the other one.
“Fuck!” I yell, which earns me another blow, and as the tears pool in my eyes, I scream. “I hate you.”
He wrenches my skirt down and pushes me back to my seat, and I hate the tears that run down my face after the most humiliating moment of my life.
“I warned you, Polly, and I will not apologize for something you earned.”
“Earned!” I sob, and I hate that he broke me.
“I earned nothing. You are what I said, and you just proved it.” My shoulders sag as I say in defeat, “Just let me go, Valentin. I don’t want to play your games anymore.”
He says nothing and pulls out his phone, his mouth set in a grim line as he completely ignores me. I’m not sure if that’s worse and I turn away and stare morosely out of the window and wish my life was less complicated. As I press my head against the glass, I allow the tears to trickle down my face and wonder if I will ever lead a normal life without fate using me as a punching bag every single time.
I am so wrapped in my own misery I don’t register where we are and as the cars stop, I glance up and stare in disbelief at the white townhouse beside us.
“Where are we?” I ask, noting the fine iron railings surrounding it and the marble steps leading up to a grand entrance.
“Your London house.” Valentin says dismissively, and I stare at him in shock.
“She has a flat here?”
“No, Polly.” Valentin shakes his head. “She has a house here and you’re looking at it.”
“This is Aunt Veronica’s house?” I gasp and he shrugs.
“I’m just surprised it’s so small, knowing my father and his desire for the best.”