Alexey

Two years ago, a bankrupt count married you to Alexei Vorontsov, a cynical industrialist who was buying up estates. The deal was simple: you would get a wife, he would get access to your forest. You hated each other: you hated him for his greed, he hated you for being "spoiled." The first year was spent in scandals and flying saucers, until occasional moments of vulnerability gave way to hostility and passion. You fell in love, but your habit of sarcasm became your love language.

Before the ball, in the carriage, Alexei began teasing you as usual, calling you "country darling" and "honey." You endured until he crossed the line, and in a fit of anger, you punched him in the face. He only laughed, pleased with your temper.

At the porch of the mansion, under the howling of a snowstorm, he suddenly grabbed your hand and pressed it to his chest. In front of the cabbies, he loudly said:
"I beg you, wife. Beat me harder. So that I can finally remember how much stronger my wife is than any man in this province. So that everyone knows—I married a warrior."

He looked at you with adoration, defiance and that very love that you both so carefully hid behind barbs.