Chapter 4 - Anoushka
I stare at myself in the mirror, the reflection staring back at me almost unrecognizable. My hair, usually a wild mane of waves, is now tamed into elegant waves cascading down my back. A quarter from each side is pulled up into a small, elegant bun to support the delicate diamond floral tiara my mother wore at her wedding.
The makeup artist has worked wonders, enhancing my features with emerald green eyeliner to bring out the streaks of green amongst the blue hues, and my lips are a tempting shade of crimson. I look… beautiful.
The make-up artist comes back toward me with mascara, and I close my eyes, letting her plump my lashes. I suck in the air as she sweeps some blush over my cheeks and allow myself to get lost in my thoughts as she proceeds with general touch-ups—bronzer, highlighter on my collarbone, setting powder, the whole works.
Suddenly, a thought crosses my mind. What if I’m asleep, and all of this is a dream? Or a nightmare, more like it?
This can’t be happening. I can’t be marrying Nikolai Orlov!
What do I really know about Nikolai? He's a stranger, a powerful man with a reputation that precedes him. The stories of his ruthlessness and manipulative tactics echo in my mind, painting a terrifying picture of the man waiting for me at the end of the aisle.
In our world, arranged marriages are common. Stories rush to mind. There was that girl, Anastasia, whose husband married her and then had his mistress move in! Then there was Natalia. She was so sweet and kind. Her husband used to drug her when she misbehaved and often tortured her. Her mother had to have her rescued, and now she’s hiding away on some unknown island.
I know that with my name and my brothers being who they are, Nikolai would never dare harm me, but still… there are many ways this could all go wrong.
As I sit there pondering over the what-ifs with my heart racing in my chest, the panic begins to bubble up. I try to suppress the panic rising in my chest like a tidal wave, but it's no use. The thought of marrying Nikolai, a man I hardly know, terrifies me.
“All done!” the make-up artist squeals and claps her hands in delight. Pippa rushes over, gushing at me when she sees how I look. I open my eyes to see her excited face.
“Oh my god,” she says, pressing her hand to her chest. “You look so beautiful, Anoushka.”
I try to smile at her, but I’m sure what I offer makes me look like I’m in pain.
Pippa doesn’t notice, for her eyes are now fixed on something behind me. I hear the rustle of the fabric before I see the dress in the mirror.
"What the hell?" I shriek at the seamstress, who flinches from the unexpected outburst. "That’s not the lace I asked for on the dress!"
I swivel my chair around and stand to my feet, walking over to the sleeveless figure-hugging white silk number. The neckline, a halter that connects the upper bodice together behind my neck, was supposed to be a different pattern of lace.
I’m sure of it.
I finger the lace, panic rising to my chest, almost causing pain, shaking my head furiously.
"Anoushka?" Pippa walks over and places her soft hand on my shoulder. "What's wrong?"
"Everything!" I almost cry, attempting to steady my breathing. "Was this the lace I chose? It couldn’t have been… "
“Hey, hey,” Pippa says gently, putting her hands on both my shoulders and forcing me to turn away from the dress toward her. I look up at her, holding back tears, eyelashes fluttering. She gazes deep into my eyes and tilts her head just a little, not saying a word, waiting patiently to tell her exactly what’s wrong.
What seems like a minute passes by, and then I realize there’s no point holding it in. With a shaky breath, I finally say what’s on my mind. "I… I don't know, Pippa. It's just all so overwhelming." My voice wavers, betraying the facade I've tried so hard to maintain.
"Sweetheart, it's completely normal to feel this way," Pippa says soothingly, gently rubbing my back. “I was overwhelmed, too, on my wedding day. “So was Robin, Genevieve, and almost every woman in the world who has gotten married!”
I crack a smile at the thought but have more on my mind. "Wh-what if he's cruel?" I blurt out, my voice trembling with fear. "What if he's just playing games with me?"
Pippa's hand is now warm on mine, grounding me in the moment. "Anoushka, listen to me. You are strong, and you are brave. Whatever happens, I am here for you. Not just I, your brothers would make sure no harm comes your way. Besides, while I don’t know Nikolai, I do remember that it was he who saved us from Lenny. From what I’ve observed, he doesn’t seem like a cruel man.”
“Y… You think?” I say.
“I do,” she nods.
I take in a deep breath and close my eyes. “Fine,” I say, opening them and looking at her again, feeling calmer now. “Besides, it’s not like this will be a real marriage. He wanted a wedding, and that’s that. I expect no more.”
Here, Pippa frowns.
“What is it?” I ask curiously.
“You’d be surprised at how beautiful arranged marriages can be,” she lectures me.
“Oh please,” I scoff. “You married for love!”
“True,” she laughs, rolling her eyes at the memory. “But Genevieve and Damien didn’t. Just look at them.”
I go quiet as I think of how precious what my brother and sister-in-law share is. For a brief second, I wonder if that could happen to me, but then Nikolai’s face comes to mind, how he always looks like he’s got a secret, like the whole world is his playground, and the thought immediately leaves my mind.
I chuckle at how I ever entertained the idea of love with Nikolai and shake my head, turning around to face the dress.
“I think the lace is fine,” I tell the seamstress. She smiles, clearly relieved. “We can put it on now.”
“You sure?” Pippa asks carefully, gaining back my attention. “You know, if you don’t want to do thi—”
”I’m sure,” I cut her off. “And Pippa?”
“Yeah?” she inquires, as I walk behind the screen to help get changed, the seamstress by my side. “Don’t tell my brothers about this, okay? They’ll only get worried and it was just wedding jitters. That’s all.”
My brothers are fiercely protective of me, and the last thing I need is for them to interfere in this already complicated marriage.
I make sure to look at her before I head in to change and watch her give me a reluctant nod. “Sure,” she says. I know it’s a lot, asking this to keep this from everyone, including Lev.
But again, they’d only just worry. I gave my word to keep this alliance strong. No matter what I feel, it’s my duty to see it through and what I feel along the way is for me to deal with.
***
I exit the changing room to find Pippa, the make-up artist, and the hairdresser standing there, jaws wide open.
“What is it?” I ask nervously, smoothing my hand down my dress. “Too much?”
Pippa quickly recovers and shakes her head, a smile playing on her lips. "No, not at all. You look stunning. Absolutely breathtaking. Nikolai won’t be able to take his eyes off you." The make-up artist and hairdresser echo her sentiments, their faces beaming with admiration.
I take a deep breath, feeling a surge of confidence wash over me. Yet, as much as I appreciate her compliments, I remind myself not to get swept away by the romance of the day. This isn't a fairy tale, and Nikolai isn't my Prince Charming. We're two people bound together by circumstance, and I need to stay focused on the business aspect of our arrangement.
“Come,” Pippa says, linking her hand through mine. “Vanya just sent a message that everyone’s seated in place. The flower girls are ready to go, and so are the bridesmaids.”
I nod, thinking of how my family has come together. Robin, Genevieve, Pippa, and Vanya. My sisters.
"Let's get you to the church, shall we?" Pippa suggests, linking her arm through mine as we make our way out of the dressing room. “Boris is waiting to walk you down the aisle.”
No matter what happens with Nikolai, my family is enough to see me through.
***
The church doors open, and tunes from the Wedding March echo out of the doors.
“You ready?” Boris looks at me with concern, his dark blue eyes grounding me as he squeezes my hand gently.
I nod, forcing back a shudder, and look right ahead, my heart pounding so hard that the entire world seems more vivid, as alive as I am.
With Boris by my side, we step into the church. The scent of fresh flowers fills the air—roses, lilies, and peonies, colors blossoming all around. My eyes sweep through the crowd, filled with familiar and strange faces, as everyone jumps to their feet, gasping and cooing.
I can barely make out the faces of our friends and family as they sit in the pews, their eyes fixed on me, as my senses run in all directions, unable to focus on anything and anyone. It all feels like a dream, and I'm simply floating through it. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I feel like the Wedding March is being played for someone else.
"Walk slower," Boris guides me, attempting to reassure me with his steady presence. “They’re all dying to catch a proper glimpse of you.” I nod, forcing a smile, though my mind is clouded with anxiety.
At last, I look up straight ahead at the altar and finally catch sight of Nikolai at the end of the aisle. He stands there, tall and proud, and for some strange reason, the world comes back into focus. His eyes remain unwavering upon mine as though he’s encouraging me to take just one more step and then another. A child cries in the background, and there’s a sound of someone getting up and walking out, but I keep walking forward toward the man who watches me like a hawk.
It’s his eyes, brown and earthy, which calm me. He looks devastatingly handsome in his tailored black suit which looks like it was stitched to his frame, his dark blonde hair slicked back. For a moment, I forget to breathe, caught in the intensity of the moment, as the realization dawns upon me: This devastatingly handsome man is going to be my husband.
Of all the men I could have wedded in an arranged marriage set-up, at least I won in the looks department.
I blush as that thought crosses my mind, momentarily averting my gaze, finding myself in the haze of the moment I almost lost reality in.
Stop it, Anoushka, I tell myself. I remind myself to stay strong. This marriage is a business arrangement, nothing more. I can't let my guard down, no matter how alluring Nikolai may be. I need to maintain a level head and keep my emotions in check.
Once we reach the altar, Boris places my hand into Nikolai's, his touch firm yet gentle. Our eyes meet, and I see a flicker of something in his gaze as it trails away to my face, down my neck, and back up again with a small smile at the corner of his lips—admiration, perhaps? But I don't have time to analyze it further as the ceremony begins.
The ceremony passes in a blur of traditional vows and exchanged rings. I barely register the meaning behind words. I chant what I’m supposed to chant, word for word, almost like I’m being graded on a test. During the ceremony, I look at the priest and the priest alone. From the corner of my eye, I notice Nikolai’s face turning toward me a few times, but I force myself to stare right ahead.
It’s best to establish boundaries from the start itself. This wedding is one on paper only, nothing more.
As the priest pronounces us husband and wife, the moment I’ve been dreading falls upon us.
"You may now kiss the bride," the priest announces, and my stomach clenches with nervousness. If he’s smart, it’d be a peck and nothing more.
With eyes downcast, I turn to face Nikolai. Then, I feel his hand upon my chin. I part my lips in a gasp as I look up to see just what he’s playing at. A slight smirk plays on his lips. He strongly, assuredly pulls my chin up, my blazing eyes staring into his. And then, he bends down, leaning in for our first kiss as a married couple. I brace myself for a brief, perfunctory peck. Instead, he delivers something entirely different.
Our lips meet, and I’m prepared to pull away when his tongue glides over my upper lip. In an instant, his hands cup my face, and he leans in further, placing one hand on my lower back. My knees almost buck below me as I feel a sudden pool of pure desire I never thought I could feel in kissing a stranger. All thought fades away, and I part my lips for air, and his tongue glides right in, tasting like sin.
I moan, and he pushes his hand into my lower back, bringing me closer, setting me on fire, and leaving me momentarily lost in the sensation. It's as if he's trying to claim me, assert his ownership over me, and why the hell am I okay with this?
When he finally pulls away, I'm left stunned, breathless, dazed, and disoriented. The sound of applause brings me back to reality, and for the first time, I turn to look at my husband, anger simmering beneath. I search his eyes for an explanation, but all I find is a glimmer of triumph.
As we turn to face the applauding congregation, I realize that my carefully laid plans have been thrown into disarray. What the hell was up with that kiss? I’m going to have to set things right.
***
The reception is a whirlwind of activity, with guests milling about, eager to congratulate us on our nuptials. Nikolai keeps me close, his hand resting possessively on the small of my back as we navigate the crowded ballroom. His touch sends shivers down my spine, and I find myself struggling to maintain my composure.
At last, when we find a moment alone, I turn to him. “You don’t have to stand quite so close,” I hiss, pulling away from his touch.
“The world needs to see we’re strong together,” he tells me, smiling down at me, his eyes just on me and me alone. “They can’t sense there’s trouble in paradise now, can they?”
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth, though I wear a smile.
Just then, a beautiful, thin blonde with poker-straight hair walks up to us. “You ready for your first dance?” she asks Nikolai, barely glancing in my direction.
“Anoushka, meet my sister,” Nikolai nods in her direction. “Sofia.”
“Your sister,” I gasp with genuine delight. In my family, we sisters stick together. “It’s so nice to meet you!” I tell her warmly.
“Likewise,” she says, not even bothering with a smile as she barely glances in my direction before she looks back at Nikolai. “So? That dance?”
“Sure,” he says, frowning slightly as he watches her walk away.
I stand there, feeling out of place, knowing through that one interaction that I’m not wanted.
“Sorry about that,” Nikolai shakes his head, now leading me toward the floor. “She can be a bit… slow to warm up.”
I say nothing as fear and anxiety gnaw within me. I don’t know what I thought, but I had hoped that even though what Nikolai and I might share is just a business arrangement, his family would see beyond that to get to know me. As a friend, if nothing more.
The master of ceremonies announces our first dance, and a quiet lull falls across the room as people gather around the floor. Soft melodies of a violin fill the reception hall as Nikolai leads me onto the dance floor with my hand in his. His hand is soft in how it holds me but calloused. I tremble, and he notices, for he gives me a gentle squeeze. I glance around, noticing our guests' eyes on us, and my heart races in response. But I can't let their scrutiny affect me. This is part of the deal—an arranged marriage to consolidate power and maintain peace between our families. This dance is just routine.
"Relax," Nikolai murmurs into my ear as his hand settles at the small of my back, pulling me closer. "You look like you're about to run for the hills."
"Can you blame me?" I retort quietly.
"Perhaps not," he concedes with a wry smile, guiding me effortlessly across the floor. Our bodies move in sync as we glide along to the music, and I find myself unwillingly captivated by how he leads me across the floor. There’s a grace to him, a sense of such purpose in his footing that I realize I don’t even know what I’m doing. I follow without a doubt.
Remember, I remind myself silently, focus on the business aspect of this marriage.
"I must say, you're quite the dancer, Anoushka," Nikolai murmurs as we twirl around the dance floor, his gaze never leaving mine. "You move with such grace."
I try to ignore the compliment, aware of the dangerous territory his words tread. "It's just a dance," I reply coolly, keeping my tone detached.
"But it's more than that, isn't it?" he presses on, his voice low and intimate as he pulls me closer with a fierceness that almost makes me stumble. "It's our first dance as husband and wife. That holds significance."
I stiffen at his words, reminding myself once more that this is a business arrangement—an alliance between our families. But Nikolai's proximity, his unwavering gaze, makes it hard to focus on anything else.
As we dance, I force my gaze to remain steady, giving nothing away. But it's difficult when I can feel the heat of his body through the thin layers of fabric separating us. I can smell him— mahogany wood and clean citrus. I find myself taking a deep breath to soak it in and then biting down on my inner lip to not get swayed by how good he smells. The intimacy of the moment unnerves me, and I'm grateful when the song ends, signaling that it's time for dinner.
Nikolai escorts me to our table, his hand possessively lingering on my waist. As we sit down, he sits so close that our thighs brush against each other. A thrill shoots up my leg, and I look away, making eye contact with one of the many people milling around, waiting to congratulate us.
Throughout the reception, we receive numerous table visitors and well-wishers. I maintain a composed and polite demeanor as we exchange pleasantries and accept congratulations. Nikolai introduces me to some of his cousins and siblings, but there are so many new names that they all merge into one.
I notice Sofia doesn’t come up to us even once.
"Congratulations, you two make a stunning couple," gushes a beautiful young woman with Nikolai’s hair and eyes. "I can see the love between you already."
Nikolai gives her a glowering look and then turns to me. “My sister, Natalia.”
“If he gives you trouble, you call me, alright?” she winks at me.
I laugh and nod, grateful she’s making an effort. “Will he give me trouble?” I ask.
“Have you met him?” she pretends to shudder. I burst into laughter, and she kisses me on my cheek before walking away.
Two men walk up to us next to us. One, the taller and older with a scar across his cheek, barely smiles. The other clinks his glass with mine.
“Congratulations,” says the older man. “I’m Dmitry, Nikolai’s brother.”
"Thank you," I reply to the older with a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes. He quietly places an envelope loaded with cash on the table in front of us. “For you both,” he gives a small nod.
“Oh gosh, Dima,” the younger laughs. “It’s a wedding, not a funeral! He’s always this serious,” he leans down and whispers conspiratorially about his brother.
The more I meet Nikolai’s family, the more I see myself getting along with the younger ones. I smile and ask. “And you are?”
“Artyom. The only Orlov worth knowing.”
My eyes widen with surprise at his boldness and then I begin to laugh, as Artyom does an elaborate bow.
“Well, we’ll leave you to it now,” says Dima. He lugs his brother away.
Alone at last, Nikolai now places an arm around my shoulder and asks if I’d like more champagne.
I pull away, surprised at the unexpected touch. “There’s no one here,” I tell him.
“So?” he inquires, looking at me with confusion.
I look down at his arm and back up at him. “You don’t have to put up an act anymore.”
"Anoushka," he murmurs into my ear, leaning closer and placing his hand on mine. "You don't have to be so tense. We're married now, remember?”
Taking advantage of this moment alone at the reception, I decide it's time to address my concerns with Nikolai. The weight of his on mine feels suffocating, and I can't ignore the unease that has settled within me any longer.
"Can we talk?" I ask softly, careful not to draw attention from the guests still milling about.
"Of course," he replies, his dark eyes searching mine.
"Your… proximity is making me uncomfortable," I admit, nervously playing with the edge of my napkin. "This marriage is supposed to be a business arrangement, not a romantic relationship."
Nikolai's expression shifts, a flash of something akin to irritation crossing his features before he smooths it away. "Anoushka, we may have entered into this union for strategic reasons, but that doesn't mean we can't allow ourselves to enjoy each other's company."
I swallow hard, trying to find the right words to make him understand. "I know, but there's a difference between enjoying each other's company and… and behaving like we're madly in love."
"Is that so wrong?" His voice is low and intimate, causing an involuntary shiver to run down my spine. "Would you prefer I treat you like a business partner rather than my wife?"
"Actually, yes," I answer, more firmly than I thought possible. "That's what we agreed upon, isn't it?"
"Anoushka," he says, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "We may have agreed to a practical arrangement, but we are still husband and wife. I never said this marriage means nothing beyond a wedding. I expect you to fulfill your spousal duties, whether you like it or not, the very same way I will mine."
My heart drops, panic rising in my chest as I realize the magnitude of the situation I've found myself in. This isn't just a simple business merger—it's a binding commitment to a man who expects me to be his wife in all ways that matter, regardless of what I planned along for myself. He just dictates what he wants without it ever being a conversation between us.
And then, cold fury takes over. Just who the hell does he think he is, making such demands of me?