Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
ANASTASIA
I think the old freak is really going to go through with it.
The days start to run together. I can only keep track by the stilted formal dinners that Ivan insists I attend with him, and the haggard old woman who comes in to fit me into the most hideous wedding dress I’ve ever seen.
“How can you work for him, Stella?” I finally ask her as she makes the final adjustments. “He’s making me do this against my will.” Maybe if I find her heart, she’ll help me.
“Hush, child,” she admonishes me, the wrinkles on her face deepening into a frown. “Don’t you know it’s worse to be on his bad side? Ivan runs this region. You’ll be the second most powerful woman here.”
“All this bullshit to not be first?” When my arms wave she tries to tug them back down. “Who’s above me? Does he have, like, another wife or something?”
Ow. She poked me with a pin.
I bet she did that on purpose.
Bitch.
“You need to wise up and learn to keep your mouth shut before he cuts your tongue out,” she hisses.
“Oh, you’re just jealous because you’re too old for his taste.” My chin rises with disdain.
I can tell.
She’s hated me from the moment she saw me.
“Don’t be an idiot. He’s using you for a bigger game, and trying to hurt people I care about because of it.” Her wrinkles deepen as she scowls. “You’re too stupid to understand, and I don’t have the patience to draw it out with crayons.” She stands, poking the last of the pins into a small cushion on her wrist. “Take it off. I’ll come back tomorrow for more alterations.”
What is she talking about?
“Wait, tell me.” I pull my arms from the fluted sleeves carefully so I don’t get stabbed inadvertently. “Who?”
Stella shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. Ivan is using you as bait. You think you’re the only young pussy in Russia? Think about it. ” She drapes the white fabric over her arm before rapping hard enough on the door that the guard lets her out.
Great. Now I’m alone and confused all over again.
Maybe she’s right. Because I really don’t understand who would be hurt by me being Ivan’s choice.
Is it the mystery man that’s fed Momma money and food all this time? It’s been over five years that she’s been cared for by someone new, ever since Papa died.
A pang shoots through my chest.
I can’t believe it’s been that long already. I hadn’t seen him much since I was little, but he was always reliable about visiting or staying in touch.
An even more painful squeeze tightens, making it difficult to breathe.
What about Momma?
I’ve been trying so hard not to think about her since I was taken. How she must be feeling.
But what if they hurt her when they took me?
Or killed her?
Fuck.
The thought sends me face down on the mattress, sobbing into my pillow.
I can’t lose her. She’s everything to me.
Maybe I can ask Ivan how she is? If I act like a lady, and not be cruel?
Yes, I might be able to pretend to tolerate him, if he can give me a tidbit of reassurance that she’s safe.
I miss her so badly.
The need to blow my nose pushes me from the thick comforter to the ensuite where I catch a glimpse of my red eyes and messy curly dark hair.
It’s just like Papa’s.
I used to hate it, because it tangled so easily. Momma would spend so many days when I was younger brushing it out for me until it was smooth and shiny like hers.
Only for it to twist again the next time I got it wet.
I wish I could wince under her comb again while she quietly cursed at me to stay still. But she’d always follow with a gentle kiss and thank me for being patient while she straightened it.
Please be okay, Momma.
A splash of cold water helps the puffiness in my cheeks go down.
Perfect timing. The heavy knock on the door signals it’s time for my appearance with Ivan.
One last shudder of disgust, then I pull my shoulders back and make sure my features are neutral before going down the grand staircase to the dining hall.
“My lovely fiancée, here to impress me with more derisive remarks?” Ivan is sitting at the far end, his lavish meal already laid across the ornate oak table.
The heady smell of meat and pastries makes my belly rumble.
It must be a new form of torture he’s devised. All of that wonderful food sitting just a few feet away, and he feeds me nothing but a plain meal of salad and boiled chicken.
I want to scream and complain, throw my boring plate against the wall.
But I sit quietly. “Not tonight. I’m learning that this is my fate. It’s been hard to wrap my head around it. I’m sorry it took so long.” Stabbing a few leaves with my fork, I pretend it’s going into his eye.
“Can you tell me some of the wedding plans? It might help me get more excited about it.” I flash my best smile and chew the flavorless greens as if they’re filet mignon.
I hate my life.
Ivan’s gray eyebrows raise and his lips purse through his trimmed beard. “Interesting. I’m happy to see that your mood has lifted somewhat.” He leans forward and takes a bite from a buttery roll. “It will make our wedding night much more enjoyable for you if you don’t fight.”
It’s a struggle not to let my cheeks pale at the thought.
“Then again—” He sits back, chewing thoughtfully. “—I was quite looking forward to fucking you while you claw and scream.” He chuckles watching me squirm, then lifts his glass of red wine to take a sip.
I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough that it keeps the tears at bay.
I have to stop letting him goad me into reacting.
“Are you expecting many guests?” The mushy chicken sticks to the roof of my mouth when I try to smile around it.
His dark dead eyes narrow. “The only one that counts is in the wind. Once I know where my son is, we’ll have the ceremony.”
I can’t fathom this monster being a loving father. Any flesh and blood of his is probably just as awful as he is.
But I have to play nice.
“Who’s your son?” My plate is nearly empty. All I want to do is find out about my mother, but I need to keep him talking.
Ivan pushes back and opens a wooden box near his elbow. Withdrawing one of his stinky cigars, he clips the end and circles his lips around it.
After the smoke wafts through the hollow room, he finally answers.
“You know him. He’s kept you hidden and safe from me for years. My oldest boy’s name is Mikhail.” He draws a long inhale making the ember glow.
No. Not the man who gave Momma money all these years?
How can they be one and the same?