12. Dahlia
12
DAHLIA
I deliberated for a long time over whether or not to go down for dinner that evening.
On the one hand, hiding in my new bedroom and not having to talk to anyone sounds like the best possible way I could spend an otherwise difficult first night here. But on the other, I don’t want Alek to think that I’m hiding from him specifically—which would be at least partially true if I don’t go down.
Eventually, after getting about half the boxes unpacked, I drag myself to the shower in the attached bathroom and try to make myself presentable. It’s not my bathroom at my old apartment, that I decorated and painted exactly the way I wanted it, like a pink old-Hollywood dressing room, but it’s just as luxurious as everything else in this mansion. I take a long, hot shower, scrubbing my face until it looks less like I’ve cried off and on all afternoon, and put on a pair of dark jeans and an icy blue silk blouse. With my hair blow-dried and the tiniest bit of makeup on—I also don’t want Alek to think I’m trying too hard—I feel a little more presentable and more capable of facing everyone.
To my relief, he’s not even in the dining room yet when I walk in. Evelyn told me that she and Dimitri typically eat in the smaller, informal dining room unless they’re having a dinner party, and the two of them are already sitting down, Evelyn to Dimitri’s right as they talk quietly about something. Evelyn looks up when she hears my footsteps, a smile on her face.
“I’m so glad you decided to come down,” she says brightly, but I can see the tiniest bit of worry in her eyes—which I’m sure is related to what’s going to happen when Alek and I have to sit across from each other at the table.
“I thought it would be good to not hide upstairs all night.” I go to sit next to Evelyn, who reaches for the crystal pitcher of water in the center of the table and pours some into the glass.
“I’ll tell the staff to get you a place setting,” she says, getting up quickly, and I’m momentarily left alone with Dimitri.
“I know the circumstances are—less than pleasant,” Dimitri says carefully, looking at me as he reaches for his glass of wine. “But I think of you as a sister already, Dahlia, with how close you and Evelyn are. I’m glad that’s going to become a reality.”
The look on his face is kind, and some of my irritation over how he tried to strong-arm Alek and I into a wedding from the start fades. Evelyn has told me many times, when it comes to things about the two of them that I haven’t entirely understood, that Dimitri is the product of a world that’s very different from what Evelyn or I are used to. To him, this feels right and normal, and I know he’s making an effort to understand that I don’t feel the same.
Evelyn comes back a moment later, two of the staff behind her—one holding an extra place setting for me, and the other pushing a cart with what I assume is the first course of dinner on it. Dimitri frowns, looking past them as Evelyn comes to sit down between him and I again.
“Of course he’s running late,” Dimitri mutters, as the soup and salad course are served—a Caesar salad and a thick bisque with bits of crab and a slice of lemon on top.
Maybe he just won’t come down for dinner at all. I feel a momentary flicker of hope that it will just be the three of us, until a few seconds later, just as I’m about to take a bite of the soup, the sound of footsteps click against the wooden floor just outside.
Speak of the devil. Alek steps into the room, and my traitorous body clenches at the sight of him, even as my stomach drops at the prospect of spending any amount of time trying to eat dinner sitting across from him. He’s wearing black jeans and a fitted charcoal t-shirt with long sleeves, tattoos visible across the backs of his hands and up his neck, and somehow, in the quiet elegance of the dining room, the scar on his face seems to stand out like a brand.
None of it does anything to make him less handsome. He’s still utterly gorgeous, prowling towards his chair like a wolf, and I try not to think about how much I enjoyed letting him eat me.
His expression darkens the moment he sees me, but he drops into his chair, not meeting my eyes as he reaches for his silverware. He takes a bite of his soup, and I can feel the tension in the room thicken, as if we’re all waiting for him to say something.
Alek looks up after a moment. “I didn’t think you’d join us,” he says flatly, his gaze finally meeting mine, harsh and dark.
I swallow hard, and I can’t force anything past the tightness in my throat. Evelyn speaks up for me, her shoulders stiff.
“Why not?” she asks sharply, and I feel a pang for the position she’s been put in now—caught between the fact that she’s my best friend, and the fact that Alek is Dimitri’s brother.
Alek looks at her, then at me, and turns his attention back to his food, saying nothing else.
“Once you’re settled in, you should go check out the stables on the estate property,” Evelyn says, turning to me as she quickly changes the topic. “I know you used to ride when we were in college, and before that. You might enjoy seeing them.”
“I’d like that.” It’s the best I can manage, my throat still tight, and I barely hear as Dimitri turns the conversation elsewhere, making small talk as silverware clinks against bowls.
The food is delicious—the salad and crab bisque are some of the best I’ve ever tasted, and the main course is an incredible duck bolognese with apple shavings on top, followed by a dessert of chocolate souffles. But I only manage a few bites of each course, my stomach turning over and over on itself as I try not to look at Alek, and worry that I might not be able to keep dinner down.
He doesn’t say a word throughout the entire meal. He finishes his dessert, drains the glass of wine next to his plate, and stands up abruptly, tossing his napkin down on the table before turning and stalking out of the room.
Evelyn presses her lips together, and Dimitri’s expression darkens. He starts to get up, too, but Evelyn touches his hand, and he stops.
“Maybe he just needs time,” she says quietly. “You said he hasn’t talked about what happened at all.”
Dimitri’s jaw tightens, but he nods. “I’ve been trying to give him time,” he says, his voice also low, almost as if they don’t want me to hear what they’re saying. “I’ve tried not to press him for answers. But he’s going to have to open up eventually, if we’re going to move past this?—”
“You don’t even know what this is.” Evelyn shakes her head. “We’ll talk about it later,” she adds, glancing over at me. “I don’t think Dahlia wants to deal with this tonight.”
I’m not even sure what they’re talking about. But the memory of those scars against my own skin comes back to me, the feeling of ravaged flesh in the darkness, and I wonder what else is lurking under my husband-to-be’s surface that I can’t begin to imagine.
—
There’s an intentional cheeriness to Evelyn’s mood in the morning that I know is for my benefit. She has someone send breakfast up to me—cinnamon French toast and fruit with orange juice—and I’m halfway through trying to nibble at it while dealing with my morning nausea when she knocks on my door.
“Ready to go dress shopping?” she asks with a bright smile, and I look at her pointedly. She lets out a sigh.
“I know.” She drops down onto the bed next to me, plucking a bit of apple out of the bowl of fruit. “I’m just trying to help you make the best of it, is all. I have an appointment at the same salon we went to for my wedding dress. And once again, I have a credit card that we can put it all on.” She flashes me another smile. “We can at least enjoy spending Dimitri’s money, right?”
I do laugh at that—I can’t help it. “That does make it a little better,” I agree. “And it will be nice to have a girls’ day.”
“I invited Genevieve, too,” Evelyn says. “She’s going to meet us for coffee before we head over to the appointment.”
I finish getting ready, and meet Evelyn downstairs about a half-hour later, feeling my stomach tighten with dread as I head down the staircase and hope that I don’t run into Alek. There’s no sign of him until my feet hit the marble of the entryway, and then I see him emerging from a room to the left, his gaze dark. He strides towards the back door, not even noticing me, but it gives me a moment to observe him.
Everything about him is tense, like a brewing storm waiting to break. He looks wound tight, and I remember how he felt that night that we went home together, like something in him was being unleashed. Like he was starving for everything that we could do together. I didn’t understand it then, and I don’t understand it now.
“The car is waiting,” Evelyn says as she comes out of the living room, wearing a lightweight wrap dress in a bright, springy paisley pattern of mint and pink and cream, the slightest swell of her bump showing. “Genevieve is going to meet us at the Bean and Page .”
I manage a smile at that—that particular coffeeshop has been one of our favorites for a long time, half bookstore, half coffeeshop. Evelyn and I used to go there and do homework when we were in college, and I know she picked it for the nostalgia, and the familiarity.
Genevieve is waiting for us when we get there, wearing a pair of dark jeans and a cropped cream-colored sweater, her hair loose. She looks as elegant as always as she gets up and comes to give me a hug, squeezing me tightly.
“Evelyn filled me in,” she says. “I’m sorry about your family. And about…everything.” She gives me a lopsided smile. “It’s a small world, isn’t it? The man you went home with turning out to be Dimitri’s brother?”
“It is.” I wince. “I’m sorry I didn’t text or call you myself. I meant to fill you in on all of it, it’s just been…”
“No, I understand,” Genevieve says firmly. “I’m glad Evelyn was there for you. And she’s the one closest to all of this besides you, so I understand huddling up and weathering the beginning of it together. But now I’m here too, and we’ll get through it. And today, we get to shop!”
“With an unlimited credit card,” Evelyn adds with a grin. “So let’s make the most of it.”
We get coffee to-go—a vanilla raspberry latte for me, decaf, a flat white for Genevieve, and a decaf hazelnut latte for Evelyn—and head back out to the waiting car to drive to Oscar de la Renta.
“It is hard to believe I’m going to get to buy a dress here twice.” I shake my head as we get out of the car, a tiny bit of excitement trickling in despite the situation. I’ve always loved clothes, and shopping—it’s one of the things Evelyn and I bonded over early on. Getting to shop here once is a dream come true, and getting to shop here for my wedding gown would have been exactly that, under any other circumstances.
Under these circumstances, I try to just focus on the dress, and not the man I’m going to marry in it.
We’re greeted by a pretty, dark-haired sales associate who introduces herself as Marie, and is exactly as eager as the one who helped us when we came here for Evelyn. She takes us to the dressing area, getting champagne for Genevieve and sparkling cider for Evelyn and I, and takes some measurements before promising me she’ll be back with an assortment of dresses.
“I have no idea what I want,” I murmur as we wait. “I didn’t ever think about this, really.”
“Well, the world is your oyster today,” Evelyn says with a grin. “Just try them on, and you can get whichever one feels right.”
I’m not really sure anything is going to feel ‘right’. Nothing about this entire situation feels right. But I force the thought out of my head, sipping at my sparkling cider and trying not to think about how much I’d like a glass of that champagne right now.
Marie brings an armful of dresses, promising Evelyn and Genevieve that she’ll bring potential bridesmaids’ dresses for them as soon as I’m settled. I glance at Evelyn, briefly confused.
“I’m having a bridal party?”
“Well, we’re not going to let you walk down that aisle alone,” Evelyn says firmly, and I see the momentary confusion flicker over Marie’s face as she seems to finally pick up on the general mood surrounding this wedding. Her gaze flicks down to my bare ring finger, back up to my face and over to the other two women, and then she pivots, still looking as if she’s doing mental math as she goes to hang up the dresses in one of the pink-curtained rooms.
It almost makes me burst out laughing, but I think I might cry if I do. Instead, I press my lips tightly together, forcing back both laughter and tears as I get up to follow Marie to the dressing room.
Marie hovers, helping me in and out of dress after dress as two more associates come in to help Evelyn and Genevieve if they need it. All of the dresses are beautiful, and I quickly realize that it’s going to be nearly impossible to choose. It would be one thing if I had some emotional attachment to this day, or some long-held fantasy of what I’ve always wanted to wear on my wedding day, but I have neither of those things. Every emotion I have about my impending marriage to Alek is one that I’m trying to cram down so that I don’t have a panic attack in the middle of Oscar de la Renta , of all places, and even if I had some fantasy of a wedding dress that I’d dreamed of one day wearing, I wouldn’t want to wear it for him.
Instead, I let Marie put me in one dress after another and then take me out of it, listening to what Evelyn and Genevieve say they do and don’t like. They’ve both ended up with gorgeous spring-themed dresses for their bridesmaids’ gowns—a lavender strapless silk for Genevieve, with cascades of blue and pink flowers embroidered on the gored skirt, and a mint-colored bustier gown for Evelyn, with a draping chiffon skirt that has small lace flowers embroidered in the hidden folds. It reminds me a little of the gold gown that she made for me, for that fateful awards dinner at the Met when I received a curator’s award, and Evelyn met Dimitri for the first time.
Now they’re sitting by the mirrors again, sipping champagne and sparkling cider and watching as I come out in each dress. Evelyn isn’t a fan of the puffed sleeves on one, while Genevieve thinks the simplest white silk gown that I try on is too plain—although elegant. There’s something that one of them thinks is off about each one, until I finally step out in a clinging all-over lace gown, with a neckline cut straight across just below my collarbones, the sleeves long and off the shoulder. The gown clings to my every slender curve, accentuating the small swell of my breasts and the curve of my hips, skimming down my thighs to pool around my feet.
“That’s it,” Genevieve says decisively. “It’s perfect.”
“It’s beautiful,” Evelyn echoes. “What do you think?”
I look at myself in the three-way-mirror, trying to feel like a bride. All I feel like, in this moment, is a woman in a beautiful dress. But it is beautiful, and I have a momentary, petty thought that Alek will regret his stipulation of no sex in the marriage when he sees me in this dress.
Not that I’d let him touch me again, after the way he’s acted. But all the same—he’ll regret it, and that gives me a small, petty amount of satisfaction.
It’s not what I ever imagined feeling as I looked at my reflection in my wedding dress, but it’s what I’ve got to get me through.
“I think it’s the one,” I say decisively, my voice more flat than it should be. “I’ll go with this one.”
Twenty minutes later, the dress is paid for and zipped into a garment bag, and Evelyn is hustling me on to the next shop, undoubtedly to keep me from having too long to think about anything. By the time we break for lunch, we’ve gotten jewelry, shoes, and a veil, and I drop into the booth at the small bistro that we go to for a bite to eat, exhausted.
I’m happy to agree when Evelyn suggests stopping at a few more stores, though, because I’m dreading going back to the mansion—dreading running into Alek, seeing that hard look in his eyes, that tension in his shoulders, his dislike and distrust of me rolling off of him in waves. The difference between that first night that I met him and now is like night and day, and while I can understand him being pissed that the night resulted in a baby he clearly doesn’t want— he’s the one who refused to use a condom. I don’t know why he’s treating me like I’m some witch who’s out to get him.
When we get back, he’s nowhere to be seen, though. At Evelyn’s urging, I agree to just have dinner sent up to my room tonight, and I take my purchases upstairs, collapsing on the bed almost as soon as I walk in.
The wedding is a week away. And I don’t know how I’m going to get through the days to come until then—or all the ones that will come after.
—
The morning of my wedding dawns grey and rainy—fitting for my mood. I wake to the sound of the wind in the branches of the tree just outside my bedroom window and the raindrops hitting the glass, and I close my eyes, wondering if a wedding can be canceled for rain.
Obviously, the answer to that is no. But I can’t help wishing, for just a moment, that that was the case.
Instead, I get up, forcing myself into a hot shower, wrapping my hair atop my head in a towel just as one of the staff comes up with my breakfast. My stomach is tied into so many knots that I don’t know how I’m going to begin to eat it, but I pick at the oatmeal and fruit, fighting back nausea on two fronts this morning. Both from the pregnancy, and from the nerves over what I’m about to do.
It doesn’t have to be forever , I remind myself. I can leave, once I’m in a position to take care of myself. But I don’t feel the certainty that I wish I did. Alek doesn’t want to be married to me any more than I want to be married to him, but all the same, he only mentioned divorce in context of his assumption that the baby might not be his. I don’t really know how he might react if I try to leave. He might not care—or he might try to make me stay, out of some masculine idiocy.
That’s a problem to deal with when it happens . No matter what, the wedding is happening today, and that’s what I need to focus on. Getting through today—and the rest will follow.
I’m still picking at my breakfast when Evelyn comes up, followed by Genevieve not long after. The rain outside starts to fall harder as they help me get ready, and I frown at it as I sit at the vanity while Evelyn curls my hair.
“It seems like a sign,” I mutter, and Evelyn laughs softly.
“I know. I thought the same thing when I woke up. But you’ll be okay, Dolly,” she reassures me, pinning each of my curls as Genevieve starts to get my dress, shoes, and veil out of the closet. “Whatever happens, Dimitri and I have your back. And he won’t let his brother be too much of an ass to you. He’ll rein him in if Alek starts to treat you badly while you’re here.”
While I’m here. Another thing that’s completely up in the air. There’s been no discussion about us leaving the mansion anytime soon, if Alek expects me to live elsewhere with him, or what happens after the baby is born. There’s been no discussion between Alek and I at all over the past week. At meals, if I see him, he’s deathly silent, and if our paths start to cross at any other time, he’s made a point of avoiding me.
My future is uncertain. The only thing I know right now is that I have a place to live at the moment, and that by the end of the day, I’ll be Alek’s wife.
I feel numb as Evelyn and Genevieve help me into the dress, trying to remember why I’m doing this. That I’m doing it to buy time, to make sure that I’m not cut adrift while I’m still floundering.
The rain is coming down in a torrent by the time we make it down to the car. The driver meets us at the front door with an umbrella, two more of Dimitri’s security hovering nearby with umbrellas for Evelyn and Genevieve, and somehow the three of us manage to get into the car without getting soaked. The hem of my dress is only slightly damp, and still pristine.
I sink back against the cool leather seat, wishing I could have a drink. Something to take the edge off. My stomach is churning with nerves, and I numbly take the bouquet that Evelyn hands me—a riot of pink and white roses and peonies and baby’s breath. I set it in my lap, swallowing back the burn of nausea at the base of my throat as the car pulls away from the front of the house, heading to the church where Alek is waiting.
With every minute that passes, I think I can feel my heart beating harder and harder. By the time the car pulls up in front of the church, I feel like I can barely breathe.
There’s a line of umbrellas up the stairs, helping the three of us get into the church without getting soaked. When we step into the warm entrance, I try to suck in a breath, the smell of incense and wood filling my senses as I close my eyes and try to calm down. The last thing I need is to throw up or pass out as I walk down the aisle.
Evelyn fixes my veil, bringing it down over my face and arranging it. I feel a small pang in my chest as I realize that there’s no one from my family here for me on my wedding day—that my parents don’t even know about this. My father isn’t here to walk me down the aisle or give me away, and my mother won’t be sitting in the front pew. I feel my eyes burn at the thought, because whether it was to Alek or Jude, either way, I was going to end up marrying someone for convenience and not for love. And while my parents would have been at one and not the other, it still wouldn’t have been how I would have imagined it.
The doors open as the music starts, and as Evelyn and Genevieve start to walk down the aisle ahead of me, I see Alek standing at the altar.
His face is hard as stone, expressionless, his hands clasped in front of him. He’s not looking at me—he’s looking off in the distance, his jaw set, and I see Dimitri lean forward and murmur something to him, but Alek seems to ignore his brother. Every inch of his body, every tense muscle, seems to scream that he doesn’t want to be here.
Well, that makes two of us. I walk steadily down the aisle towards him, clutching my bouquet, looking straight ahead towards the altar. A slightly concerned-looking priest is standing in front of it, and I try not to meet his eyes, either.
Evelyn and Genevieve go off to the left, leaving me to stop in front of Alek. He doesn’t reach for my hands; doesn’t try to touch me in any way. He stands there, looking over the top of my head, as the priest clears his throat, hesitating for a moment and looking even more concernedly between the two of us before he begins to speak.
There’s no objection, when the priest asks, though I half-expect Alek to object himself. Alek recites his vows in a flat, rote tone, and my voice trembles when I repeat mine. My hands are shaking when he goes to put a ring that I hadn’t expected him to have on my left ring finger—a thin, simple gold band—and Evelyn hands me a matching, thicker one for Alek. His hand feels cold when I slide the ring on, and I swallow hard, trying to breathe as I get the ring past his knuckle and then let go of his hand.
I barely hear the rest of what the priest says—until five words cut through my fog, through the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears.
“You may kiss the bride.”
Kiss ? I’d forgotten about this part. Alek has barely even held my hand throughout this entire ceremony. I can only imagine what the guests are thinking—Dimtri’s brother, coming home after a long time away, suddenly standing at the altar for a clearly rushed marriage to a woman he can’t seem to bear to touch.
He hesitates, and I almost flinch when he reaches to lift my veil. It’s almost impossible to believe that a little less than two months ago, I had the most passionate night of my entire life with this man, when he’s so cold now that I feel like he’d freeze me if I touched him. Everything that was between us that night feels like it’s gone, as Alek slowly lifts my veil and tosses it back over my hair, his dark eyes finally meeting mine as he looks down at me.
I can feel the tension in the room, as everyone waits to see if Alek will kiss his bride—as they wonder why he hasn’t yet. I swallow hard, and he leans forward, his hands at his sides as his mouth brushes against mine.
I swear, when his lips touch mine, I feel a spark. Like static electricity, prickling over my lips, heat washing over me as his mouth presses a little more firmly. For the briefest of seconds, as he kisses me, all of the feeling that’s been lost since that night comes rushing back, and despite myself, I sway towards him, my hands coming up to touch his chest as his lips graze over mine once more.
He flinches back at my touch, pulling away abruptly. He steps back, and I barely hear the priest announcing us as man and wife as Alek starts to head back down the aisle.
I quicken my pace, trying to keep up with him as we walk out of the church, out into the still-rainy afternoon. I can hear the murmurs of the guests, and my face burns, anger suddenly twisting in my stomach at the fact that Alek couldn’t even bring himself to walk out of the church with me like my husband. He chose to let me be humiliated instead.
It’s still raining as we walk outside, umbrellas covering our path as we head to the car. Too late, I realize that Alek and I are getting into the same one—as would be expected, but it’s the last thing I want right now.
He sits down across from me as the doors of the car close, and I swallow hard, trying to bite back all the things I want to shout at him.
“You couldn’t even walk out of the church next to me?” I finally ask, every word laced with anger and hurt. “I heard everyone talking as we left. Everyone is wondering why you married a woman that you seem to hate.”
“Why do you care?” Alek shrugs, looking out of the window impassively. “They have nothing to do with you.”
He’s right on that count, I suppose. I don’t know anyone who was in that church—all family and associates of the Yashkovs. No one other than Evelyn and Genevieve were there for me, and the thought opens up a pit in my stomach, a feeling of loneliness spreading through me.
I’m silent for a long moment, staring out at the rain, and then I realize that the car is headed back in the direction we came.
“We’re going back to the mansion?” I frown, confused, and Alek finally looks at me, his dark eyes as impassive as ever.
“I told Dimitri not to bother with a reception. He protested, of course, saying that the pomp was necessary for the family’s ‘image’, but I told him I wouldn’t have any part of it. I’m sure you don’t care.” His gaze meets mine, challenging me to argue, to tell him that I actually wanted a wedding reception.
The truth is that I hadn’t known how I was going to manage to get through all of that—sitting next to Alek at a sweetheart table, eating dinner, cutting a cake, having a first dance. It seemed like an impossible farce, a series of motions that I didn’t know how I was going to go through, and I should be relieved that I’m being spared it.
I am…a little. But I’m also angry that Alek refused to play the part for even a few hours. I would have done my best, if need be. He won’t even fucking try.
I’m not going to let him see how angry I am, though, or how confused I am at how much of an asshole he’s shown himself to be. Instead, I raise one shoulder carelessly, letting it drop.
“That’s probably for the best,” I tell him, dragging my gaze away from his to look out of the window again.
Out of the corner of my eye, for the first time since the church doors opened, I see his eyes drift over me. I’d been disappointed, earlier, when he’d seen me in the clinging lace dress and there hadn’t been so much as a flicker of desire in his eyes, his face utterly impassive as he stood there at the altar. But now, in this close space, I can feel the air thicken, hear the sound of him swallowing hard as his gaze trails over me, from the bare slashes of my collarbone above the lace neckline all the way down.
The air feels warmer, the tension strung taut between us, but I don’t look at him. I stare at the pattern of the raindrops running down the glass, my hands twisted together in my lap against the soft lace of my dress, and I say nothing. I try not to think about what comes next, about the lonely night I’ll spend tonight, about the fact that despite my best efforts, I still ended up married to a man who can’t stand me, and who I’ve come to dislike in return.
When the car pulls up to the front of the mansion, Alek doesn’t wait for the driver to open the door or for someone to come with an umbrella. He shoves the door open himself, lurching out into the rain in his haste to get away from me, and I watch as the downpour plasters his hair against his skull, darkening it. His suit is soaked in a matter of minutes, and I try not to notice the glimpse of his chest through the drenched white fabric of his shirt, the way I can see the faintest hint of his abs glued against it. I ignore the way heat blossoms through me, my throat tightening, and I force myself to look away.
When the driver comes around with an umbrella for me, Alek is already gone. And as I step out of the car, I know that nothing really has changed.
I might as well have married a ghost.