Chapter 4
S amara
“I won’t marry him! I won’t!”
It was excruciating having to go through the rest of Nadia’s party as if my entire world hadn’t just been turned upside down.
After my humiliating encounter with Gregor, I snuck into Nadia’s bedroom and borrowed a sweater to cover my torn dress.
After brushing my hair and fixing my makeup, I returned to the party right as the accordion player started to play and everyone sang the song from the Cheburashka cartoon.
As everyone was singing the chorus, it’s so sad that a birthday can only happen once a year , I caught Nadia’s eye. Surprisingly, she looked as miserable as I felt.
The lights dimmed, and everyone turned to watch as her mother walked through the doorway holding a big cake decorated with eighteen candles.
Nadia and I seized the moment.
She clasped my hand. “I have to talk to you!”
“Me too!”
“Usual place?”
As Russians it was in our blood not to trust electronics, so they had taught us even from an early age not to have important conversations on cell phones.
Our houses were less than a block apart so since we were little girls, I used to sneak out of mine and meet her inside her playhouse, which was tucked away inside some trees in the back of her yard.
The security guards always knew we were there, so we were never in any real danger.
I nodded. “Two am?”
She nodded.
“I’ll tell Yelena.” My other best friend.
I moved away from Nadia just as her parents reached her with the cake and made my way across the room to Yelena. I bumped her with my shoulder and mouthed two am . She nodded.
We both watched as Nadia pasted on a fake smile and dutifully blew out her candles. Everyone cheered and surrounded her. They all started pulling on her ears and shouting out each year till they got to eighteen. A silly Russian custom no one really knew the origin of.
As I watched over the tops of their heads, there was no mistaking when Gregor joined the party. I shivered despite the warmth in the room.
He was leaning against the doorway, looking like the devil himself.
Keeping his dark gaze trained on me, he slowly raised a glass to his lips. I watched as he pulled an ice cube into his mouth and then crushed it between his sharp teeth.
I swallowed.
Pivoting away, my cheeks burned as I heard his laughter over the chatter of the crowd.
* * *
“You can’t make me marry him!”
We were back at my home, and I’d finally confronted my father about what Gregor had said.
Part of me felt silly for even bringing it up.
I mean, the idea was ludicrous. I was technically still in high school!
Besides, this was the twenty-first century and America; they didn’t do arranged marriages anymore. The whole idea was archaic.
My stomach twisted into a sick knot when my father told me it was true.
“I won’t do it and that’s final,” I said.
I stood in front of my father, hands curled into fists.
The man had never made it a secret that I disappointed him.
I was a girl, not the boy he desperately wanted.
I knew I was guilty of ruining my parents’ marriage.
After me, my mother wasn’t able to have any more children.
I destroyed his chance at a legacy, and he never missed an opportunity to remind me of it.
But even so, I thought the man at least cared a little for me.
To give me away in marriage as if I were nothing more than a piece of property he was unloading was colder and more heartless than I ever gave him credit for.
Apparently, he hated me far more than even I realized.
My father turned to face me. He struck out, the flat of his hand catching me on the cheek so hard I staggered back. His hand was icy and wet from the chilled vodka bottle he had been holding, but the slap felt like fire on my skin.
“You will do as you're told! You’re finally going to be good for something.”
My eyes swam with tears as I fell back onto the sofa, nursing my bruised cheek.
My mother raced into the study, her gaze shifting between the two of us as she exclaimed, “Boris, what have you done?”
With my arms wrapped around my stomach, I rocked back and forth, staring at the carpet beneath my feet.
Prussian Blue.
Chrome Yellow Deep.
Vandyke Brown.
Gold Ochre.
My mother sat next to me and awkwardly rubbed my back. It felt strange and unfamiliar, like she was going through the motions of being a caring mother, mimicking something she had seen in a Hallmark movie, probably.
My father paced in front of us. The vodka in his hand sloshed over the side of the glass as he gestured wildly with his hands. “Don’t take that tone with me, Alena! You like this big house? A new car every other year? Your trips to Europe? Jewels? Well, those things cost money!”
My mother swiped the air with her arm. The heavy gold bangles around her wrists clanged and rattled. “So? We have plenty of money for those things.”
“Had. We had plenty of money. It’s all gone.” My father turned his back and returned to the sidebar to pour himself more vodka.
“What do you mean, Boris? How could it be all gone?” my mother asked as she abandoned me and followed him across the room.
My father shrugged. “Poor investments. Business deals fell through. Nothing for you to worry about.”
“Nothing for me to worry about? You say that we are broke now!” My mother snatched the bottle from his hand and poured herself a drink. Picking up the glass, she took a long swallow. She must have been upset. My mother rarely drank vodka. She preferred wine or champagne.
“We were broke. I have fixed it!”
She gestured in my direction, her gold bangles clanging. “What? By selling our only daughter?”
“You act like I have given her hand to some stranger in the street. Our family has known the Ivanovs for generations. She will be well provided for.”
My mother frowned. “Yes, we have also known that the Ivanovs deal in—”
My father cut her off with a harsh curse.
They both looked at me.
I wasn’t surprised. My entire life there was always some kind of secrecy around Nadia’s family and how they earned their money. Not even Nadia knows.
I stood up. “Papa, this is wrong! You can’t just give me away in marriage as if I’m your property.”
My father raised his arm and pointed at me. “It’s done, and you will obey me in this.”
“I don’t understand any of this. Why does he even want to marry me? He barely even knows me.”
“He’s marrying the Federov name, you stupid girl,” he responded viciously. “It has nothing to do with you. He wants the connections and reputation my family name provides. You are nothing to him but a means to an end.”.
I crossed my arms over my chest. His words stung, but I refused to be cowed. “Well, I won’t marry him. And you can’t make me.”
My father sighed. “You have no choice. I’ve already taken the money.”
“Well, give it back!”
My mother came to stand before me, wringing her hands. “What would be so bad about being Gregor Ivanov’s wife? He is rich. Handsome. You will have a pleasant home and good powerful sons.”
I knew the moment my father threatened her with poverty, my mother would shift her loyalty to his side. I wished I could have said it surprised me.
I was alone in this.
What was wrong with Gregor? I couldn’t explain it.
When I was a little girl, I used to have the biggest crush on him. I mean, it was to be expected. He was my best friend’s big and strong older brother, but even then there was something dark and scary about him. He terrified and intimidated me from the moment I met him.
He had this way of sucking all the energy out of a room when he entered it, like a vampire seducing his victims with a charm that belied his cold, dead stare. Everything revolved around him. Someone like me wouldn’t stand a chance in his dark and twisted universe.
I would lose all sense of self, all identity.
Now that he was older and his own man, he was even more terrifying.
The thought of being his wife made me quake.
Sure, the man’s kisses could melt my bones, but I wasn’t delusional enough to think I would keep his interests for long.
I was a teenager in his eyes. A little girl.
His sister’s friend. He was probably used to sophisticated women.
Women who knew how to kiss a man. My cheeks burned at the recollection that he could tell I must be a virgin by how badly I kissed.
There was no way a man like Gregor would want to be saddled with a sheltered suburban girl like me. He would resent me for it from day one. We would have a miserable marriage and wind up hating one another.
“What about college? Art school?” I asked, grasping at straws as my pleading gaze looked from my mother to my father.
I loved to paint and had hoped to go to college to learn more about art technique and history.
I knew I had talent. I just needed someone to believe in me.
Someone who looked at my paintings and understood what I was trying to convey.
I always hoped that perhaps if I became a celebrated artist, my parents would see that I had worth and a voice.
Now I see what a stupid, immature fantasy it had been to think they would one day see me for who I was…
and not their disappointment for who I wasn’t.
My father shrugged and turned away, not wanting to meet my eye. “You could always do those hobbies later. If your husband permits it.”
I was crestfallen. A hobby. That was how my father viewed my desire for a career in art. Nothing more than a distraction from my true purpose, which apparently was to marry and secure a dowry for him.
“Papa, please.”
He cleared his throat. “My mind is made up. You will do as you are told. You have no choice. Now go to bed.”
I cast a pleading glance at my mother. She lowered her head. She wouldn’t go against her husband, not even for her own daughter, especially not if it meant losing her position in society or having to sacrifice her enormous home and jewels.