29. Chapter 29
29
Bella
A week and some days later
I ’m huddled between a floor-length Oscar de la Renta and what appears to be Vera Wang’s entire spring collection, trying to remember how to breathe like a normal human being. The closet is bigger than my first apartment, which somehow makes this hiding attempt even more pathetic.
“Why are you whispering?” Elena’s voice crackles through my phone speaker.
“Because,” I hiss, pressing myself deeper into the silks and chiffons, “if Natasha finds me, she’ll force me into another dress that makes me look like I’m auditioning for ‘Russian Oligarch’s Trophy Wife: The Musical.’”
“Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing, though?” Elena laughs, the sound tinny through the international connection.
“Oh my God, how can you be in Japan when I need you the most?” I groan, sliding down until I’m sitting on the floor, surrounded by designer shoes with mind-numbing price-tags.
“Because Japan needs me more,” she says dramatically. “And by that, I mean my team is incompetent, and I’ve been knee-deep in contracts all week. Also, have I told you about the weirdest sex museum I just walked past? Vibrators from the Edo period, Bella. Carved out of wood. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“That someone, somewhere, got splinters in places no one should ever get splinters?”
Elena cackles, but I don’t have time to enjoy it because— THWACK.
My elbow knocks into a row of beaded bodices, sending a ripple effect of satin and lace swaying violently around me. I suck in a sharp breath, panic clawing up my throat.
“Shit—shit—shit!” I hiss through my teeth, as if I can physically shove the sound back into my mouth.
“Okay, that was genuinely terrifying,” Elena says, not at all concerned. “I thought someone found you and was about to drag you out by your hair.”
“One day, Elena.” My voice drops to a frantic whisper, my hand clamping over my mouth like Natasha might hear me through the walls. “One. Day. Until I legally bind myself to a man who communicates primarily through grunts and wire transfers.”
Elena lets out a low whistle. “Damn. You know, when you put it like that, it almost sounds romantic.”
I bury my face in my hands. “This is bad. This is so bad.”
“Listen, I know what this is—pre-wedding cold feet. Happens to the best of us. Like that time I almost married a guy in Ibiza because he made me a really good mojito.”
I frown. “You’ve never been engaged.”
“Exactly. Because I recognized it for what it was—fleeting panic. And possibly mild alcohol poisoning. But you? This is different. This is strategic panic .”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Oh, do enlighten me, Dr. Phil.”
“Bella, you’re a control freak.”
I gasp. “Rude.”
“True, though,” she continues, unfazed. “You’re spiraling because, for the first time in your life, you’re not struggling. You’re not juggling five disasters at once. The house is safe. Your siblings are in disgustingly expensive schools. No more Uncle Gremlin and Aunt Scammer trying to screw you over. And all it cost you was—what? One year of playing doting wife to a broody Russian gazillionaire who, let’s be honest, probably smells amazing?”
I let my head fall back against the wall of the closet. “Elena, I don’t even know him.”
“Exactly. Which means no emotional baggage! It’s like marrying a really well-dressed NPC. Just nod and smile until you hit the one-year mark, then collect your freedom like a divorce settlement Pokémon card.”
I groan. “That’s not how marriage works.”
“It is when there’s a contract involved,” she counters. “Besides, you should be grateful you don’t have to deal with a real husband. Imagine if he actually expected you to cook, clean, or—God forbid—participate in one of those quirky couples’ TikTok accounts.”
A shudder runs down my spine. “You make a compelling argument.”
“I know.”
There’s a pause, then Elena asks, “So… do the kids know you’re getting married?”
I stare at the ceiling of the closet, watching how the light catches on a sequined gown hanging above me. “Julian knows.” I sigh. “Well, part of it. He knows I’m marrying a man named Konstantin, but he thinks it’s some whirlwind romance I’ve been hiding.”
“And he bought that?” Elena sounds skeptical.
“No, he’s too smart.” I run my finger along the edge of a shoebox. “He cornered me yesterday and said, ‘Either you’ve lost your mind, or there’s money involved.’ When I didn’t deny it, he figured out I’m doing this for them, for the house, but…” I lower my voice. “He doesn’t know it’s a one-year deal with an expiration date. He doesn’t know about the contract.”
“That’s for the best, babe.”
“I know, I know. He’s…adapting. His new school has an astrophysics lab, Elena. An actual lab where they let teenagers play with actual space things. He’s in heaven, even if he won’t admit it.”
“And Hurricane Lila?”
I press my forehead against my knees. “She called me Judas at breakfast yesterday.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. Then told me she needed four hundred dollars for ‘supplemental calculus materials’ that turned out to be concert tickets.”
Elena snorts. “Classic Lila.”
“She hates me,” I whisper, and it hurts more than I want to admit. “Says I’ve ruined her life by making her transfer schools. That all her friends think she’s abandoned them. That her math teacher thinks she’s ‘remedial.’”
Elena laughs, then sobers. “Babe, listen. I know Lila’s pissed now, but give her time. She’s 14. She’d hate you if you breathed wrong. But someday, she’ll see what you did for her. Same with Julian. You made the best choice. The only choice.”
My stomach twists. I don’t like how that feels—like I’ve trapped myself in something that might not be as simple as I told myself it would be.
Elena sighs. “Okay, enough feelings. You would not believe what I saw yesterday. They have these vending machines that sell—”
“If you tell me about used panties again, I swear to God—”
“No, no. Well, yes, they have those too. But I meant the ones with tiny octopus figurines wearing business suits. Like little salaryman octopuses. Octopi? Whatever. I bought seven.”
I laugh despite myself. “That’s what you’re doing with your corporate expense account? Buying tentacled businessmen?”
“Hey, it’s cultural research.”
“Yeah… right—” I stop, hearing footsteps outside the closet. I hold my breath.
“Ms. Marquez?” a heavily accented voice calls. Natasha, the wedding planner from hell, who materializes like a vengeful spirit whenever I have a moment of peace. “The Elie Saab is ready for final fitting!”
“Shit,” I whisper.
“Is that the Russian Dress Nazi?” Elena asks too loudly.
I frantically lower the volume. “Yes, and she wants me to try on dress number three thousand. I’ve seen more tulle in the last two days than a ballet company uses in a decade.”
“Ms. Marquez?” The doorknob jiggles.
“One minute!” I call sweetly, then drop my voice back to a desperate whisper. “Elena, I haven’t even seen him since I signed the contract. A week ago, his lawyer shows up with papers stating all my debts are cleared. My aunt and uncle mysteriously drop their lawsuit over my parents’ house. Julian and Lila get whisked away to academic paradises that cost more per semester than some country’s reserve fund. And me? I get imprisoned in this mansion with Natasha, who I’m pretty sure reports my every move directly to the Kremlin.”
“Bella, honey,” Elena’s voice softens, “you know I support this completely, right? You’ve made the right choice. One year playing wifey to a walking red flag, and everything you’ve ever wanted for your family is yours. It’s the smartest move you could make.”
I laugh, but it sounds hollow even to my own ears. “Smart? I’m literally selling myself into a marriage contract with a man who probably has people buried in his backyard.”
“Oh, please,” Elena scoffs. “Everyone in real estate has at least one body in their backyard. Professional hazard.”
“Ms. Marquez!” The knocking is more insistent now.
“Coming!” I yell, then whisper frantically, “I gotta go before she sends in the hounds.”
I hang up and take a deep breath.
The door rattles again.
Less than twenty-four hours.
By this time tomorrow, I won’t just be Bella Marquez anymore.
I’ll be Mrs. Konstantin Belov.
And I still have no idea what the hell I’ve just signed up for.