Chapter 5 - Darya
The only explanation is that, surely, I must’ve inhaled some toxic fumes. That can happen. I just have to wait. Any minute now, there will be an ebb in whatever hallucination is at play here. There has to be.
Is that too dramatic?
Maybe I simply fell asleep at the atelier. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Yes.
Yeah, this could absolutely be nothing more than an extremely bizarre dream.
Nightmare, I correct myself.
To myself, I can admit that it wouldn’t be an unfounded occurrence.
I’ve dreamt about Anton Zakharov before.
A slip that came to pass a long, long time ago—but, still, I’m well aware of how capable I am of mentally reproducing his likeness.
All my professional attention to detail often extends to my dream worlds, too. That’s all there is to it.
Any second now, I’ll snap awake and laugh this off.
“—Darya.”
How far away one version of reality can wander from another.
It’s eerie. It seems ludicrous that it had been only months ago that I’d stood beside this very man in a ballroom, a thirty-minute drive from this room—an honored guest in one location turned an unwelcome invader in this one—wanting him to dispense with formalities and call me by my name.
This man, who looked down his nose at me, who thought himself unduly superior, and left my pride rankled in the aftermath of my own courtesy, is the same one who stands in front of me now, making a fucked-up proposition that his tone suggests I’d be an idiot not to go along with...
Surely, this isn’t reality.
An eerie calm washes over me. “And why on God’s green earth would I do that?”
He stares at me like I’m slow. “I believe I just answered that question at length, Darya.”
I set my wine glass down so hard on an end table that it is a true miracle it does not shatter. Probably a good thing, considering the glass itself is a vintage crystal. It’s nothing to waste on this infernal bastard.
“You aren’t serious.” My tone warns him that my words aren’t a suggestion. He doesn’t look daunted. He should.
The way Anton smiles at me—the first time he’s ever smiled right at me, and I am loath to admit that I notice this—makes my stomach bottom out. “Darya. I don’t know about you, but I don’t know anyone, least of all myself, who would ask a woman to marry him as a joke.”
Never have I ever expelled such a graceless sound as the shriek of hysterical laughter that punches through me now. “Ask?” I demand. “I didn’t hear you fucking ask me anything.”
It’s a pity that I’ve drained the glass of wine. The fact that he rolls his eyes at me deserves a glass full in his stupid face. Pointedly, Anton says, “Okay. I apologize. Will you marry me, Darya?”
I blink. “Am I supposed to be honored that you employed my name this time? Instead of, you know, Yuri Daughter Number Two? Why ask me at all? Why not just ask the Yuri sons?”
It’s a minor miracle that my voice holds steady.
My hands shake with unraveling fury. It’s safe to say that I don’t have it in me tonight to give the man any bonus points for Anton for how openly he admits, “I felt your pride would respond better to my asking you instead of your brothers. Either way, make no mistake, this marriage will happen. It is a smart move. I will ensure that it is clear to see.”
I’ll have to settle, I suppose, for just hating his guts.
I am a woman. I am the eldest daughter, yet the second youngest child in a long line of children.
I’m a business owner, a professional, the leader of a team, and a savant in my niche.
It’s safe to say that I am no stranger to disgust. Yet, I know, for certain, that I’ve never experienced it at so profound a level.
It’s a brand of disgust that transmogrifies into horror in record time.
It doesn’t escape me, either, that last night someone burned down warehouses on both sides of this alliance.
I’d heard it from Nadya this morning, through a quick text.
This alliance is more important than ever.
But how am I meant to process the fact that a person can treat another person like a pawn, and look completely at ease about admitting as much to their face?
My agency is a bonus I’m being offered, as if it is his to bestow on me. As is often the routine, yet like no time before, he propels me to question: Who the hell does this man think he is?
Good God in Heaven.
I know I’ve been playing up being a vapid airhead to punish Anton Zakharov for his belittling assumptions—but maybe I’ve been a little too convincing. I’d have to have been, if he’s this comfortable invading my space and making such vile propositions to me.
I would be less offended if he asked me to fuck him. Not that I’d do that any more than I’m inclined to marry him.
My anger, I’ve always known, isn’t the red-hot blaze my siblings are prone to. It spreads through me like a chill, hardening whatever it comes into contact with its frost.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t freeze Anton into place.
Oh no. No, he can still move. And it’s across the room, towards me, that he decides to do the moving.
His shoulders lift in a shrug that appears uncharacteristically casual coming from him. “You can always let the men handle it if you don’t wish to get into it,” he suggests, playing at nonchalance.
As if I’m too much of a dimwit to realize that he is manipulating me. Or trying to at least. Poorly, at that.
Coldly, I smile at him. Poison coats my tongue. “Anton, I’m certain that you have no idea what a man even is.”
He doesn’t look insulted. That infuriates me more than I expected to—more than I like to think myself capable of.
It’s a peculiarly potent rage that percolates in my belly.
I wonder if he can see the loathing in my eyes and, if so, why he isn’t deterred by it.
Is he that arrogant, or that blind? Which would be worse?
“Be that as it may,” Anton says, “I’ve pitched it to you first, Darya.
And think about it this way: you can control the wedding, the ring, and any other terms you want baked into the prenuptial agreement.
If you can set aside your displeasure and this grudge you can’t let go of, maybe you can reap some benefits from this alliance between you and me. ”
I’ve heard, obviously, that Anton has been married before.
If I, for some reason, had envied that poor woman before, I sure don’t now.
He understands nothing of marriage. Whether it is arranged or a union of abiding love, a marriage no longer affords the wall between a ‘you’ and a ‘me’.
A marriage means ‘us’. Means ‘we’. Means, whether I wear your name or not, we are bound to each other, are extensions of each other in the eyes of the world.
It is a bond to honor. If he understood that, he wouldn’t make this mockery of it.
He infuriates me.
When will he understand that I’m smarter than him? I’m smarter than he will ever be.
“Okay.” I’ve said what he did not expect, at least not too soon. Is that what he enjoys, wearing down a person’s will? I would’ve doubted it before. He’s never looked like he has it in him. But now, I don’t know.
Does he have it in him? He balks at me. “Okay?” he questions, incredulous with disbelief. “You’re accepting?”
I can’t even laugh at him.
“Don’t be stupid, Anton.” My head shakes, like it can rid itself of this whole situation. No such luck. “I’m simply acknowledging the case you’ve made, and that I’ve heard you out.”
I’ll give him this: he isn’t wrong to eye me with suspicion.
He gives an unhappy grunt. “Not a case. A proposition.”
“Oh well. At least you didn’t call it a proposal again.”
His face pinches into a frown. “I’m aware there are no candles, rose petals, and sweet nothings here, but a proposal is what it is, Darya. Frankly, I didn’t expect you to be a romantic.”
Because you know nothing about me, I think.
“This isn’t my first proposal.” I take great pleasure in informing him of this fact; I won’t lie. It sparks pleasure beneath my breastbone, how stunned he looks by the information. “But, here’s a tip—one would think a ring would factor into it before candles, rose petals, and sweet nothings.”
Anton is quick to counter, “Actually, I assumed you’d like to pick your own. You’re the one who has to wear it. It’s only fair for it to be your choice.”
“Do you actually think you’re being magnanimous by trying to coerce me into a marriage?
” I scoff in his face. “You aren’t. And it’s preposterous—not to mention a perfect exemplification of my earlier statement of your having no idea what a man is—to put the onus of everything on a woman.
No matter how little respect you harbor for her. ”
“If I harbored no respect for you, I wouldn’t have come to you, expecting this reception.” I can’t believe he has the temerity to look stung right now.
Oh, I can think of several ways to end this alliance right now.
I turn away from him, unable to look at his face anymore.
I storm back towards the bottle of wine and grab a fresh glass to fill.
Irksomely, I can feel him move towards me.
Without turning around, I warn, “Anton. I’ve never bashed a man’s head in with a bottle before, but I’m certain I’ll get it right at the first try.
Stay on the opposite side of the room. For the sake of my family’s honor, I’m doing you a favor. Don’t test me.”
I’m almost disappointed he listens.
Still, I use the space to fill a glass and sip at it until it’s empty anew. Only then, stepping away from all the glassware, do I face him again. He’s only two steps away from where I left him. He is frozen in place, with his head dutifully bent down, looking at the arms folded across his chest.
A Greek statue, I think, not for the first time.
I’m barely affected by his beauty anymore. It isn’t enough of an exchange for his lack of a soul.
“Is it respect for me, or fear of my brothers?” I ask him outright.
Clearly, it isn’t what he expected me to ask. Or maybe he just didn’t expect me to sound so calm when I asked it. I don’t care, so long as he gives me a straight answer.
It bodes well for him that he pauses to weigh his words.
Only then does he say, “There is a difference between fear and consideration. Your brothers, at least for the most part, and their trigger-hot approach, aren’t my first choice to deal with.
But it isn’t why I came to ask you. I’d call sidestepping that mess a bonus. ”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Wh—”
I cut him off. “And that’s not important. Right now, at least.”
His lips press into a thin, hard line. From several steps away, I can see the vein in his forehead protruding. Good. I hope it fucking bursts.
“You won’t escape facing my brothers,” I apprise, my stare unrelenting.
“You’ve sidestepped nothing. However, if you come back to the estate next week and come with a ring worth accepting, Anton—which you should technically be able to accomplish, since you’ve had more than enough time to sit in my home and absorb my aesthetic—we’ll see. ”
“We’ll see?” he repeats.
He looks at me like I’ve sprouted horns.
If I genuinely believed I could stomach his answer, I’d ask him how he imagined this going. But I’ve already decided I’ve got no interest in that. There is no point to it. He’s ruined enough of my night.
Slowly, I nod. I gesture to him towards the door, my meaning unmistakable. The grudging welcome is over now.
For once, I don’t give a damn whether I’m discourteous. He has used up all my grace for an evening.
“Would you prefer a more hostile, outright rejection?”
He sighs. “No. But also, yes, if this is a game to you.”
A game is a nice way to put it.
I’d rather call it a war.
I shrug back at him, as nonchalant as he’d been. “Maybe I’ll accept... and maybe I’ll have you shot. It really depends on how badly you want to tighten up this alliance, I suppose.”
His smile surfaces once more, notably more tired this time around. “That’s quite the coin-toss.”
I smile back at him, with no warmth left in my body, not when the icy blizzard of my fury has extinguished every drop of it.
“Yes, Anton,” I agree. “Regardless of how this turns out for you, you should still be aware that I’d never marry someone who wasn’t man enough to risk it in the first place.”
His frown deepens the lines in his forehead.
“You can see yourself out.”