Matilda
The door closes behind Gennady and I stand there, alone in the sudden quiet, trying to remember how to breathe.
I just agreed to marry him.
Today.
The thought sends a shiver of panic through me. But underneath that is something warm and reckless that feels like a kind of relief.
I press my fingers to my lips. They're still swollen from his kiss, still tingling with the memory of his mouth on mine. That wasn't like the not-kiss in the car. That was claiming. Possession. A promise of things I don't have words for yet.
Good girl.
The words echo in my head, settling somewhere low in my stomach where they have no business being. I should be offended, feel belittled or…something.
A sharp knock interrupts my spiral.
"Matilda?" Mila's voice, bright and curious. "Can I come in?"
I smooth down the oversized hoody like that will somehow make me look more put together. "Yes."
She sweeps back in, eyes immediately scanning my face with the kind of attention that suggests she knows exactly what just happened. Or at least suspects.
"So," she says, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "My brother looked... intense when he left just now."
Heat floods my cheeks. "He—we—"
"You're getting married." It's not a question. "Today, knowing him."
I stare at her. "How did you—"
"Because I know Gennady." She moves to sit on the bed, patting the space beside her. "And I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. Like you're something he's already decided belongs to him and the rest of the world just needs to catch up."
I sink down next to her, hands twisting in my lap. "This is insane."
"Yes," she agrees easily. "But also very Gennady. When he makes a decision, he doesn't wait around for permission or proper timing or... really anything that normal people would consider reasonable."
"I don't—" I stop and take a deep breath as I try to organize my thoughts. "I don't even know him. Not really. And he doesn't know me."
"He knows enough." Mila's hand closes over mine. "He saw you last night, Matilda. The way you stood up to your family. The way you chose yourself even when it cost you everything. That's not nothing. That's exactly the kind of strength my brother respects."
"But marriage—"
"Is just a word until you make it real." She squeezes my hand. "And knowing my brother, he'll spend the rest of his life making it real. He doesn't do anything halfway."
The certainty in her voice makes my stomach flip with anticipation and terror in equal measure.
"I don't have anything," I whisper. "No dress, no shoes, no family to give me away—" My voice cracks.
Mila pulls me into a hug that smells like vanilla and roses.
"You have me," she says firmly. "And Marie will help.
And honestly, half the staff has been buzzing with gossip since you arrived.
They'll be thrilled to have something to actually do with all that energy.
" She smiles, the edges of the bruise have lightened marginally and her eye is less swollen. The steak must have worked.
"Also, you are no one’s to give away but your own. Do you understand?" She gives my hand a firm squeeze and I nod, tears welling.
I pull back, swiping at my eyes. "What are the staff saying?"
She hesitates just long enough that I know it's not all positive.
"Some of them think you're brave," she says carefully. "Some think you're smart for getting out of a bad situation. And some..."
"Think I'm a traitor," I finish.
"Those people are idiots." Her voice hardens. "And they'll learn quickly to keep their mouths shut. You're about to become the Pakhan's wife. That makes you untouchable."
The word echoes what Gennady said. Untouchable.
Except I don't feel untouchable. I feel like I'm drowning and the only solid thing to grab onto is a man I barely know who kisses me like he's trying to brand his name onto my soul.
"Come on." Mila stands, pulling me up with her. "We have a wedding to prepare for."
The next two hours blur together in a way that makes my head spin.
Marie appears with an efficiency that suggests she's been waiting for exactly this kind of crisis. She takes one look at me, makes a sound that could be approval or concern, and pulls out a note pad and pencil from her apron pocket.
"Your measurements?" she asks without looking back at me.
I rattle them off, feeling weirdly exposed even though I'm fully clothed.
Marie makes a humming sound as she marches the few steps towards me and raises a questioning eyebrow.
I nod.
She pulls at the hoody, revealing the shape of my body beneath, the pencil bobbing between her lips as she leans back to get a better view.
"Perfect," she says around the pencil before releasing me. "I will have options for you in less than an hour."
She leaves, shouting for someone called Anita to set the sewing machine up and I frown.
"It will be for alterations," Mila says with a grin as another person I’ve never met waltzes into the room. "Next up, hair and make-up."
Mila has had us situated in one of the downstairs rooms, a parlour of sorts with lush sofas in peachy tones, a mirror and vanity have been set up which is where she leads me now, and there’s an antique screen, parting a corner of the room for me to change behind.
Julian, the stylist, gets to work immediately, setting up his couch and encouraging me to lie back and relax. Mila pulls the curtains almost totally closed to dim the light and someone puts relaxing music on.
I relax into the luxury of it, while Mila and Julian talk "wedding looks" and then the curtains are being pulled apart again as I’m being ushered into the chair in front of the mirror.
Julian is halfway through taming my hair into a fancy up-do when Marie arrives with who I presume is Anita, and several garment bags draped over their arms.
The first dress is beautiful but wrong, too much lace, too virginal, too bridal in a way that feels like I'm playing dress-up in someone else's fantasy.
The second is better. Sleek and elegant, too elegant for someone like me.
The third is simple. Classic. Beautiful in a way that doesn't feel like I'm trying too hard to be something I’m not. It’s still white, but softer somehow. Pleats gather from the centre of the sweetheart neckline into arm bands that rest just off shoulder.
"That's the one," I say to the room. I don’t even need to see the rest.
Marie nods once handing the other dresses to Anita who carries them from the room. She returns with several shoe options. All of them beautiful.
"All done," Julian says with a flourish and a smile. I turn back to the mirror and gasp at my reflection.
"Oh—" is all I manage.
"Oh indeed, my darling," he says. "Your groom is a very lucky man."
It’s all happening so fast as I’m ushered behind the screen by Marie who helps me into the gown while Mila gets her hair and make-up done by Julian, who tells her not to worry about the bruise, because he can work magic.