20. Vera
VERA
The call ends.
I stare at the phone in my hand, though I’m shaking so badly I can hardly read the screen.
Konstantin’s voice echoes in my head, those two words repeating over and over like a curse.
It’s time.
Oksana is still watching me from the kitchen doorway, her face tight with concern. “Vera, what is it? What’s wrong?”
I can’t answer. I can’t form the words. I just stand there, the phone clutched in my hand, my mind racing through possibilities that all end in darkness.
Then I hear the noise in the hallway.
It’s muffled at first, the sound of voices raised in argument. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but I recognize the tone. Someone is trying to get in.
I move toward the door without thinking, my feet carrying me across the room before my brain can catch up. Oksana calls after me, but I don’t stop.
The two guards are blocking a man from reaching the door. His face is red with exertion.
It takes me a second to realize it’s my father.
“Let me through!” he’s shouting. “She’s my daughter; I have a right to see her.”
The taller security guard steps forward, his hand raised in a placating gesture. “Sir, Mr. Volkonsky left strict instructions?—”
“I don’t care about his instructions. I’m her father!”
I freeze in the doorway, my heart sinking. Of all the people I expected to see tonight, he’s the last one I wanted.
He looks worse than the last time I saw him. Thinner, too, like he hasn’t been eating well. His suit is rumpled, his hair greasy and unkempt. There’s a desperation in his eyes that I’ve never seen before, a wildness that makes my skin crawl.
“Vera!” He spots me in the doorway and his face transforms, the anger melting into something that might be relief. “Vera, thank God. I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to hear whatever he has to say, but I can’t seem to make my feet move.
“Dad,” I say. My voice comes out higher pitched than I want. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.” He pushes past the security guard, who steps back with a warning look at me.
“What do you want?”
He flinches at that, but he doesn’t back down. “Vera, please. Just give me five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
The security guards are watching me, waiting for my signal. I could have them throw him out. I could walk away and never look back. Something in his face stops me. Something that looks almost like fear.
“Fine,” I say. “Five minutes.”
I step back into the penthouse and he follows; his footsteps are heavy on the hardwood floor. Oksana looks up, her eyes wide with alarm. I give her a small shake of my head, telling her to stay back.
My father looks around the penthouse as we enter the living room, his eyes lingering on the expensive furniture. “Nice place,” he says. “Volkonsky’s?”
“Roman’s,” I correct him.
“Same thing.” He waves his hand dismissively. “They’re all the same, Vera. All of them. They take what they want and leave the rest of us with nothing.”
The irony of that statement, coming from him, is almost too much to bear. I want to scream at him for everything he’s said and done.
“Vera, I need your help.” He’s not looking at me now, his eyes darting around the room like he’s afraid of being overheard. “Konstantin is demanding payment. The debt I owed him, the one that... well, the one that led to your marriage. He says, now that Dmitri is dead, I owe him instead.”
My stomach drops. “What are you talking about? The debt was paid. That was the whole point of the marriage.”
“That’s what I thought, too.” He finally meets my eyes, and I can see the fear there, the desperation. “Konstantin says otherwise. He says Dmitri only paid part of it, and now that Dmitri’s dead, the rest falls to me. I don’t have it, Vera, so you’re going to have to marry Anton.”
I stare at him, my mind reeling. God, no. “So you came here to ask me to marry Anton?”
He has the decency to look away, but only for a moment. When he looks back, his expression is hard again.
“I did what I had to do, and now you need to do the same. Konstantin is not a man who takes no for an answer. If I don’t pay him, he’ll?—”
The sound of the door opening cuts him off.
We both turn to see Konstantin Volkonsky stepping into the penthouse, flanked by two men in dark suits. He looks exactly as I remember him: tall, silver-haired, with eyes like chips of ice.
“Viktor,” he says, his voice smooth and cold. “I see you found her.”
My father pales. “Konstantin.”
Konstantin’s gaze shifts to me, and I feel the weight of it like a physical blow. “Vera. You look well.”
My feet won’t move.
“It’s time,” Konstantin says. “We have a wedding to attend.”
My mind grinds to a halt. “What?”
“Anton is waiting, and the arrangements have been made.” He gestures to his men. “Come with me quietly, and no one gets hurt.”
I can’t see the guards from here, but cold dread grips me. Why haven’t they stopped Konstantin yet?
I back away until my back hits the wall. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Yes, you are.” Konstantin’s voice is calm. “One way or another, you’ll marry Anton tonight. The only question is how much pain we inflict along the way.”
My father is standing frozen by the window, his face ashen. He looks from me to Konstantin, and I can see the moment he makes his decision.
“Vera, just go with them,” he says. “It’s for the best.”
The betrayal hits me like a punch to the gut. “You’re kidding me. You’re actually telling me to go with them?”
Before he can answer, I turn and run.
I make it halfway to the front door before Konstantin’s hand closes around my arm, his grip like iron.
“Let me go!” I struggle against him, but he’s too strong. “I won’t do this. I won’t marry Anton!”
“You will.” He starts dragging me toward the door, his men flanking us on either side. “You have no choice. You and I are going to St. Nicholas. I hear it’s a beautiful venue for a wedding.”
I fight him every step of the way, kicking and screaming and clawing at his hand. It’s no use. He’s too strong.
Then something hits the back of my head, and the world goes black.
I wake up in my old bedroom.
When I claw myself back to consciousness, I’m back at the Volkonsky mansion, in the room I shared with Dmitri for three years.
My head is pounding, and there’s a lump on the back of my skull that throbs with every heartbeat. I reach up to touch it and wince at the pain.
The last thing I remember is Konstantin’s hand on my arm, and then darkness. He must have knocked me out and brought me here.
I sit up slowly, my body aching in places I didn’t know could ache. The room is exactly as I left it. It’s like I never left.
The door is locked. I try it anyway, turning the handle and pushing, but it doesn’t budge. I’m trapped.
I pound on the door, screaming for help, but no one comes. The walls are thick, the windows barred. There’s no way out.
I sink down onto the bed, my head in my hands, and try to think. Roman will come for me. He has to. He’ll realize I’m gone, he’ll figure out what happened, and he’ll come.
How long will it take though, and what will happen in the meantime?
The answer comes a few hours later, when the door opens and someone steps inside.
The woman is thin and tall. She says nothing as she enters. It takes me a second to realize it’s Katya, from the restaurant. Konstantin’s woman.
I’m on my feet in an instant, crossing the room to her. “What’s happening?”
She holds out the garment bag, and I stare at it like it’s a snake.
“What is it?”
“Open it and see.”
I take the bag with trembling hands and unzip it. Inside is a wedding dress.
It’s beautiful, in a terrible sort of way. It’s made of white silk and lace, with a long train and delicate beadwork. It looks like something a princess would wear.
“He’s making me marry Anton,” I say softly.
Katya nods, and her smile is sharp. “The ceremony is tonight at St. Nicholas.”
As I stare at the wedding dress, I can’t help but wonder if hope is just another word for denial.
The car ride to the church is a blur.
I’m dressed in the white gown, my hair pinned into an elaborate style that makes my scalp ache. Katya did it herself, along with my makeup, caking me in dark eyeliner until I barely even resemble myself.
Now, Konstantin sits across from me. “You look lovely,” he says. “Dmitri would have approved.”
I don’t respond. There’s nothing to say.
My father is in the car behind us, or so I assume. I don’t know if he’s coming to the wedding, and I don’t care.
The church appears as we round the corner. The sun is setting, turning everything to liquid gold. I stare at it through the window and feel nothing.
The car pulls up to the entrance and Konstantin steps out, then offers me his hand. I take it, because what else can I do?
We walk into the church together, his hand on my arm like a vise. St. Nicholas is beautiful, but I barely spare the candles a glance.
My father appears at my side, his grip like iron on my other arm. He doesn’t look at me, only holds on and guides me down the aisle.
The organ swells, and each step toward the altar feels like a death sentence. My vision blurs, the candles smearing into streaks of light. Anton waits for me at the end of the aisle, black suit, perfect posture, triumph gleaming in his eyes.
I reach his side, and he takes my hand. His fingers close around mine, and every instinct in me screams to pull away.
The organ falls silent, and for one terrible moment, so does the entire church. The priest stands before us with his head bowed, his face lost in shadow. He doesn’t move. I wait. Anton shifts beside me, and still nothing.
A murmur ripples through the pews. Anton clears his throat. “Father.”
Slowly, the priest opens the book in front of him. “Dearly beloved,” he begins as he looks down, “we are gathered here today...” He stops, and my stomach knots. That’s not how this is supposed to go.
Anton glances toward him. “Is there a problem?”
The priest turns a page at an agonizing pace, and the silence stretches until I can hear my own pulse.
“Father,” Anton says again, sharper this time.
The priest closes the book. My breath catches. Something is wrong, and Anton must feel it, too, because his grip tightens around my hand. “What the hell are you doing?”
The priest lifts his head, and my heart stops.
Roman.
His eyes find mine, and for one suspended second the church disappears. Anton disappears. The guests, the candles, the guards lining the walls, all of it gone. There is only him.
He came.
Roman’s gaze drops to Anton’s hand wrapped around mine, and something lethal settles over his face. Then he looks at me again.
“Anton.” His voice is terrifyingly calm. “If she tells me this is what she wants, I’ll marry you myself. Right here, in front of all these witnesses.”
The church erupts in whispers. Anton’s face twists with rage. “Impersonating a priest, Roman? How low.”
“Shut up.” Roman doesn’t even look at him; his eyes stay on mine. “I don’t care about tradition or protocol or any of that bullshit.” He takes one step toward me. “So tell me, Vera.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
“Is this what you want?”