Chapter 6
Chapter six
“I don’t know, KitKat. I think Island Sand is a better shade than Pale Beige. If I were you, I would re-order all these linens.”
Fixing my soon-to-be-deceased cousin with a glare, I smack his arm.
“The queen herself couldn’t get me to change a single thing about any of this at this point.
I might not have had a say in most of the wedding planning, but I firmly believe in Pale Beige superiority.
Now. Are you going to stand there rifling through things and vexing me, or are you going to braid my hair for the rehearsal dinner? ”
Sasha rolls his eyes at my exaggeration, but still comes to sit with me and work on my hair.
Although I’m sure that Mrs. Nixon’s chosen hair and makeup minions will have me looking like a Miss America contestant tomorrow, for the rehearsal, she surprisingly agreed to let me handle simple hair and makeup on my own.
I smile, thinking of picking out things that I like, rather than Mrs. Nixon.
Her style tends to be monochromatic and bland, and she moved through our home when she arrived to rip out wallpaper and paint everything gray.
Father agreed when I appealed to him that the library was off-limits to her re-designing scheme.
My rooms, unfortunately, weren’t, and my bedroom has looked like a modern art museum for years now.
“Excuse me? Earth to KitKat! Is this braid okay?” Sasha gives his finished work a teasing tug as he snaps me out of my reverie.
“Sorry. Yes, it’s beautiful. Your best work ever, I think.” My smile falls, thinking that this very well may be the last time he ever braids my hair.
I move to sit at my vanity, bypassing the velvet chair to instead sit cross-legged on the counter, and face the mirror to get started on my simple makeup for the evening.
“What were you thinking about, anyway? You were smiling at nothing the entire time I was braiding,” Sasha asks, taking his usual spot on the counter next to me, feet dangling off the edge as he watches me work.
We’ve assumed these positions countless times before as I got ready for the day, always required to be dressed and painted, even if I was never going anywhere.
“Wallpaper,” I answer dryly, laughing at his confused look.
“I really was thinking about wallpaper! Wallpaper in the context of…freedom of choice, I guess. You know I’ve never been one for thinking too much about what-if.
I’ve lived here, done my lessons, read, frolicked in the gardens, and generally enjoyed my life.
You’re the reason I’m still sane, of course, but overall I’ve refused to wallow or complain. ”
Sasha rolls his eyes, ignoring my censorious stare. “Yes, yes, you’ve been the picture-perfect princess in her castle, resigned to your fate. They should write an opera about you. Do you think you’re up for singing an aria?”
Booping his nose with liquid blush as revenge, I cackle as he tries to wipe it off, only to make things worse.
“If you’ll stop teasing me, I’ll help you fix that. Otherwise, you’re destined to have a red nose all evening. That’s a long-lasting blush stain.” Hearing this, he gives me his solemn attention.
“As I was saying…happy here, caged princess, blah, blah. Yes. But. I was smiling, thinking about designing my own living space. Now that nobody is trying to kill me, I’ll be able to get out and about undisguised.
And…” I blush, realizing Sasha might not want to hear any more of the things I’m excited about.
His eyes brighten, though, and I should have known that he wouldn’t let me off the hook.
“Anndddddd…?” he asks with a devilish grin.
“I’m excited to have sex! There, now you know. A woman has needs! I know for a fact you haven’t been living the celibate life in solidarity with me. Even with all your tattoos, your neck always looks like a vampire has gotten ahold of you!”
Before he can defend himself, I move on, wanting to voice a tiny fear inside me that’s been growing as the wedding date has approached.
“More than sex, though…I’m really hoping Mr. Sincl.
..Henry likes me. We have fencing and chess in common, I know, and I think from hearing him speak to Father that he’ll be kind and respectful to me.
It’s probably foolish. But it would be wonderful for us to care for each other. I’d quite like to be cared for—”
Sniffling, he tries to interrupt again, but I soldier on.
“Not that I’m saying you don’t care for me!
I know you do! But you know, hopefully, you’ll have your own person soon, and I can’t be your number one girl forever.
I guess, it might be foolish to hope that he’s all he seems to be: smart, kind, interesting. I hope he’s not too good to be true.”
Finally, I take a deep breath and dab the corners of my eyes before moving to start on my eyeliner.
Sasha, seemingly convinced that I’ve finally finished my word vomit, surprises me with a quiet tone, not to defend his liaisons or tease me for being a horny nineteen-year-old virgin, but to address my fears that my Prince Charming might be a frog in disguise.
“He’s not,” Sasha says softly, meeting my gaze in the mirror and distracting me from my eyeliner. “I didn’t necessarily know when or if to mention this, and he kind of asked me not to, but I don’t see the harm in it. My loyalty is to you and not him.”
I fully turn to face him, makeup completely abandoned.
“Mr. Sinclair…uh, Henry, I guess…approached me after your father withheld the information he requested. You know, several months ago, he asked for more information on you than what was sent in the dossier. Less of your accomplishments, and more of your interests, desires, things that make you…well, KitKat.”
Closing my mouth from where it was gaping like a fish, I feel a dark corner of my heart, filled with cobwebs from disuse, lighten up, just a bit.
“So you…”
Blowing out a heavy breath, Sasha clearly decides word vomit of his own is in order.
“So I sent him information, yes, and I would be sorry if I didn’t think it was the absolute right thing to do.
He came to me and just wanted to know more about you.
I didn’t tell him too much, honestly, because you’re a treat that’s best experienced live and in person, and you deserve to surprise him yourself.
“I also got to know him a bit, and I’m impressed. He’s got his quirks, and he can be intense. I don’t know how else to put it, and that’s coming from me having grown up around our family.” He joins me, laughing at this, and reaches out to hold my hand.
“I think you’ll be happy with him. He’ll be good to you. Plus, you can finally have someone to beat at chess all the time instead of having to lose to me!”
Having successfully lightened the mood after making me feel better, he runs away before I can smack him. “Alexsandr Ivanovich Taranov, you have never once beaten me at chess!”
Feeling more excitement than dread now for the evening, I finish the last bit of my makeup and give myself a final once-over in the mirror.
My braid looks elegant and youthful without being girlish, and my face is enhanced but not overpowered by my makeup.
If Sasha thinks Henry and I will be good together, well then…
maybe I shouldn’t be so nervous for tonight after all.
“Come…on…ugh!” I let out a silent, frustrated scream as the window in the staff bathroom refuses to budge.
I’ve never been bothered by crowds. Attending parties held by my family, wearing a disguise, has ensured my ability to mingle and make small talk in groups of hundreds of people. But tonight, well…
The evening started out well enough, with my rehearsal dress fitting like a glove and complementing my hair and makeup perfectly.
I chose this dress myself, and it’s different from the glittering, puffy concoction that I’ll be walking down the aisle in tomorrow.
My satin, corseted dress hits mid calf and has a slit up one thigh.
Spaghetti straps show off my sculpted shoulders and back, and my simple white platform heels give me a little more height while meeting a million people.
Maybe Mrs. Nixon was right about the heels.
I didn’t start to feel like the world was closing in on me until Henry had introduced me to his family, then stepped away to say hello to another group. My father chose that moment to swoop in and make sure I knew how important tonight was.
Pulling me to the side with a rough grip on my upper arm, I can smell the alcohol on his breath.
“Katarina, you will make a good impression on this family. Do you understand? I don’t want to hear any of your quirky anecdotes tonight.
Apply what you’ve learned in your lessons with Mrs. Nixon and act like the perfect wife you are going.
To. Be. This is a huge sacrifice for Mr. Sinclair, and so help me, you are going to be worth it. ”
Finally getting the window open, I assess the scene to make sure nobody is around to witness whatever madness I’ve succumbed to.
Even though this is the darkest side of the house and well away from the ruckus of tonight’s event, I’m mindful of any random passersby.
With all the stealth I can muster, I silently climb down the trellis, careful not to tear my dress.
As both feet land safely on the ground, I release the breath I had been holding and head toward the back.
I’m about to turn the corner when the deep timbre of a man’s voice startles me.
“I wouldn’t go that way. There’s an insufferable woman in red latex groping your father.”
Tobacco smoke wafts toward me, the unique blend an aroma I recognize immediately. I turn slowly, knowing exactly who I’m about to face.
I open my mouth to say anything, but the sight of my fiancé propped against the wall, bow tie undone, with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a pipe to his lips, leaves me frozen in place.
“I don’t have a runaway bride on my hands, do I?” he asks, his voice as smooth as velvet.
When I remain speechless, he blows a ring of smoke in the opposite direction of where I’m standing before pushing off the wall to bridge the gap between us. It’s not until he’s draping his suit jacket around my shoulders that I realize the chill in the air.
“If you’re going to make a run for it, you’d better take this, or I’m afraid you won’t make it far at all.” His fingers brush the bare skin of my neck as he carefully pulls my hair out from where it was trapped beneath the new layer of clothing, sending sparks straight to my core.
Was I running away? I hopped out of that window with no plan at all.
Realizing my pulse is out of control, I steady my breath before finally willing myself to speak. “No…no, it’s not that. I just needed a breath of fresh air, that's all.”
“Likewise,” he says, raising his pipe for emphasis.
We turn to face the woodland area to the west of the estate, allowing another moment of silence to pass before he places one of the hands I’ve thought so much about lately on my upper back and guides me to a nearby fountain.
He motions toward the rim and waits for me to take my seat before sitting beside me.
“Tell me what’s upset you tonight, Ms. Taranova.”
I’m about to make up another lie, anything to hide my distress, just like my lessons have taught me. But his pinky ever so gently brushes against mine, where they had been sitting almost flush together on the concrete rim, and I’m reminded that this man will be my husband.
I look down at our almost intertwined hands, avoiding his gaze as I make my confession. “You’re making this huge sacrifice, and there was…extra pressure put on me to make a good impression tonight. Because I don’t need to be a burden to you.”
“A sacrifice? You think that I'm making some sort of sacrifice by marrying an intelligent, articulate, beautiful young woman?”
Fighting a blush, I admit to an insecurity I’ve had since he first put off our wedding. “Well, I know you hate how young I am, and I…”
“I do not hate how young you are,” he says, causing me to jump slightly.
He must realize how harsh that came off.
Before I know what’s happening, both of my hands are cocooned in his as he continues with a much softer tone.
“I was hesitant at first because a nineteen-year-old has so much life to live. A life I’ve lived twice over.
A life I couldn’t justify taking from you.
It’s you I didn’t want to burden, not the other way around. ”
He pauses momentarily, lacing one of his hands in mine. “Do you want this?”
Looking up to where the stars peep through the canopy of tree tops, I really think about that. Do I want this? I suppose there are worse things than being forced to marry a kind, intelligent, sexy man like Henry. But I haven’t had a day of freedom to figure out what I would want.
“I don’t really have a choice.” I chuckle. “I’m pretty sure my family would disown me if I didn’t.”
“You always have a choice.”
When the only response I give is a barely audible “hmm,” he squeezes the hand he’s holding. “Look at me.”
I turn my attention from the stars to the man beside me. Once again, I’m in awe of Henry Sinclair, and our proximity makes it hard to breathe.
“I would be honored for you to take my last name, but if you don’t want to go through with this, I’ll respect that as well. I don’t know what expectations have been set on you by your family, but I assure you I will take care of you either way.”
“That’s…that’s very kind of you. But I’m not going to run.”
“Happy to hear it. And just so we’re clear, I have no expectations of you…romantically. I understand this isn’t a traditional marriage, so I wouldn’t begrudge you for finding companionship elsewhere.”
“Oh? Oh. I see…” I say, realization hitting me like a brick wall. “And is that your plan?”
Henry gently caresses my cheek, his hand enveloping my face completely as he stares into my eyes. “No. There will be no other women.”
I’m not sure if it’s his hand pulling me to him or my own will, but I feel myself helplessly drawn toward him, my eyes fluttering closed as he fixates on my lips.
“Katarina?”
At the call of my name, Henry pulls back and stands gracefully, enjoying one last long inhale of his pipe before putting it out and pocketing it in his jacket.
“Shall we, Katarina?” he says, pulling me up with him before offering his arm.
I smile, linking my arm through his. “Please, just call me Kat. And you know you really shouldn’t smoke. It’s horrible for you. I made my cousin quit years ago.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Katarina,” he says, the low timbre of his voice sending shivers down my spine. How is it that this man can take something as simple as my name and make it sexual? As we walk arm in arm back to the party, I’m fully looking forward to my wedding for the first time.