Chapter 9 Inessa
INESSA
Istare at my reflection in the guest room mirror.
The dress fits my frame perfectly, but the ugly, dark, ruddy scars across it mar its appearance.
I touch them lightly, knowing this is as close as I will come to having Batya with me for my wedding day.
It doesn't seem fair.
I haven't been able to take a single moment to mourn him yet.
There is no wake planned that I know of.
Mother certainly won't plan one for him.
And here I am, being forced to walk down the aisle to marry a man I do not love, with no one to rescue me.
Rosa knocked earlier with a new gown, cream silk with delicate beadwork, but I refused.
This dress tells the truth.
Everyone will see exactly what this marriage is—a woman being dragged to the altar.
Well, let them look.
Let them understand that I'm not walking down this aisle willingly.
My hands shake as I apply lipstick.
The color is too bright against my pale skin, but without my makeup and vanity, I'm only making do.
I don't want to wear it anyway.
When I press my lips together, I taste copper—I've bitten them raw.
A knock rattles the door.
"It's time, Miss Mirova." Oleg's voice carries through the wood, respectful but firm.
I know what waits beyond that door.
Guards who will escort me downstairs, a car that will take me to the church, a ceremony that will legally bind me to Yuri Gravitch.
I open the door and the hulking man stands in the hallway with his hands folded in front of himself, his shaved scalp gleaming under the overhead lights.
Behind him, two more of Yuri's men wait with their shoulders squared and their eyes fixed straight ahead.
They're all in suits that look nicer than their daily work attire, and for some reason, that bothers me.
That all three of these men are playing a part in a fucking charade simply because Yuri Gravitch ordered them to.
Don't they know I'm being forced to do this?
That I don't want to marry that man?
"Mrs. Gravitch," Oleg corrects himself, and the name sickens me.
I taste the bile on the back of my tongue.
I'm not Mrs. Gravitch yet. Not for another hour.
I follow them down the hall and out the front door and sit between two guards in the back of a black sedan, watching the city flow past the tinted windows.
But there isn't a single second where I'm not searching for an exit route or looking for a way out of this.
But for what purpose?
Yuri would only hunt me down if I ran.
Cars line the street—expensive sedans and SUVs that belong to the same people who attended my engagement party to Dominic just weeks ago.
They're here to witness the continuation of an alliance, the smooth transition from one Gravitch male to another.
To them, this makes perfect business sense.
To all of them, this is a celebration and a happy event, and even if I ran up to one, pleaded with them to help me and get me out of this, they wouldn’t understand.
They'd see me as the problem.
The guards escort me into the church through a side door where Oleg stands guard, and the other two disappear off to announce my presence, I'm sure.
I find the only chair in the room and sit, but my ass is planted only a second before the door swings open and Rosa appears, decked out in a beautiful blue dress suit made of satin.
It's not one of my designs, but it's stunning on her.
"Oh, good, Mrs. Gravitch. Come, come…"
She gestures with her hand as she walks toward me carrying a veil. "Mr. Gravitch is waiting."
Why do they keep calling me that?
I hate that name.
It's not my name.
I am Inessa Mirova and that's who I will always be.
"Stop calling me that," I say numbly as she tries to fix the veil to my head.
I swat it away, and when she tries again, I wrench it from her hands and throw it to the floor in a huff, glaring at her.
"I'm just trying to follow my orders, ma'am—"
"Keep your filthy hands off me!" I hiss, and I bolt to my feet, ready to push the woman back, when Oleg's fingers curl around my bicep and I feel the cold press of steel at my ribs.
"Let's go get married, shall we?" he growls in a gravelly tone.
His grip is so tight it hurts, and my arm is bent at an odd angle, but I don't fight him.
For all I know, Yuri has already had my businesses signed over to his name illegally and a tragic murder on his wedding day would look like another attempt to harm his family.
His poor wife…
Rosa scurries ahead, and I am dragged by the hulking monster to the sanctuary doors where he opens them and shoves me through.
The room is full, though I recognize only a few faces as they stand and turn toward me.
The guests murmur appreciation as I walk down the aisle.
Their voices blend into meaningless noise, but I catch fragments.
"Beautiful ceremony," "Perfect match," "So romantic…"
Romantic.
The word makes my stomach churn.
I reach the front of the room, and Yuri extends his hand.
I don't take it.
I stand there staring at him, feeling more bile rising in the back of my throat.
Just who does he think he is?
"Dear," he says harshly, and when his hand moves, it's to the lapel of his coat where he reveals the pistol tucked against his chest in a shoulder holster.
I find his eyes, then sweep the room with my gaze and know none of these people will blink twice if he shoots me right here.
They'll all simply play along with the story of a mysterious gunman and a tragic murder on Yuri's wedding day.
Trembling, my fingers find his palm.
His skin is warm, steady, and completely at odds with the violence he's threatening. I rise onto the steps and stand in front of him, but I’m hollow inside, nothing but a shell.
The priest begins speaking, but I barely hear the words.
All I can focus on is the gun under Yuri's jacket and the man who is stealing my freedom.
It feels surreal.
This can't be happening.
My heart is screaming for someone to stop this madness, for anyone to save me.
"Do you, Yuri Mikhailovich Gravitch, take Inessa Semyonovna Mirova to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
"I do," Yuri grumbles, and the monotone drone of the priest's voice is broken.
My pulse spikes and I see his sardonic smile.
The priest turns to me, speaking in Russian now.
"Do you, Inessa Semyonovna, take Yuri Mikhailovich to be your husband, to love and obey him until death do you part?"
I say nothing, staring at them both with my eyes wide and my heart nearly exploding out of my chest.
My eyes flick to the front row where Oleg now sits with his weapon on his knee like an omen of what's to come if I run away.
Yuri's hand again pats his chest, where beneath the expensive fabric he, too, has a weapon.
I swallow hard against the knot forming.
"I do." The words taste bitter on my tongue.
The priest smiles, raising his hands in blessing.
"What God has joined together, let no man put asunder."
He nods to Yuri. "You may kiss your bride."
I expect something brief and ceremonial, a polite peck to satisfy the audience.
Instead, Yuri's hand finds the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair, and he pulls me against himself.
His mouth claims mine with an intensity that steals my breath, demanding rather than asking, possessive rather than gentle.
It's a clash of teeth and tongues, despite my trying to keep my mouth shut.
Unwanted heat floods through me, confusing my senses even more.
His lips are firm and warm, and when his tongue traces the seam of my mouth, my knees nearly buckle.
The kiss lasts forever and no time at all, and when he finally pulls away, I'm dizzy.
I have to hold his hand to avoid swaying off the steps.
The crowd erupts in applause.
Rice flies through the air, landing in my hair and on my bloodstained dress.
People surge forward to congratulate us as the recessional begins to play, and the manufactured joy on every single face only makes me feel sicker.
"Such a beautiful ceremony," someone says, grasping my hand.
"You look radiant," another adds, apparently blind to the stains on my gown.
I smile and nod and say the appropriate things, but I feel disconnected from my body, as if I'm watching someone else play the role of happy bride.
Yuri's hand rests on the small of my back, warm and possessive, and I can still taste him on my lips.
I search for but don't find the emotions I'm looking for—rage, fear, fury.
The only thing inside my chest is heavy numbness, a hollow sensation that weighs down every step and lasts for hours.
The reception that follows blurs together—toasts I don't remember, conversations that slide past me, a cake I can't eat.
Through it all, Yuri hovers so close to me, no one can get a word to me without his hearing it, and when anyone seems hesitant or questioning, he dismisses them before I can get my wits about me.
Finally, mercifully, it ends.
The guests filter away, returning to their own lives and leaving us alone.
Yuri helps me into the sedan, his hand gentle on my elbow, and we drive back to the compound in silence.
The house feels different when we arrive, darker somehow, more oppressive.
Rosa meets us at the door with congratulations and offers of food that I decline.
My appetite disappeared hours ago.
I don't know if I will ever eat again.
"I'll show you to our room," Yuri says, and the words feel like a cold splash of water on my face.
Our room—not the guest room I've been staying in.
He leads me up the stairs and down a hallway.
We stop at a set of double doors near the end of the corridor.
"Our suite," he says, pushing the doors open.
He steps back as they swing wide, and I see my new prison.
The room beyond is enormous, easily three times the size of the guest room.
A king-sized bed dominates the space, covered in deep burgundy bedding that matches the heavy curtains.
The windows are dark, the charcoal sky not providing any light, and a sitting area with leather chairs occupies one corner.
It's beautiful and luxurious and completely wrong.
"This isn't my room," I tell him, shaking my head.