Chapter Five
Emilia’s POV.
Okay, the idea of drowning myself in the bathtub was the silliest thing I’d ever tried.
I didn’t last two minutes under the water before my lungs started to cry out for air. So I had rushed back into a sitting position, feeding myself heaves of much-needed air. But the physical discomfort wasn’t the only thing that pulled me out of the water.
I didn’t want to die.
While I would do almost anything to get out of this house with its numerous rooms and hallways, while I would love to wake up in a world where a criminal didn’t just declare his marital intentions towards me, I had too many things in front of me to just end my life in a bathtub.
Well, not that my plans have a chance of coming to fruition if I became a mob boss’ wife.
I barely slept all night. And, even as I threw the covers off me in resignation at dawn, the same thought whirled around me.
Am I really going to marry this Viktor guy?
More than once, I had found the idea of mail-order brides and match-made couples a little appealing; blame it on the plethora of classical novels I’ve read.
I’d read about so many of these kinds of unions that ended up successful, that I had seen myself being one of those lucky brides: being doted on by a husband who would be entranced by my boring experiences and would light up at every opportunity to teach me something new.
But those fantasies were nothing like this.
My feet landed softly on the wooden flooring and, after another deep sigh, I rose from the bed. I strolled the length of the walls of the room, occasionally gazing out the single window as I tried to think of ways to get out of the ugly situation I was now in.
Running away wouldn’t be as lucky and smooth as in fiction novels; yesterday was enough proof of that.
I could still feel slight tremors at the thought of one of the guards catching me and meting out whatever punishment they deemed fit.
Not that they didn’t catch me, anyway; thankfully, there was no punishment involved.
I pulled the ends of the two-set nightwear I was wearing closer to my chest as I heard a shuffling sound on the other side of the door.
Anybody but Viktor, please.
The clicking sound was followed by the door opening wide enough for the young maid who delivered the dress-my fucking wedding dress-yesterday.
“Hello, miss,” she greeted, a wary smile on her face. “You’re awake already.”
“You would be comfortably asleep in my position, I suppose,” I quipped.
And then I regretted it immediately- even before I saw how her face fell.
“Sorry, I…” I started before she cut in, shaking her head side-to-side as she carried the wide tray in her hands and placed it on one of the stools.
“No, no, it’s fine, miss. I…understand.”
Another heavy sigh left my lips before I said, “It’s fifty shades of crazy here.”
Her sad smile was swallowed up as she pursed her lips, clearly holding something in.
“Please, eat, even though you don’t feel like it. I made something light.”
“Right,” I replied, a sardonic smile on my lips. “I’ll need all my energy for my escape.”
“That might not be a good idea, miss. Not only is it bad, but it will be dangerous. Very dangerous,” she warned.
“It’s Emilia,” I dropped to the edge of the bed and gestured for her to do the same on the couch in front of me.
“What?” she inquired as she sat.
“My name. I’m Emilia. The ‘miss’ is unnecessary,” I pointed out.
“I know your name,” she revealed, making me raise a questioning brow.
“I heard Sir’s men,” she revealed. “But…I cannot call you that. You’re becoming Sir’s wife today.
The queen of the manor. It’s just not…proper.
Sir will have our heads if he hears your name on anyone’s lips among us, least of all me. ”
Between wanting to block out the tiniest reminders of my new, albeit unwanted status, and my curiosity, I asked, “What’s your name?”
“Ksenia.”
I wouldn’t even try pronouncing that.
“How long have you worked with Viktor here?”
“It’s been over five years, but I grew up here, in the Bratva headquarters. My mother and her sister have worked in the kitchen since they were young. Sir Viktor’s father was the Pakhan then. I only became a cook here after my secondary education.”
“You mean you all work here willingly? How is that even possible?”
“They are just like any other employer. In fact, they are better. I hear the amount some of my aunt’s friends get paid for the same job, and I wouldn’t envy them. And Sir even does more than pay our monthly salaries,” she revealed, a smile on her face.
“Of course, they pay more. How else would they get anyone to stay in their blood-stained mansion?”
“It’s not the way you think, miss,” she answered, chuckling. “But let’s talk about that some other time. After breakfast, there are many things to do in preparation for your wedding.”
“Right,” I muttered. “The wedding.”
She nodded, a small smile on her face as she pushed the stool closer to the bed.
“I’ll be back for the plates in a few minutes. Then it’ll be time to freshen up and start preparing,” she disclosed, standing.
“Great,” I proclaimed, digging the heels of my palms into the plush bed on both sides.
“Please, eat,” she persuaded again, smiling uncertainly.
“Just see it as spending his money in annoyance,” she added, making me giggle.
“Things won’t be that bad,” she declared, her voice carrying a strange kind of certainty I almost wanted to hold on to.
**********
“One hour. Nothing less than perfect,” the bald guy grated as Ksenia and two other ladies, one with a fairly large box, entered the room.
“Definitely,” the older of the other two ladies affirmed, nodding.
“Good,” he remarked, his eyes darting over to where I stood by the foot of the bed with my arms folded.
Then he retracted his head, and the door was shut again.
“It’s time to prepare, the wedding is starting soon,” Ksenia explained.
It had been over an hour since Ksenia brought my food. I had eaten, had a bath, and considered soaking the silk wedding dress in the toilet a million times since then. I didn’t do it, though, not because I didn’t have the nerves to, I totally could.
But the fact that someone who could have people procure a wedding dress just a day before the wedding could very well find another damn dress in a few hours.
It wouldn’t change anything; soaking the dress would just be a small tantrum.
And I wasn’t a kid that threw tantrums, I was an adult that wanted her life back-and would stop at nothing to get it back.
“I’m Gina. I’ll be styling you and doing your makeup,” the older lady uttered. “It’s my job to make you fabulous.”
“Let me guess, because your life depends on it?” I drawled, plopping myself on the edge of the bed.
The girl with the box let out a muffled laugh as she moved to drop the box by the couch.
“You could say that,” Gina whispered, then asked in a higher tone, “You’re American?”
“That obvious?”
“I guess so,” she answered. “We should start now. You’ve freshened up, right?”
With the unavoidable knowledge of the fact that I couldn’t escape this stupid wedding, I dragged myself from the bed.
In another hour, I was staring at my face in a round mirror, which Ksenia held in front of me.
The mix of dread and anger I felt couldn’t undermine Gina’s efforts.
I had had a number of makeovers that made me smile at mirrors and head out happily with fresh bursts of confidence, but none of them made me look this good.
While the best of my YouTube-assisted makeovers sat on my face like odd costumes, the face I stared at in the mirror was still me, just a bit bolder and much more beautiful.
Even the professional makeovers my dad paid for before the few balls we’d attended together didn’t make me feel like myself.
My face felt and looked smoother, giving me a younger look.
The silvery eye shadow, which darkened into pink and then into a darker bronze, added a bold flair.
My lips had a very light pink tint; my nose somehow looked like a dainty little, shiny thing.
The mascara was volumizing magic. Overall, I looked like a bride who might be happy about getting married. Only, I was anything but.
“You did a good job, Gina,” I remarked, smiling at her despite myself.
“Please,” she vocalized. “You’re beautiful… makes the work easier.”
The tiny conversation the four of us had while Gina did my makeup had loosened everyone up a bit. While they didn’t press further when I waved off questions about myself, I learned a few things about them.
One, that Gina was an undergrad at the University of California in Berkeley, and she came highly recommended by one of Viktor’s business, er, criminal associates or whatever they were called.
Two, Svenik was 19, and she had plans to study nutrition and dietetics when she reached 21, aka, when she had saved enough to go to college in the United Kingdom.
Three, Kiara, Gina’s assistant and trainee, was actually her younger cousin.
Well, it wasn’t exactly news that Viktor was paying Gina a fortune to do a good job and had promises to fulfil that I was to be ‘the most beautiful lady to walk the garden today.’
“You’ll be at the wedding?” I asked, looking from Gina to Kiara.