12. ANDIE #2
I keep waiting for something to shift, for them to admit how they really feel—to see through me as the faker I am in all of this.
But they don’t. Maybe because they don’t want to, or maybe just because I’m letting myself get a little too paranoid for my own good.
“Do you cook, Andrea?” Marcus asks, as both men take their seats on either side of me.
I hesitate for a moment—and then shake my head.
I don’t want to let him down, if he’s expecting some classic, barefoot-in-the-kitchen wife for his son.
But then, there’s no point lying about it if it’s only going to come spilling out anyway.
God forbid he put me in the kitchen and ask me to make something, and I wind up doing more damage to this place than any of his enemies ever could.
“Uh, no, I’m not much of a cook,” I admit. I feel Nikolai’s hand on my leg under the table, perhaps sensing my nerves, letting me know that I have nothing to worry about.
“Andie has been more focused on her career till now,” he explains, and Marcus looks at me with interest as he tucks his napkin into his collar, reaching for the wine and pouring some for all of us.
“Oh, yes? A wedding planner, is that what Nikolai told me?”
“Yes, I put together weddings for people in New York,” I reply, taking a sip of the wine, glad for something to take the edge off my nerves. I just have to make sure I don’t get too ahead of myself, given what has happened the last couple of times I’ve drunk alcohol around Nikolai.
“And how is it?”
“I love it,” I gush. “I mean, I know it seems like hell for some people, putting together a big event like that, but when I see the look on their faces—the couple—and I can see that it’s everything they ever wanted, it makes it all worthwhile.”
“Quite a job, taking on the hopes and dreams of a new couple like that,” he remarks. “But I suppose your wedding with Nikolai was spectacular, hmm?”
“It was,” Nikolai replies.
I lock eyes with him briefly, trying to figure out how much he wants me to actually be honest about. If I say too much, I might let his father in on the truth that I wasn’t meant to be the one at the altar, but then…
“Andie did a wonderful job,” he goes on. “A memorable day for everyone, I’m sure.”
I have to press my lips together to keep from letting out a giggle.
I mean, yeah, you could say that. I don’t think anyone expected me to be the one walking down the aisle to meet him, right?
He grips my leg a little tighter, a quiet warning not to let too much slip, and I do my best to hold it together, still so nervous that I’m going to blurt out something I shouldn’t.
“It’s important for a woman to have a career,” Marcus remarks. “There’s more to life than just raising children. My mother, she worked all her life in a butcher’s shop, the one her father had passed down to her, and she took as much pride in it as she did in me…”
He fills me in on a little of the family history, and I pepper in a few questions, recognizing those places where he’s clearly leaving space for me to ask more.
I am well-versed in handling this kind of thing—I can’t count how many times I’ve been deep in conversation with some elderly relative of the bride or groom at one of the weddings I’ve organized, and if I’ve learned one thing by now, it’s that they just want someone to talk to.
I can feel Nikolai watching me as I speak with his father, perhaps making certain that I’m not going to slip up and come out with anything that might point to what truly happened between us to bring us to bring us to this point.
As much as the wine almost has me slipping up a couple of times, I keep myself on track, enjoying the food, trying all the traditional Russian dishes that Marta has made for us.
Most of them seem to be some combination of beetroot and cabbage, but she has managed to turn them into something delicious, and I find my appetite returning for the first time since we touched down here.
By the time the dishes are cleared away—by the household staff, of course, because that’s just something they have here, as crazy as it seems to me—I’m starting to get a little drowsy, and I have to stifle a yawn.
“You must be exhausted from the travel,” Nikolai murmurs, and I could almost swear that there’s some genuine concern in his voice.
I’m still trying to figure out just how much of his care for me is real, and just how much is put on to prove to his father that he truly cares about me.
“No, no, I’m fine,” I reply.
To my surprise, I feel a genuine pang at the thought of leaving this dinner.
Because it’s the first time in a long time that I haven’t felt like a spectator on the outside of someone else’s family, like I’m just clocking in the time it takes for them to realize that they have real relatives, real blood, to talk to.
No, it feels like I’m actually part of things for a change, and it hurts to think of just walking away from all of that so soon.
Nikolai lifts his hand to my cheek. “Sleep,” he insists, and he leans over and plants a kiss against my temple. “I’d like to speak with my father before I rest this evening, anyway.”
I smile at him, conceding the point. “I’ll see you later,” I tell him, and I lean over to drop a kiss on his head, surprised at how natural it feels. “Marcus—thank you for having me for dinner this evening. It’s been a pleasure to get to know you better.”
“And you, Andrea,” he replies, rising to his feet and giving me another kiss on the cheek.
A lump leaps into my throat at the sudden closeness with a man who’s old enough to be my father. God, how long has it been since I’ve had something like this, if only for a moment?
I head from the room before my emotions can get the better of me, willing myself to keep it together.
I can’t let myself get attached to all of this.
I have no idea, after all, how long it will last, what might be waiting for me as soon as Nikolai has convinced his father that he’s a decent husband and that I’m a wife worthy of their family reputation.
My footsteps echo around the corridor as I head back to my room, the taste of red wine on my tongue, and the warmth of something I haven’t had in longer than I’d care to admit in my belly.
Something that, despite myself, I don’t want to lose.