Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Annika
“Annika, what’s wrong? You’re look like you’re about to-”
I shove Valya aside and barely make it to the trash bin before I taste acid and start to vomit.
“Gross!” Valya groans, pinching her nose as she frowns. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t know,” I groan, clinging to the waist-high trash can as if it’s my lifeline.
I've been nauseous all week. Tired, too. And everything smelled awful; even the new bottle of designer perfume my father had bought me.
I weakly ask Valya for some water, and although my little sister groans in annoyance, a small bottle is soon placed in my hand.
I swish the first sip around my mouth then spit into the trash can, then drink the rest of the water in two long gulps. I feel a little better, but not much.
“It’s not on my dress is it?” I ask Valya. “Is my makeup messed up?”
Valya takes a long look over my wedding gown and then roams her eyes up to her face. Eventually she shakes her head, her pretty dark curls bobbing.
“No. You’re good. Pop some gum in, though. You don’t want your new groom tasting that on your first kiss,” Valya says.
My stomach churns again, barely able to believe that my wedding is only minutes away.
It has to be nerves, I think as I accept a piece of spearmint gum from my sister. Of course it’s nerves! I’m marrying a stranger after all, and our marriage will represent something of great importance: an alliance between the two powerful Russian mafia families.
Yes, it had to be nerves.
“Knock, knock, my darlings,” Yulian calls, opening the door to the church’s bridal suite.
I turn to my father as he steps into the room, and although I feel the urge to vomit again, I smile wide.
“Ay, moi prekrasnyye angely!” Yulian praises, raising his arms. “How did God find me so good as to bless me with such beautiful daughters?”
“Spacibo, papa,” I reply warmly.
“I would look more beautiful if you would have let me buy that tiara at Tiffany’s,” Valya pouts.
I roll my eyes as I turn to look at my sister.
Valya certainly has nothing to complain about.
Our father bought her a gorgeous golden A-line cowl neck floor length satin dress and matching, strappy heels at Prada.
At Tiffany’s, while I picked out a pair of two carat single tear drop diamond earrings, Valya got gold necklaces, bracelets, earrings.
Everything she had wanted- except for the tiara.
“Now, Valya,” Yulian chastises, “Now is not the time to be thinking of yourself. It’s your sister’s wedding day! Let the day be about her.”
“Whatever,” Valya sighs, waving her French manicured nails toward me.
“It’s her wedding day. Yayyyyy,” she adds, her voice thick with sarcasm.
“Valya!” Yulian snaps.
“It’s fine, Papa,” I say quickly. I feel bad enough as it is, I don’t need a family spat piled on. “Really.”
Yulian smiles affectionately at me and with a gentle touch, places his palms on my cheeks and kisses them both.
“You were always my good girl,” he says in my ear.
I blush, thinking my father would change his mind if he knew what I’d done with my handsome mystery man two months ago. A man that, as I predicted, still visits me in my dreams.
Yulian pulls away me, holding me at arm's length, and looks me over.
“Are you alright, doch? You’re looking a little pale. I though you two were getting spray tans?”
We did, and while the warm, faux Bahamian glow that looked so well on Valya’s skin is exactly what I got, I know by the quick glance in the mirror that I appear pale.
“It’s just my nerves,” I insist, trying to appease my father. “I’m sure my color will return once the ceremony ends and the reception starts. I think we’ll all be more relaxed by then.”
“Especially after the first round of vodka,” Valya speaks up.
Yulian gives my younger sister another sideways look, then smiles again as he meets my eyes.
“Nerves are normal for a day like this. But you have nothing to worry about Annika. This is the first day of the rest of your very exciting life. You’re about to be a Zhena Dora v Zakone. You have no idea how much power that will give you. And my darling, you have earned such a grand esteem.”
I’m finding it harder to keep my smile on my face as another wave of nausea hits me.
I know my father is trying to ease my anxiety, but his words are having the exact opposite effect.
Yulian looks as if he's once again going to ask me if I’m alright, but another knock at the door saves me from the agitating question.
“Who is it?” I call out quickly, thankful for the interruption.
“It’s Viktor, Miss Annika. Your guests are seated. The priest and your groom are waiting for you. We can start whenever you are ready.”
“We can wait a few more minutes,” Yulian offers, taking another worried look over me.
I shake my head, hoping that as soon as the ceremony is over and I have a shot or two of vodka in my system, my nerves- and stomach- will finally relax.
“No, I’m ready now, Papa. Would you help me with my veil?”
Yulian steps forward, caresses my cheeks, and lays a soft kiss on either side of my face before he reaches for the delicate material of the veil and draws it down in front of my face.
When he finishes, my father tucks my hand into the crook of his arm, and Valya hands me my bouquet of white roses and calla lilies.
My nerves spark and tighten as we enter the prayer room of the church; another wave of nausea hitting me hard. The instrumental bridal march suddenly sounds too loud. The hundreds of faces staring at me blur and go sideways.
These are important people. All members of the most powerful New York Russian families, and they are all here to ensure that I fulfill my duty. The realization has fear spiking through my anxiety, and my heart begins to slam rapidly in my chest.
I need to focus on something, anything else so I can make it up to my groom. That’s it. The groom. I’ve been dying to know who he is anyway, if I would just-
I let out a strangled sound as I direct my eyes forward, seeing a familiar face at the end of the red carpeted walkway. The cab driver; the man who made my darkest fantasies come true two months ago, is standing there. Not as the groom, but as the best man.
Oh God, oh God, oh God, I think over and over, my fear and anxiety growing worse.
It’s him! I can’t believe it, it's him! He stands right behind a slightly younger version of himself; a man with a scowl on his face and the aura of someone who wants to be anywhere else.
My mystery man looks as handsome as ever; is even looking fondly in my direction- but my groom to be?
He looks downright frightening. Even from where I am, I can feel the annoyance radiating from him.
It beats down on me like a desert sun, making drops of sweat form on my forehead and my stomach cramp even tighter.
I move to take another step, but the growing nausea makes me stumble; sending a murmur of surprise through the guests.
“Annika,” my father whispers, holding me tighter. “Are you alright?”
Drawing in a shaky breath, I try to reply, but my voice seems trapped inside. I nod, hoping that will do, but even that small motion sends my head spinning again. The murmurs in the crowd grow louder as I see my mystery man take a tentative step toward us; as if he knows something isn’t right.
My stomach lurches. My breath feels too hard to catch behind my veil. The corseted waist of my gown is tight- far too tight. I can’t breathe!
“Papa,” I manage to gasp as I feel my legs grow numb and begin to buckle. Then darkness swallows me whole as I feel myself fall- and the last thing I see is my mystery man running down the aisle toward me.