Chapter 22
Ekaterina
My heart has been hammering in my chest ever since I woke up, stirring a painful storm even in my stomach.
My first thought is not Today is the big day, filled with excitement.
It is, in fact, Fuck, followed by an agitation that feels dangerously close to a panic attack, one that keeps chasing me. It’s nothing like the stress I feel before a recital. This time is an emotional weight made of frustration, anger, and sorrow.
I barely slept last night. I got lost in thoughts about how I ran from Moscow, where an arranged marriage would surely have been waiting for me, only to fall into another trap. Except this time, it was my choice, signing that contract that blocked every possible way out.
Every minute passes like a silent film, because most of the time I stare into nothing and barely hear the words of the people around me.
Jane fusses enough for an entire army. A full team of stylists has been swarming around me since early morning, some taking care of my makeup, others my hair.
“Are you okay?”
Oksana’s worried voice pulls me out of my trance, but I smile when she hands me a glass of prosecco, which I accept without hesitation.
“All I want is to get through this day as quickly as possible.”
“Why? Is tomorrow going to be better?” she throws back, pressing her lips together sadly before drinking nearly a quarter of what is in her glass. “When do you leave for the honeymoon?”
“Tomorrow.”
“I heard it rains in the Maldives this time of year.”
“That’s exactly why Oliver decided last week that we’re going to Bali instead, remember?”
She rolls her eyes.
“You still have time to decide whether you want me to buy a ticket and come after you. I think Oliver would have a lot of fun discovering I’m in the picture. Something tells me he would deserve a scenario like that.”
I laugh softly, a gesture I have barely glimpsed in myself these past few days, silently agreeing with the last part.
After I told her about Oliver’s reaction at the restaurant, she withdrew whatever support she might still have had for him, and now her purpose in life seems to be making my future husband miserable.
I hate that title, but unfortunately, I need to get used to it. He will be my husband very soon.
“Don’t joke about it, because I might shove you straight into my luggage and save us the trouble of booking another flight.”
A knock at the door interrupts our wicked plans, and a serious Dima slips into the room. His allblack outfit, just like his boss’s, brings a fresh wave of sadness over me.
“Miss Borislova,” he begins, politely lowering his head. “May I disturb you for a few minutes?”
“Of course,” I answer, gesturing for the people working on my hair to take a break, while I set my glass on the table.
“I have been informed by your fiance that my services will end before the ceremony. As my final task, I am to introduce you to the new team he has brought in for your protection.”
I rise from the chair at once, looking at him in confusion, then doing the same when I look at the man and woman behind him. They are dressed in black suits too, but unlike Dima, they wear white shirts. Even the brunette woman, whose hair is pulled into a simple, very tight bun has the same outfit.
“What do you mean? You’re leaving?” I ask, unable to hide the sadness of losing the last link to Artem, no matter how small and wrong that link may be.
Dima was a piece of my past with Pakhan. Now, on my wedding day, even this last fragment disappears completely, and all I can do is cover it back up with the pain that has dominated my entire existence for the past ten days.
“I’m sorry,” he says, visibly disappointed. “I thought I would be here at least until you left for your honeymoon, but things have changed.”
My new guards step forward to introduce themselves, but my eyes don’t leave Dima. I barely hear their names, focused instead on the man pressing his lips together, looking at the two of them as if he is underestimating them.
“I didn’t know anything about this. I thought…” I stop.
“One day more or less, it makes no difference,” he says, then adds just as dryly. “Congratulations, and I wish you a beautiful celebration.”
But my heart tightens.
“Dima!” I call out just as he opens the door.
It is the moment I switch to Russian, hoping that, besides the two of us and Oksana, no one else in the room knows the language.
“Is he here too?”
He knows who I mean, and my voice betrays my desire to see him again, at least one last time. Even though I know seeing him again would only hurt me more and it would be a big mistake. Especially today.
Dimitri draws in a deep breath and lets it out heavily. “He was not invited. But his father should be in the cathedral, if you wish to speak with him.”
My shoulders sink under the weight of a silent pain, and I shake my head. “It’s fine. Thank you for everything, Dimitri.”
“It was my pleasure.”
He hesitates for a moment, but this time he leaves, immediately followed by the two bodyguards I had no idea would be entering the picture this soon.
“Oliver didn’t tell you?” Oksana asks, coming to stand beside me.
We both remain staring at the white door of my room.
“No. I didn’t know anything.” My voice is barely above a whisper.
“I’m going to miss that grumpy bastard. I never got to ask him if he knows how to smile.”
“I don’t think he ever has.”
“Probably he is doing it only when he is torturing someone,” she jokes, though we both know her scenario is very likely.
“Katya...” comes the pleading voice of one of the stylists behind me. “We still haven’t finished your hair.”
He points a finger toward the half of my hair that is curled, while the other half is still straight. I would like to tell him exactly where he can go with all his brushes, because I’m in no mood for any of this. But instead, I manage to show him a false smile and apologize for the interruption.
Everyone resumes their work, buzzing around me like bees, while my friend gestures toward the bottle of prosecco.
“I’m not planning to get drunk this soon,” I say, holding up the glass I’ve barely taken two sips from.
“Maybe you should. But you’re right. I don’t want to overdo it either, in case I need to help you run. Just so you know, my car is parked in front of the cathedral.”
Thank God our conversation is in Russian and no one else knows the nonsense we are discussing.
I’m surprised when she immediately sets the bottle farther away from herself and places her glass on a small table beside the armchair she is sitting in.
“I was right about what? I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t have to. I know exactly what needs to be done.”
I start laughing. “I think you’re already drunk, because what you’re saying makes no sense.”
“It does, it does. You’re just pretending not to understand,” she says with a smirk.
The stylist interrupts our conversation by spraying what feels like half a can of hairspray into my hair, making us cough from the sticky mist.
The door opens again, and I startle, hoping this time I will get a more pleasant surprise.
In a way, I do have one. I genuinely smile when I see Olivia Prescott, my fiance’s sister.
“Hey. Are you okay?” Her voice is gentle, as it always has been, her gaze matching it.
But there is also a thread of compassion there, because, despite appearances, she seems to be the only person in the Prescott family who defended me when I wanted to postpone the wedding.
I was there one time, at a family dinner, when she brought up the fact that, out of respect for me and my late father, perhaps the lawyers should do something about it, if that was what I wanted.
But she received a very harsh look from her parents, as well as from her brother, and afterward I found out she had been punished.
In what way, I don’t know. Oliver gave me no details and refused to tell me when I asked.
“As well as a bride can be on her wedding day,” I answer.
She comes closer and takes my hands in hers, while the stylist sets every strand of hair into place among curls that look almost drawn.
Olivia is completely different from her brother.
Her blond hair has reddish tones, and her eyes are green, as her name suggests.
I’ve always had the impression that she is trapped in a life she doesn’t want, just like me.
I am bound to Bratva, she is tied to a name that carries weight within the Royal Family.
Fortunately, a few years ago, she managed to convince her parents to let her study in America, which kept her away from the family’s business. I noticed there was a battle between Olivia – a rebellious spirit with a good and creative soul – and the members of this cold, traditional family.
For a long time, I believed Oliver was like her.
But with every passing day, I realize I was wrong.
Olivia, however, has never given me any reason to believe she is anything other than what she has always allowed the world to see.
A girl who wants to be free and independent.
That is exactly why, apparently, I am the only one she told that she secretly got a job as an intern at a fashion magazine in New York, just so she could have her own money to buy the little things her parents wouldn’t have approved of.
“I sincerely hope you’ll be happy, Katya,” she confesses with honesty.
“That’s why I came, because I don’t know if we’ll get another chance to talk once the party begins, and I wanted to wish you beautiful days and much love. If my brother upsets you again, tell me, and I’ll figure out how to slip laxatives into his tea.”
We laugh together, and Oksana chuckles along with us. Then the redheaded blonde straightens and checks her little green hat in my mirror, matched perfectly to her dress.
“I’ve always hated these things,” she mutters unhappily. “I’d rather wear a top hat like the men.”
“Who wears top hats?” Oksana asks, stunned.
“Plenty of people on the groom’s side. Top hats for them and ridiculous little hats for their snobbish wives.”
She looks from me to the blonde.