3. Giselle
Giselle
The house is eerily quiet this morning, and as I walk through the silence I sigh. Caesar must have found a warmer bed than his own last night, and maybe my father did the same. Between him and Caesar I basically live alone.
“Ugh, what the hell?” I groan as I dump the iced coffee I made down the drain. Why is it that it never fucking tastes the same when you make it yourself?
I sigh and pull out my phone to dial my best friend Reina, desperate for a distraction from my loneliness.
“Hey!” I say enthusiastically into the phone.
“You sound like you’re in a good mood!”
I laugh, walking through my bedroom as I sit down at the edge of my bed.
“I must be a good faker then, because I’m losing it Reina,” I say almost desperately.
“Aw babe I know, but listen, why don’t we go do something later then? Nails, shopping, whatever.”
I sigh deeply again. “I don’t know, I’m feeling kind of lazy today.”
“Really? Even if I suggest getting some Mexican food and margaritas?”
I perk up at her suggestion. “Okay, you’ve convinced me. I’ll take a ride to your place soon.” We hang up and I force myself out of bed again to get dressed.
“God, I really needed this.” I let my shoulders relax with my exhale as we walk out of the nail spa, still holding some shopping bags.
The sun is going to set soon, and there’s a perfect orange glow illuminating through the cityscape.
We find another ride to take us to our favorite Mexican restaurant, where we’re quickly given a booth.
“Last night was literally like a real-life nightmare, and the look on that smug bastard’s fucking face just drove me into the ground.” I shake my head as I pick up the menu.
“Well, at least it’s a fuckable face,” she says as she wiggles her eyebrows up and down suggestively, and my face contorts with disgust.
“Fuckable? More like killable. I can’t stand it.”
“I feel you girl, I don’t think I could stand looking into the dreamy, icy-blue eyes of a ripped, six-foot-four man with the facial structure of a damn god.”
I shake my head with a groan and slap the menu on my face. “He doesn’t deserve to look like that, and his personality fucking ruins it. It totally kills the mood for me.”
“Bullshit! If he got on his knees and begged for forgiveness and pussy, you’d be ripping your damn panties off!”
I’m about to protest when the waitress comes over and brings us our drinks.
“It doesn’t matter anyways, now that I have nothing to prove to my family anymore.
I’m not going to those stupid events, so I won’t even have to see Artem for a while.
My dad wants my brother to take over? Great, now I get to be the carefree kid that gets away with murder,” I say bitterly as I sip my blue frozen margarita.
“I know you say that as if nothing matters to you at all anymore, but this might be actually good for you Gigi. You can finally let your hair down a bit and enjoy your life instead of trying to be so perfect.”
I know she’s right, but it’s fucking tough to accept. If I knew I was going to waste nine years of my life trying to be perfect and missing out on life just to not even accomplish my only goal, I would have done everything differently. I’m sure I’ll regret it until I find some new purpose.
“Wait,” I say suddenly, and Reina looks up as she crunches her chip in between her teeth.
“Do you know what this means? I have nothing else to fight for now, he has completely bested me and he didn’t have to lift a fucking finger.
And now he gets to move on with his life with the satisfaction of that. ”
She rolls her eyes and sighs.
“You’re so blinded by hating him you’re missing why this is a good thing for you.
You’re obsessed. You don’t have to do it anymore Gigi; you are free from your war with him and now you can just enjoy your damn life.
Thank God it ended now, before you guys actually ended up killing each other,” she retorts with a soft laugh as she dips another chip in the salsa.
Why don’t I feel relieved though?
Why do I not feel a weight lifting off my shoulders now that I no longer feel like I have to prove something to him?
Do I even have a meaning or purpose in my life now that it’s over?
Now that I will no longer have that douche to spur me on and motivate me to be better than him, what the hell am I supposed to do?
My phone buzzes loudly on my nightstand and I groan as it jolts me out of my peaceful sleep. Who the fuck is calling me at one in the morning from an unknown number? My thumb hovers over the decline button, but my curiosity gets the better of me and I press answer.
“Hello?”
“Finally,” a deep, exasperated voice replies at the other end. “I thought you were never going to pick up.”
“Who is this?” I sigh sleepily as I prop up on my elbow.
“Max,” he says casually, as if that fucking explains everything.
My frown deepens, “Max who?”
“Maxim Sokolov?”
I sit up straight in bed when he answers, and my heart rate quickens. “What the hell do you want? Do you know what time it is?”
“Oh, I’m well aware,” he says with a deep sigh as he continues, “Roman and I have had enough of Artem’s shit for one night, and we figured it’s your turn to come deal with him.”
Huh?
“Why in the world would I come deal with your brother?”
“Uh, cause he’s your fiancé, after all,” he says in a tone as if it was obvious.
Silence.
Did I just hear that right?
No, he must have misspoken.
Okay he definitely didn’t misspeak but, he must just have the wrong number then.
“Do you even know who you called?”
He sighs, obviously growing annoyed at this exchange drawing on longer than he had anticipated, when it sounds like shuffling and suddenly a different voice comes through.
“Giselle, I could probably recite enough information about you to create a Wikipedia page, so yes we know who this is. Are you going to help us deal with him or not?” I hear Roman’s voice, and his words prick me like little needles as my body stiffens.
Oh, wait, I get it! They’re fucking with me.
I burst out laughing, adjusting myself on the bed and putting a hand on my forehead. “Funny joke guys, now I’m going back to bed.”
Before I could move the phone from my ear he responds, “Why would we be joking?”
I throw my head back in disbelief at his question, “Because I’m not marrying your psychopath of a brother, that’s why.”
I hear what sounds like a snicker and more shuffling and my eye twitches.
“Well, according to our father, it has already been arranged,” I hear Max say lightly, as if he’s casually commenting on the weather, “so congratulations, or whatever.”
My heart sinks into my ass as I suck in a breath so hard I’m afraid I’ll suffocate. “You’re lying,” I seethe out.
“Wish I was, little G, but here we are.”
I hang up the call, not even giving a reply.
My hands are trembling with rage as I drive, the streets dark and almost empty in the middle of the night as I break all traffic laws on my way to the Sokolov mansion.
Once I approach the massive iron gates of their property, I reach my hand out of the window and press the gate buzzer incessantly until it slowly opens before me.
I drive forward, and with a screech of my wheels I slam my car into park, jump out of the car, and swing open their front door.
My footsteps echo loudly against their sleek, white marble floors as I storm through.
“Hey!” a tall, burly man yells as he grabs me to stop me from plowing in further, until I see Roman, who tells him to let me through.
“Where the fuck is he?”
He begins to say he’s in his room, looking toward the large staircase, and I don’t wait for directions as I storm up the stairs, throwing open doors until I finally see him.
He’s slouched over on a small, black leather couch in his room; a half-empty vodka bottle barely grasped in his hands.
His shirt is ruffled and unbuttoned, exposing his scarred chest. I plant myself directly in front of where he’s sitting, standing over him as he finally looks up to meet my gaze.
He looks broken, and I’ve never seen him like this.
“You look like shit,” I spew at him and yank the bottle from his hand. “Care to fucking explain why your brothers seem to think we’re engaged?”
His glossy eyes narrow, and then that smug smirk he always wears returns, “You’re free to decline, though I doubt your father would approve.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. Why in the fuck is everyone acting so casual about this? “Don’t you dare act smug with me, Artem. I want answers. Now.”
He yanks the bottle back from my hand and takes a big swig from it before he answers me.
“It’s simple, solnishko. Our fathers have decided a truce would be much easier to uphold if we were legally tied together. Romantic, isn’t it?”
“Romantic?” I ask through my teeth. “You’re out of your goddamn mind!”
“Maybe.” He leans back against the couch and extends an arm on it, exposing more of his bare chest, “But this was not my idea, princess, so you’re wasting your fury on me.”
“Oh, don’t worry Artem—I have plenty of fury to go around.” I turn on my heel, needing out of this room that is drowning me in his scent.
“Giselle.”
I freeze, but I don’t turn around to face him again.
“You might want to get used to the idea, because it looks like we’re going to be stuck with each other. What is it they say? Until death do us part, right?” he mocks, and before I can whip around and let him have it, Roman and Max storm into the room.
Roman looked like he was over it, narrowing his eyes at Artem. Max, on the other hand, looked like he was waiting on his bag of popcorn to enjoy the show.
“What the hell is going on in here now? And how did you even get this bottle back?” He snatches the bottle from Artem and moves to put it somewhere out of his reach.
“Oh well you know, your brother was just explaining to me how my father found him to be suitable enough to marry me off to him. Doesn’t he just look the part?” I throw out, shooting Artem a glare as he returns a mocking one to me.
I look back at the two and Max throws up his hands.