11. Giselle #3
I don’t really want her to know all the things we’ve done to each other, especially what I’ve done over the years. Not that she’d make me feel bad but . . . I don’t want yet another person to think I’m crazy.
“Look Gigi, I’ve been trying to tell you since the engagement news that you need to relax more. You’re so uptight that you’re gonna lose it. Actually, I think that’s what’s happening right now,” she says with a laugh.
“I’m barely on speaking terms with my father after what he said to me or my brother for disappointing me and the only man in my life now is Artem and my stupid, fucked up head is getting all confused.”
“Why haven’t you talked to Caesar since the wedding? I thought you were going to apologize?” she asks, her expression turning more serious.
“I don’t know . . . he’s busy. I also know I’m projecting my anger at my father on him, but I can’t help but feel some type of way about his involvement either.
It’s like the two men I trusted the most in my life just fucking basically turned on me out of nowhere and now the one I hate is the only one left to pick up the pieces.
And why the fuck is he actually picking them up Reina? Why is he not just letting me bleed?”
“Let someone pick up your pieces. You deserve that much, don’t you? Whether it’s Artem or not, does it matter? You’re married now, so all the other stuff just doesn’t apply anymore, right?”
I scoff, and she purses her lips. “If it was that simple, we wouldn’t have had the relationship we’ve had for so long. I don’t know, I feel like I need to get out of here for a while and touch grass. Maybe we could—”
Before I could finish, her boyfriend knocks on the bathroom door.
“Gigi I hate to just go, but we have to make it for a work lunch of his and—”
“No, no. I’m sorry. Enjoy your lunch,” I say with a convincing smile and hang up.
I sigh as I toss my phone on the bed and stare up at the ceiling as if it’s going to magically heal me.
God, I don’t even feel like I can talk to anyone about this because no one gets it. I knew she’d say what she did, I knew she’d just try to convince me to enjoy myself and stop overthinking, but it isn’t fair to just expect me to let go of the past and simply let things be.
Maybe if my mom was here, she would try to actually understand me and just let me be myself instead of trying to make me change.
I end up spending my day trying to get over my weird shit and not dwell on everything. I got to relax and binge-watch some movies in my pajamas since I somehow got lucky enough to have the house to myself.
The pesky Sokolov brothers ended up having to handle more than they expected tonight and left me to enjoy myself in peace. I’m smiling comfortably as I take myself back down the curved staircase to get myself another water bottle, when I hear a noise.
What the fuck? No one is supposed to be here.
I panic and look around for some sort of weapon and I’m annoyed when I only see a golf club casually leaning in the corner near the front door.
Top-notch security measures here.
I grab the club and hold it over my shoulder as I stalk slowly toward the noise. It seems like it’s coming from that freaky room Maxim led me in.
Please for the love of everything holy, don’t let there be some psycho left handcuffed to the table in there.
Against my better judgment I open the door slowly, walking down the steps as quietly as possible when I see a man looking through a file cabinet.
“Uh, excuse me? Do you know where the fuck you are?” I ask, raising the club higher. The man turns to face me, and something about him just gives me the chills.
“Oh? You must be Mrs. Sokolov. I didn’t think anyone was here,” he says as he closes the drawer. He has a thick Russian accent that reminds me a lot of Artem’s father.
My eyes narrow and I don’t change the club’s position in my hands. “Who the fuck are you and why are you in my house?”
“Apologies, I work under your husband. He sent me here to retrieve some documents.”
Artem sent some strange fucking man to the house at night when I’m alone? Asshole. “If you have it, you should leave,” I say, still holding my ground.
“I haven’t quite found all the papers yet. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to let me find them all first?”
“I don’t think so, pal. Go back and tell Artem to find them himself later.”
His expression darkens at my words and my pulse quickens. This guy is freaking me out, and I’m here defending myself against a man with a gun on his hip with a goddamn golf club.
“Your husband will be upset that I didn’t complete my mission. You know how he can be, right?” The man tries to chuckle, and hopes I’ll find it amusing enough.
“Tell him I said to suck it up—he’ll understand. Get out, now.”
I see him contemplate pushing me further, but eventually he relents and I follow him out of the musty basement as he walks back toward the front door.
“Sorry for scaring you, I’ll make sure he lets you know beforehand next time,” he says with an unnerving smile as he leaves and I lock the door.
God, I don’t know what it is, but all these bratva men are fucking creepy. Artem is going to get a piece of my mind for putting me in that situation without even warning me.