Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
I fell into an armchair, then took a deep breath. “Bronwyn.” Just saying her name made me lift inside. “She’s sad. Crying. The night before our wedding.”
Mikhail leaned closer. “She didn’t ask for this marriage,” he said gently.
I nodded and tousled a sleeping dog’s head for comfort. “But...while we’ve been living together, I thought…” I could feel my face going red. “I thought she’d started to...feel something for me.”
Mikhail frowned thoughtfully. “And do you love her?”
I looked away. “What does that matter?”
Mikhail sat back in his chair. “Answer the question!”
I bristled and glared, my face heating even more. “Yes,” I muttered. “I love her.” It felt like I’d carved the words out of shining silver, two feet high, and laid them on the rug for anyone to walk in and see. I’d never felt so horribly vulnerable. If this was the being open with your feelings that American women were so obsessed with, I didn’t like it at all. And yet, at the same time, there was a tiny part of me that jumped when I said the words, like my heart had somersaulted right over a beat. “But I haven’t told her,” I said.
Mikhail stared at me for a moment. “You really are an idiot.”
I sat up, scowling, and Mikhail waved me back. “It’s not your fault,” he sighed. “You didn’t have your mother to teach you about women. And by the time I got there, it was too late. Vladivostok had left you...cold. Just as it left Gennadiy hard and Valentin…”—he sighed—“I’m not sure Valentin will ever be okay.” He shook his head and put his hand on my shoulder. “A wedding is the fairy tale women get to star in. They spend their entire lives building up to that one moment. Bronwyn is sad because she thinks she’s going to marry a man who doesn’t love her. You must tell her.”
I frowned. “What if she doesn’t love me? What if that’s why she’s sad?”
“Then telling her you love her can’t make it any worse.”
My stomach turned over. “But…”
“But you could be hurt,” Mikhail said gently. “Yes. That’s part of love. If you love her, you have to tell her anyway.”
He knocked back the last of his vodka, patted my shoulder and got up. His dogs came sleepily awake and followed him out of the room, their fur warm from the fire as they brushed past my legs. I sat there staring into the fire, furious, trying to find some solution where I didn’t have to put myself at risk...but there wasn’t one.
Chyort! For years, I’d forced myself to feel nothing, to never get close to anyone. The idea of being vulnerable was more terrifying than a room full of thugs with knives, or a lifetime in prison.
I hurled my half-finished glass into the fire. The vodka flared and roared. If she rejects me, it will destroy me, I thought bitterly.
The flames died away. The room went still. But if I don’t do this, she’ll be in pain.
And that, I realized, was unacceptable.
I tugged my waistcoat straight. I knew what I had to do.
42
BRONWYN
The white vintage Rolls-Royce stopped with a soft crunch of gravel and the chauffeur jumped out and opened my door. But I just sat there, focusing on the back of the seat in front of me, trying not to cry.
Jen leaned in close. “We can just get out of here,” she whispered urgently. “Please don’t do this if it’s not what you want.” Baba looked worried, too.
I shook my head. However I felt, I still had to marry him: Radimir and his family would find me if I ran. But the irony was, I did want this. I just wanted it to be real. I wanted him to love me, too.
I climbed out of the car, tasting the cold, crisp air. The snow had stopped, and everything was silent and perfect. The mansion looked amazing, with fresh snow dusting its roof and clinging to the window ledges. Golden light spilled from the windows and lit up the arrangements of deep red roses that led up the path to the door. A string quartet in ball gowns started playing.
“Let’s do this,” I said shakily.
Jen adjusted my veil. Luna and Sadie joined us, the three of them looking amazing in their long green dresses. Baba moved in next to me: she still needed a stick to walk, but she was getting stronger every day. A photographer started snapping pictures. I was pretty sure he couldn’t see the tears in my eyes through the veil.
We walked slowly up the path to the house. For once, my legs barely hurt at all. My plan of going on the immunosuppressants had worked: if things were different, I’d be able to enjoy my big day.
We passed through the entrance hall, my heels echoing on the tiled floor, the scent of fresh flowers surrounding us. Ahead of us, two ushers pulled open a set of double doors and I caught my breath as we stepped into the huge room. Hundreds of people all turned to look at me. But my eyes were on the aisle, following it to…