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You're stuck with me, krasotka.
Chapter 11 – Juliana
Rule Three. Be a fighter.
Soft Russian classical music played in the background as we worked our way through the crowd, with me at his side, like a sugar doll who wanted to be anywhere but here, in this greenhouse, under beautiful yellow lights, surrounded by fragrant plants, greeting one relative or acquaintance after another.
Duress. I felt forced, choked, suffocated. My dress flowed behind me as we stopped at tables; Rafail, cool and collected as ever, and me with a stiff, fake smile plastered on my face. The upside was the women he introduced me to. They were nice and welcoming. But my heart ached. It felt hollow and empty as if a big void encapsulated me.
I couldn’t bring myself to enjoy their random talks about desserts or happy kids, or not being nosy in their husbands’ businesses. Nothing excited me. Not anymore.
I learned two new things about Rafail Varkov that warm, sunny afternoon. One: He was as professional and straightforward as he looked. Most of the conversations he had with his family members were strictly about business. No sentiments or easy talks like, “How have you been?”
I watched him, under a hooded gaze, and despite how much I hated his guts, a naïve, needy part of me—the one he’d heartlessly awakened that day—admired his purposeful strides; the confident way he spoke, the thick Russian accent that rolled off his tongue, and the broad lines of his shoulders.
I turned my head away before he could suck me in deeper.
Two: He had a large family. There were a lot of cousins and friends—he called allies. When I managed to challenge his cold-hearted approach to friendship, he’d said, “It costs more to have friends than to have enemies.” I closed my eyes and let it go.
The last person on the introduction panel was Rafail’s uncle. Oleg. Age has done nothing to diminish his brilliance. Energetic, fluent, and sharp-witted.
Even from his silver hair and wrinkled, pale skin, I could tell that he had once been a handsome man. Though he wasn't as tall as Rafail or any of the younger men I’d seen, his presence was just as dark and intimidating as theirs.
Of all the men I had met in the family, he was the liveliest. When he wasn't talking to me. Our acquaintance was cold and brief. He studied me with watchful blue eyes like a hawk and shook my hand with a firm grip.
I started to greet him. “Good afternoon—”
“She is a feast for the eyes,” he said to Rafail, his voice stiff and devoid of emotion. “I understand why you chose her. But she deserves worse than bouquets and a life spent with you forever as punishment.”
I withdrew my hand like I’d been burned.
Apprehension and a small flame of anger flared in me as he spoke as if I were not present. I knew why he was ignoring me, wishing me a life condemned to eternal damnation; it was the same reason Rafail had kidnapped me. Liam's alleged offenses. I paid for them, every second, every minute, every day.
He was about to say something when the old man burst out laughing. The sudden explosion startled me, but Rafail didn't even flinch. A grin broke out on Oleg’s face.
“Did that get you?” He looked at me now and wiped a shimmering tear from his sparse eyelashes. He rolled over and laughed too much for an old man—more prone to strokes or heart failure. “Forgive me, my dear. That was just to shake you up a bit. An official welcome to the family, so to speak.”
My brows furrowed at the center of my forehead. That was a joke?
“Excuse me for a second.” With a bored sigh, Rafail left my side to meet with two men he had introduced as business partners, leaving me alone with his kind-of-creepy uncle.
My feet hurt in the white Jimmy Choos under my dress, and I just longed for some space to breathe, to cry, to scream! I wanted to get away from all these people.
But I didn’t have the slightest idea how to start a conversation with someone who had death for eyes only seconds ago and now gazed at me like sunshine and roses. Thankfully, Rafail suddenly appeared and respectfully whisked me away.
Before we turned around, I noticed the walking stick supporting his left leg and the slight limp as he shifted his weight. The sight reminded me again of the accusation Rafail had made against Liam.
Your uncle doesn’t like me,” I voiced out instead.
The silence made me think he hadn’t heard me—or he had heard me and decided to ignore the remark—but my head jerked up and my eyes met his clean-shaven jaw as he spoke.
“No, he doesn’t.” His answer was straight, blunt, and honest. “But he will when he sees how likable you are.”
****
My reflection stared at me through the mirror. Rosy cheeks, tired puffy eyes, and no make-up. I cried a lot in the shower but couldn’t scream because he was there, waiting like a predator on the other side of the door. Wet strings of blonde hair flew in the air as I rotated the hairdryer in circles over and under.
Exhausted, I dropped the dryer on the vanity and turned off the switch. The strong humming stopped, and the thick silence made my agonizing thoughts louder.
