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As I choose my outfit and decide to go without makeup, I keep looking over my shoulder, expecting one of the three men to appear out of thing air. I’m used to Ezra being a silent sentinel just outside my door, or on the balcony overlooking the lawn, but now I keep picturing Andrei sitting at the edge of my bed watching me get ready, or Mikhail grinning at me from the doorway as he imagines all kinds of twisted ways to agitate me.
It’s as annoying as it is nice not to feel alone, even if they are dangerous for me to be around.
I sigh as I toss a pair of black flats into the closet. I don’t have any slippers, so I guess I’m going barefoot. My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since breakfast.
If Andrei makes me beg for food, I’d rather starve.
With one last, deep breath, I unlock the bedroom doors and pad down the hall to the dining room. It doesn’t take long to get there; it’s the center of the house and used for all manner of events — parties, conferences, everyday meals. The biggest room in the house, by design.
The doors are open when I arrive, and I’m surprised to find Andrei sitting alone at the head of the table. The room feels spacious without dozens of guests socializing within, filling the room with their gossip and banter. The last time I stood in this room, it was for a bridal shower, and I wore a white lace tea dress meant to remind everyone who the lucky bride was.
Not like anyone could forget. It was supposed to be the wedding of the century.
And now, I’m alone with the groom I left at the altar.
Our eyes meet, and he inclines his head in greeting. “I see you chose something casual.”
The sweater is the softest one I found, a pale blue that reminds me of a spring sky. The pants are loose, with white fabric flowing around my ankles every time I take a step. Comfortable more than stylish, but this isn’t exactly a night out on the town.
My stomach growls again, louder this time, and I grimace.
“Sit.”
Two gleaming silver cloches lay in front of the only two chairs in the room: mine and Andrei’s. I’m surprised when he stands and pulls out my chair for me, the one seated directly to his left.
“Where are Ezra and Mikhail?”
Andrei pushes my chair in now that I’m seated. “I thought we might have a moment alone to discuss our engagement.”
“We’re not engaged.”
He lifts the cloche over my plate, and steam wafts into the air. A perfectly-seared steak, grilled asparagus, and mashed potatoes. A tiny gravy boat accompanies the plate, reminding me of all the meals I’ve had just like this one in the past. Some fancier, some not. My mother made a point for me to try as many dishes as our chef could make, so that I would be well versed in schooling my expression if something didn’t agree with my palate.
“It’s rude not to finish a meal,” she used to tell me. “You must try everything on your plate and always give compliments to the chef.”
I wonder if Andrei kept the same kitchen staff, or if that’s changed, too.
“I never rescinded my offer of marriage. To my knowledge, you have not, either.” Andrei uncorks a bottle of red wine and pours us each a glass. He holds one out for me to take. “That makes us very much engaged, Valentina.”
I don’t accept the wine, so he sets it down in front of me. “You’d think one public rejection was enough.” My hands shake as I pick up my dinner fork and a knife. I clutch them as tight as possible to keep my hands steady. “Leaving you at the altar should have made my intent clear. I don’t want to marry you, Andrei.”
It’s the first time I’ve said the words aloud, and my body trembles. I thought I’d feel confident saying that to his face, but I want to hide, instead. There’s nowhere for me to go unless I crawl under the table, so I remain seated and start cutting into my steak.
I can feel Andrei’s eyes cutting into me, and I try not to look nervous.
He hums in the back of his throat. “Fortunately, what you want doesn’t matter.”
My knife screeches against the porcelain plate.
I look up at my ex to find him smirking at me over his wine glass.
“I won’t marry you.” I set my knife and fork down and ignore the way my stomach drops. “You can’t make me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He sets down his wine and leans back in his chair. “You were promised to me, Valentina. You made a promise. Publicly. Many times.”
I wince at the reminder of how long our engagement was. We attended dozens of private parties and public events within the city, wrapped in each other’s arms, smiling like two lovesick fools for all to see.
Our engagement was very public.
