The man on the other end breathes through his nose. “You’re insane.”
“No,” I answer. “I’m motivated.”
24
ANYA
Isit in the chair by the window with a cup of tea I haven’t touched. Morning sickness has made hot liquids the only thing that I can tolerate, but I don’t feel like consuming anything right now. Even the smell makes my stomach roil. I keep the cup in front of me anyway because it gives me something to do with my hands besides clench them.
“Ms. Malenkova,” a female voice says.
I look up to see a young woman standing in the doorway with an iPad in her hand. She’s much younger than the last woman Mikhail hired to handle me. She looks kinder too, though that won’t help her any. He’ll probably kill her in front of me too.
“My name is Dahlia. I’ll be coordinating your wedding this weekend.”
I look up at her in surprise. So, he’s set a date. Probably all of Brooklyn knows by now, including Viktor. He’s made sure I’m the last to find out. I’m surprised he gave me any advance notice at all.
“You have a final dress fitting in an hour. Mr. Grinkov has sent me to get you ready.”
“When is the wedding?” I ask.
“The day after tomorrow,” she answers cheerfully, as if it isn’t strange for a bride not to know when her own wedding is.
“Are we being filmed?” I ask.
Her posture tightens slightly. She hesitates before she says, “There will be cameras at the wedding, yes.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I say, turning to look at her. “Are we being filmed right now?”
“I…” she falters. “That’s a strange question, Ms. Malenkova.”
She blinks too quickly, though. I can’t tell if it’s fear of Mikhail or fear of losing her job. Either way, she’s going to play her part masterfully. I can already tell she’s going to do whatever she can to make sure that I don’t ruin this opportunity for her.
She thinks that this is her big chance to prove herself at her big, fancy job. She doesn’t realize that her only function is to eventually be used against me. Mikhail picked a sweet girl this time because he hopes it’ll be harder on me when he eventually threatens to kill her.
I stand slowly, careful with my ribs because the bruising still punishes me when I move too fast. The woman watches me like she’s waiting for me to throw something at her. I don’t. She isn’t the problem. She’s another piece on Mikhail’s board. If I hurt her, I give him an excuse to escalate.
“What does he want me to do?” I ask instead.
Her eyes flick up for half a second, then drop again. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand the question,” she smiles apologetically.
“Do you understand anything at all?” I ask her icily. “Do you understand who you’re working for? Do you realize that I never consented to marrying him? Can you comprehend that I’m a slave in my own life?”
She has the decency to look flustered.
“I’m just supposed to take you to your fitting,” she squeaks out, suddenly nervous.
I nod once. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes,” I tell her.
Her lips twitch like she wants to smile, but she doesn’t. She just turns and leaves, and I hear the lock engage again a second later. It shouldn’t make my skin prickle after all this time, but it still does.
I walk to the mirror to look at myself. Considering everything I’ve been through, it’s not a horrible image. They’ve kept me clean. They’ve kept me fed. They’ve kept me upright. That’s the part that makes people on the outside misunderstand what this is. They assume comfort means kindness. They assume luxury means safety. They assume a prison only counts if there are chains.
Mikhail doesn’t need chains. He has power.
I look at my face in the mirror and take inventory. I look pale. My eyes are darker than I remember, which goes well with the bags underneath. My lips are chapped. The bruise under my ribs is fading into sick yellow and green, but it’s still there. The tenderness is still there. The nausea is still there. The baby is still there.
I press my palm flat against my stomach. I need the reminder that I’m not only fighting for myself now. I’m fighting for this little one’s future.
