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Caterina
Clearly, no one is wasting any time getting Viktor and me married.
The next morning, I wake up to an email—clearly from some secretary or personal assistant and not Viktor himself—giving me the address of a well-known bridal salon and an appointment time. No niceties, nothing personal, just place and time like any other business meeting.
In a way, it’s a relief. There’s no pretending here. I remember the turmoil Sofia and Luca went through, the push and pull of how much they wanted each other and how hard they tried to fight it. Yet, Viktor seems to want as much distance from me as I do from him. And that suits me just fine.
I assume I can bring someone with me, but I don’t particularly care, even if I’m not really supposed to. I’m not about to go to my appointment to choose a wedding dress alone, especially not under these circumstances. Sofia was there for me when I had to quickly select a dress to marry Franco in, shortly after my mother’s death, and I know she’ll be there for me now as well. It had been difficult then, and I know this won’t be easy either, but it’ll be a thousand times more so if I have a friend.
I send her a quick text while I make breakfast.There’s an appointment set up for me this afternoon to pick out a dress. Come with me?
Ever since my parents’ deaths, it’s been hard for me to eat, and everything that’s happened since has only made it worse. I can’t stand anything heavy in the mornings, so I opt for some yogurt and fruit, picking at it while I wait for Sofia to text me back. I’ve been eating at the breakfast nook in the kitchen these days—the dining room feels too large and empty, like it could swallow me whole. I wonder if Viktor’s will feel like that too, if I’ll rattle around inside of it with nothing to do all day.
Mafia wives usually have charity events or boards to sit on, dinner parties to arrange, and the social side of their husbands’ business to manage.What do Bratva wives do?I have no idea what their lives are really like—we’re told stories about husbands who abuse them, who demand filthy things of them sexually and punish them if they don’t comply, of men who refuse to treat them with respect, expecting them to slave away at housework and raising children without any thanks.
Can it really be that bad?Viktor is the leader of the Bratva and a rich man. Surely he has staff?I’ve never encountered any of the Bratva, but I’ve heard they’re brutal and crass men, rough and unrefined. That picture makes it hard to imagine them holding dinner parties or their wives sitting on charity boards. And what about children?
I feel a cold knot in my stomach at the thought. I know Viktor was married once before, but I don't know anything about his children, if he has any. I imagine them off at boarding school or in the care of a nanny somewhere, but what if he expects a child from me?
That would certainly throw a wrench in any plan to stay out of his bed after the first night.
I grit my teeth as my phone chimes.I’ll figure it out,I tell myself, tapping the screen. All I can do is get through it one day at a time and handle each thing as it’s thrown at me. I know there’s no way out, so now it’s just a matter of managing things as they come.
The text is from Sofia, saying she’s free for the afternoon, and I let out a sigh of relief. At least I won’t be alone.
Can I bring Ana?
I hesitate. I have no idea if I’m even supposed to bring anyone along, but the email didn’t say specifically to come alone. When it comes to Viktor and my relationship, I don’t intend to start out fearing what he might and might not allow me to do. There’s nothing wrong with bringing two of my friends along to my bridal appointment, and I don’t see why I should act as if there is.
Sure, I text back.The more, the merrier.
Besides, I tell myself as I toss my half-eaten yogurt in the trash and rinse out my bowl in the sink,it’ll be good for Ana to get out for a little while if she’s willing to come.
The guilt over what happened to Sofia’s best friend, Anastasia Ivanova, still eats at me constantly, even if it wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t possibly have known what Franco would do to her when he discovered her trying to uncover a way to get Sofia out by conspiring with the Bratva. However, it still makes me sick every time I think of it. She’d once been a talented ballerina at Juilliard, on her way to achieving aprimaposition with the New York Ballet. Now she’s in a wheelchair, fighting through weekly physical therapy, her feet damaged to the point where it’s a struggle for her to walk on them again.
She’ll certainly never dance again.
Sofia meets me at the house just before it’s time to go, and I greet her at the door. “You look nice,” Sofia says, glancing at me. “Like you’re feeling better since the funeral.”
“Well, it’s hard not to feel at least a little better with him gone.” I brush my hands over my dress, a lightweight black chiffon sleeveless dress with a wide collar and leather belt at the waist. I’m hardly in mourning, but I haven’t felt like wearing anything other than black since Luca brought me the news of Viktor’s demands. If anything, I’m in mourning for myself.
“Ana is meeting us at the salon,” Sofia says. “I sent a driver for her, but it’s easier for her to go straight there.”
“I’m glad she’s coming.” I manage a smile, looking at Sofia. “I know it’s hard for her. I can’t imagine the trauma of what happened is going to go away anytime soon.”
Sofia nods, biting her lip. “She’s in therapy, physical and otherwise. But itishard. She used to be stared at because she was so beautiful and talented. Now it’s because she’s crippled. I know she’ll heal in time—but I’m not sure ifsheknows that. And it’s eating away at her. It’ll be good for her to get out for the day, to be with friends.” Sofia pauses, taking a deep breath. “It’s also not your fault, Caterina. It’s Franco’s, and only his. I know you know that, but—”
“I still feel guilty.” I swallow hard, stepping out into the sunlight as we walk towards the waiting car. “I feel like I should have seen something. Some change in him, something that told me he would do something so horrible.”
“You didn’t even know what Ana was doing.” Sofia touches my elbow. “It’s in the past now, Caterina.”
“Not for her.”
“She doesn’t blame you, either.” Sofia slips into the cool, dark interior of the car, and I follow. “I promise, Caterina.”
My heart is in my throat as we drive towards the salon, even though I try not to show it. I’d thought that I’d never wear another wedding gown, but I’ll be picking out one today, and I want desperately to be anywhere else, doing anything else. It’s all I can do to force myself out of the car when it pulls up, despite Sofia’s comforting hand on my arm. But I keep my chin up, plastering a smile onto my face when I see Ana waiting for us. She’s even thinner than she was before—and she was waifish as a ballerina—her face pale and her eyes impossibly large in her face but she looks like she’s in good spirits. Her thick hair is piled up on top of her head in a fluffy bun, and she’s wearing a tank top and jeans tucked into the soft-soled shoes that she has to wear, two sizes too large to accommodate the bandages. Sofia hasn’t told me all the details of what the doctors have had to do to try to heal her feet, but I can imagine, though I don’t want to.
“Hey, Caterina,” she says softly. “Sofia told me about Viktor. I’m sorry. So sorry”
