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8
CATERINA
I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so miserable.
When Viktor slams the door shut, it feels like a physical blow. At that moment, I wanted to take back everything I said, especially my threat, but it’s too late. He’s on the other side, more furious with me than I’ve ever seen, and I’m terrified of what that means.
I wrap my arms around myself, sinking to my knees on the floor. I’m shivering, even in the warm robe, kneeling there in the dark as I start to cry. In a matter of moments, things changed so dramatically, and I feel almost in shock, unable to move.
Just a few minutes ago, he’d been inside of me, crooning to me in Russian, holding me in his arms. He’d said things to me that I didn’t understand, but I could understand his tone of voice.Baby. Beautiful baby.Sweeter thanprintsessa. More loving.
What else did he say?
It doesn’t matter.
I swallow hard, squeezing myself tightly. I don’t hear his footsteps move away from the door, and for a moment, I think he might come back in. I don’t know if I want that or not, if it terrifies me or if it would make me happy. I suppose it depends on the reason why he came back in—to fight with me more, threaten me, or comfort me.
The last is laughable.
You did this to yourself,I tell myself firmly. He’d wanted to hold me, cuddle me, drift off to sleep together, and maybe fuck again. He’d been soft and gentle, more so than he’d ever been with me before. I’d been the one to pull away, to stick to my resolution and put an end to the night. I’d been the one to tell him my demands.
Don’t back a bear into a corner.
I’d done exactly that. I’d taken the one threat that I’d known would cut him to the core and used it against him. I’d known exactly what I was doing, and I can’t pretend otherwise. I’d done it to get the distance that I’d said I wanted, and it had worked.
Maybe too well.
When his footsteps start to recede, heading back down the hall, I know that he’s not coming back in for any reason. Not to hurt or to comfort, and that leaves a hollow feeling in my chest that makes me gasp, bowing forwards as if something struck me. The pain in my chest feels unmatched, a sense of loss that I hadn’t known I could feel when it came to any man, let alone Viktor, and I squeeze my eyes tightly shut.
I’d felt something different in him tonight. But our argument had just proved what I’d already known, that it’s not enough. I don’t know why I’d ever thought it could be different.
Nor do I know why the loss of that possibility hurts so badly.
This is what I was raised for. To be the bride of a man I wouldn’t love or even necessarily like, to take his cock and bear his children, to tend his house and smile on his arm. I wasn’t made for love or pleasure or joy or fulfillment. I wasn’t meant to have a life that made me happy, only one that kept me safe. One that kept me alive, in a world even more deadly to women than the ordinary, everyday one that most of us live in.
Spoiled brat, born with a silver spoon.His words still sting, burning in my head, and I try to shake them loose. But I know he’s not entirely wrong. I was born rich and privileged, with everything I could ever want.
Everything except freedom and choice. The same things Viktor takes away from other women, born into less fortunate circumstances, every day.
Why can’t he see that I just want him to give them what I’ve never had? The one thing I would trade it all for?
Except—I haven’t. I never have. I married Franco and Viktor, and I won’t leave Viktor, not even now.
To save others. To take care of his children. It’s not for yourself—
Except sometimes, it has been. The choice to marry Franco was between the life I knew or one that I didn’t belong in. And I’d chosen it happily because I hadn’t known what was on the other side of it.
I do now.
And now I know more than ever that I can’t leave.
I can see all of the days stretching out in front of me, long and miserable, dragging into each other until there’s nothing but a black tunnel in front of me. For a moment, the hopelessness that washes over me is so intense that I can’t bear it, that I think I’d rather make good on my threat to Viktor whether he tries to touch me again or not.
I’d meant it as an idle threat, one that I knew he wouldn’t test.
But in that moment, in the dark, clutching myself as I cry, I don’t know if I can stand to go on.
It feels hopeless. Pointless.
