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“I’ll be out in just a second.”
“Mr. Morelli doesn’t like to wait,” he says behind the closed door. “He is demanding your presence immediately.”
Pulling the dress over my head, slipping my feet into my black heels, I open the door with a smile. I haven’t taken the time to fix my hair or makeup, but I really don’t care. “Ready.”
The man doesn’t say anything but leads me to the study where I know I will stand or sit by Bryant’s side as nothing more than a piece of meat about to be sold to the buyer. Maybe tonight will be the night the final decisions are agreed upon and I’m handed over.
This all seems to be moving too quickly. I need time to breathe. Time to process. And some time to actually get to know this new family of mine. But it seems Bryant is a man of action and moves at a speed faster than expected.
My father is standing by the fire in the study when I walk in. I’m instantly reminded of my time with Nick in this exact same room the night of the Morelli party, but I push the image away as quickly as it comes. I need to pivot from my chaotic mind and center. I need to be on top of my game tonight. No thoughts of Nick Hudson allowed.
I clear the distance between us and stand next to him. Bryant glares at me, no doubt for making him wait. In a very low voice, he says, “Do not make me wait ever again. Remember that, or I will give you a reminder you won’t soon forget.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, biting back the flood of swear words that threaten to escape my lips.
His threats aren’t scaring me, but rather are pissing me off. I want the man to like me, respect me as he respects others in his family, but it’s taking everything in me to be… subservient to him.
“Have they arrived yet?” I ask, pointing out the obvious that I’m not late. No one is in the room yet besides us.
Bryant Morelli is impatient and clearly is a man who doesn’t like to wait on anyone. His jaw is locked, twitching as he glances at his gold watch. He’s remaining rooted in place next to me, but I can see him shift his weight from one foot to the other. There are plenty of beautiful leather chairs in the room, but I don’t dare take a seat. If Bryant is standing, then so am I. The only way I’m going to survive this night and survive being thrust into this new life is by taking my cues from others and mimicking them the best that I can. I’m also doing the best that I can to try to forget the last time I stood next to Bryant.
My thoughts go back to trying to defend his actions. Something I had to do for my mother my entire life.
Excuses. Excuses. Excuses. Always a reason to justify shitty behavior.
Maybe he was simply tired from the travel, as he did have to be involved in a forced auction and extortion of his bloodline. Any man would be tense and on the verge of breaking. Maybe I shouldn’t hold it against him for raising his hand to me. It could have been a reaction to a long nightmare that Bryant Morelli simply wanted to end.
Sarah enters with a glass of wine in her hand. Her long black cocktail dress drags behind her as her heels create an elegant cadence announcing her entrance. She exudes class and wealth, and I wonder if I’ll ever have that ability. Even though I’m wearing a dress, heels, and even ruby earrings Sasha bought for me, I can’t help but feel like an imposter. I feel that the name “Bailey” is branded on my forehead, and I’m never going to be thought of as a Morelli. I also feel as if everyone can tell that I’ve been poor all my life and cheap apartments or couch surfing is where I belong.
“And here I thought I’d be making an entrance,” Sarah says, scowling when she only sees Bryant and me standing in the room to greet her. “I see our guests are on a different time schedule than us.”
Her eyes are glossy and the glass of wine in her hand is clearly not the first one she drank this evening. I can’t say that I blame her, and I crave my own glass to try to soothe my nerves.
Bryant doesn’t say anything, and neither do I.
Sarah crosses the room and finds a high-back leather chair to sit in. Her motions are royal, and the minute she sits, she reminds me of a queen. I’m simply the pauper standing before her. I wish I had what she has… comfort in her own skin.
I’m not sure how long we’re going to wait in this room, but finally the butler approaches Bryant and says, “They just pulled up, sir.”
Bryant nods and says, “Tell the chef to begin. I want dinner served promptly despite their tardiness. The quicker we can get this night over with, the better.”
I remain quiet, wondering if Bryant is going to give me my marching orders for the night, but he hasn’t said a single word since we’ve been waiting. I wish I knew the rules of the game. I wish he would tell me what his expectations are. I wish I got anything at all. I feel as if I’m entering a dark cave with no direction or light to guide my way.
I could ask… but…
Two men enter the room, a feeling of arrogance oozing off of them. They don’t seem to be the least concerned that they are over twenty minutes late and have been keeping us waiting. They aren’t winded, frazzled, or even offering apologies. They prance into the room as if we should be happy they are even here to begin with. The empath in me can feel the rage sizzle off my father’s body. I could be wrong since I’ve just met this man, but I’m pretty sure he’s furious and barely controlling his anger from erupting.
“Bryant,” the Sidorov I recognize from Italy begins. “This is my nephew, Pavel Sidorov.”
He motions to the skinny man—if you call the boy standing next to him a man—who simply stands and doesn’t make a move to greet my father in any way. The skinny man-boy is tall, sharp features on his face, and frankly appears to be no older than eighteen. He even has a thin line of acne where his hairline meets his forehead. Pavel darts his eyes to me, but then quickly looks away. I can’t tell if it’s because he doesn’t like what he sees or because my very presence makes him uncomfortable. I can’t blame him for being uncomfortable, however. Arranged marriages are not the norm and there isn’t exactly a rule book to describe how to act.
I hear Bryant release a deep breath as he reaches his hand out to shake Pavel’s. “Welcome, Pavel.”
Pavel hesitates as his eyes examine Bryant’s extended hand. It’s almost as if he hasn’t been groomed on proper etiquette. But as if someone had just kicked him in the back, he shoots out his hand awkwardly and shakes. I imagine his palm is clammy and limp. I’m starting to imagine a lot of him is clammy and limp. Disgust is slowly rolling over me as I realize that this man is supposed to be the man I’ll marry.
“This is Lyriope,” Bryant introduces. I notice he doesn’t say “my daughter” or make any acknowledgement that I’m related to him at all.
Thankfully, Pavel doesn’t reach out his hand to shake mine, and I sure as hell am not going to be the first. Instead, his eyes briefly connect with mine as he gives a quick nod. I do the same, not sure what else to do.
