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I refuse to hold back any longer. My parents can learn the hard way about the kind of grave they’ve dug themselves. I don’t want to get in the hole and start digging with them. Mikhail clearly has them under his spell.
They believe he’ll stay true to his word—or at least provide a solution that will solve all their problems. All I see is a lecherous murderer who’s spotted a golden opportunity to take what he’s coveted for so long.
“You’ve let your emotions and your loyalty to the Veles family cloud your judgment for too long, honey. Despite what it might look like, your father and I are only trying to look out for you. We love you and want what’s best for you. So if you really want to keep the baby, this is how to do it,” she insists.
Then she sighs, her shoulders softening as she looks deep into my eyes. “He will ensure your child has three meals a day and a roof over its head—and you. Do you really want to be working the kind of hours it will require to be a single mom? You won’t even get to spend quality time with this child you’re so determined to keep.
“Yes, Mikhail is a bit old for you. But he really cares for you, Dani. He’s said it from the start that you’re an extraordinary woman who any man would be lucky to spend time with. And I don’t think you’re going to find another person willing to offer you the kind of help and protection he is. If you want to have this baby, if you want to be a good mom, you really need to consider his offer. I don’t care what your personal opinion of the man is.”
I hate the fact that I can hear reason in her rationale. I don’t want to. I don’t want to even consider marrying the man who killed Efrem—if not with his own hand, then definitely by his order.
But what other choice do I have? What kind of life would I be giving my child if I can’t afford to feed and shelter it? And at this stage of my life, I have no clue how I’m going to do that without a single soul to help me.
Swallowing the bile that threatens to burst from my lips, I stay silent for a long moment. And as I come to a decision, I feel the walls closing in around me once again.
“Fine,” I grind through my teeth, fighting the intense urge to cry. “I’ll marry him.”
I might be sacrificing myself to a life of misery, but at least my child will never want for anything. And that’s what matters. Still, as my mom’s expression brightens, taking years off her face as she gives a rare genuine smile, I hear the bars slamming closed on my prison cell.
I should feel relief, knowing that the worst of my troubles are going to be taken care of, that at least I won’t have to worry about my child’s safety and welfare. But as I sign my life away with those three words, I can’t help but think of Efrem. Think of how far I’ve fallen from the wonderful, love-filled life I thought I might lead.
37
DANI
“Honey, you look beautiful,” Mom breathes, her image beaming in the mirror from where she stands behind me. Her hands are clasped over her heart, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and she’s the picture of an ecstatic mother on her daughter’s wedding day.
“Thanks, Mom.” I try to match her enthusiasm as I smooth the simple long-sleeved pearl-white wedding dress down over my stomach.
I’ve filled out just a little over the past few weeks. Not giving me a noticeable bump yet, but my body is definitely beginning to change. No one will notice it but me, as the dress covers my breasts and flares out just below my waist, creating a flattering skirt and a train that will serve as a perfect excuse to dance minimally at my own wedding.
The wedding was put together in less than a month, the majority of the decisions made by my mom and a professional planner with little to no input from me. I prefer it that way. The only thing I insisted on picking myself was the dress. After the last one my mom put me in—a low-cut, sultry one which both Mikhail and my once-friend Adam Page ogled me in—I at least want to ensure I’m comfortable for what I expect to be an excruciating day.
I turn to admire the piece of fabric artwork, custom-made in a shockingly short amount of time. But the designer had seemed more than enthusiastic to make the dress for me after hearing my budget.
It is beautiful. Simple, modest, and sophisticated, with just a touch of lace paneling to fill in the dress’s low-V back. The rest is a soft white accompanied by a short, unadorned veil. The ensemble cost a pretty penny, but seeing as my parents are getting what they want—and Mikhail—both are more than willing to pull out all the stops.
I imagine that’s how we managed to get the world-class wedding planner, along with all the extravagant florists and photographers, and wedding bands that come with her. It helps that the whole ordeal will be taking place in one of Mikhail’s luxury hotels. So we got to pick whatever date he wanted for our wedding. Which is why my mom had to put it together in a month.
And fortunately, the hotel is large enough to accommodate the extensive guest list we’ve accrued. It seems all of New York’s high society will be here. A count of over five hundred confirmed, last I heard. And not a single person I requested we invite.
The only people I wish could be a part of my wedding day, I don’t dare invite.
Because marrying Mikhail shuts the door on any possibility of maintaining my friendship with Silvia and Pyotr. Even if they would be willing to give it a try, Mikhail won’t allow it.
Our engagement came with surprisingly few stipulations, but the ones he set down are written in stone: no one is to know my baby does not belong to him; I’m to stay at his Upstate estate until I’ve had the child so no one will question the child’s legitimacy or its correlation to our wedding; and I’m never to speak with anyone associated to the Veles again.
The first one, I have to accept because saying otherwise will do nothing but hurt and possibly endanger my child. The second, I’m almost thankful about, because I imagine Mikhail will have to spend most of his time in the city, which means I’ll get to be alone with my child and spend as little time with my soon-to-be husband as possible. The third, is going to be painful, but with Pyotr’s parting words to me, I imagine keeping my distance from them will help keep my child safe. And that’s what matters most of all.
“Dani?”
“Hmm?” I ask, shifting my eyes from my yet-to-form baby bump back up to my mom.
Her expression tells me I’ve zoned out again. Something I’ve grown rather adept at since agreeing to this marriage. I suspect it’s my mind’s best attempt to protect my sanity. Because the world around me has grown far too crazy for me to try and make sense of.
“Sorry, what was that?” I ask, my voice hovering on dreamy.
“I said I’m going to check in with your father and make sure he’s where he’s supposed to be. Do you need anything from me?”
