AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“No, no, I’m fine. Thanks.”
Mom nods, her expression tinged with worry. Then she dons a cheery smile and heads toward the door.
As she vanishes into the hall, the room falls silent, and I sigh, closing my eyes to soak up my last precious moments of freedom. Everything in me screams not to do what I’m doing. Efrem never would have wanted this for me. And I know Pyotr doesn’t. He told me to stay far away from both the Veles and Mikhail.
But I’m doing this for my baby, I remind myself. And that’s all it takes to strengthen my resolve. It doesn’t matter what I want. My hopes and dreams died with Efrem. Now, I’m alive solely for the benefit of our child.
All too soon, a knock sounds on the door, then Mom peeks her head in with a tentative smile. “Ready?” she asks, brimming with excitement.
“As I’ll ever be,” I agree, each word as heavy as lead.
Mom swings the door wide for me, and the photographers leap into action, capturing every step of my walk into the ceremony.
The hotel is quite a beautiful choice of venue, the rich carpets and decadent mirrors lining the walls giving it a palatial feel. And with the ornate bouquets filled with fragrant baby pink, white, and pastel-blue flowers, it looks as extravagant as ever.
The traditional introduction to the bridal march issues faintly from around the corner, where the pianist sits inside the event room. And just before the closed double doors stands my father.
He looks good in a sharp black suit, white shirt, and bowtie. Still, his face looks drawn and tired, though he’s made it through the most stressful part of a politician’s life—election night. Dad smiles down at me, offering me his elbow, and I take the arm of New York’s newest governor.
To most girls, I imagine this is one of those special moments in their lives, a rite of passage, a cherished memory to have their father walk them down the aisle. I can’t help but feel some connection to the women from days gone by who were sold off to men they’d never met because their fathers told them to.
This won’t be a cherished memory I have of my father.
I won’t look back on this day and think of it fondly.
This is the day I sell myself into slavery, and all I can do is pray that I’m making the right decision.
I’m doing this for my child.
Mom takes up her station behind me, bending to spread the train of my wedding dress out behind me. We forewent the wedding party, the best man and maid of honor, the ring bearer and flower girl.
I have no one to fill those spaces, and Mikhail is too old to be expected to follow that tradition. Instead, as the double doors swing open, no one stands between me and the man I’m supposed to marry. Just a long, petal-strewn aisle with a sea of people standing on either side.
Gasps of joy and awe ripple through the crowd as I take my slow, steady death march to the elegant sound of Wagner. Dad’s arm holds me steady. In my other hand, I white-knuckle a cascading bouquet of clematis, amaranthus, sweet peas, jasmine, and bougainvillea, all in various shades of white and faint pastels.
Countless socialites and celebrities are in attendance—even Adam Page, my childhood friend from the political arena who so efficiently fell from my esteem after our past few interactions.
The scene before me starts to blur as I sink into a state similar to shock, one in which I’m somewhere between semiconscious and having an out-of-body experience. It’s a blessed relief, and I barely notice when we finally reach the end of the aisle, my father passing me off to my future husband.
I think my mom stops to congratulate Mikhail and press a kiss on my cheek. Then she and my father sit, leaving me alone at the altar with Mikhail and a robed officiant.
The ceremony is short and simple, seeming to be perfectly scripted and thankfully requiring the bare minimum participation. Rather than listen to the words of our chosen officiant, I study Mikhail’s face, allowing myself to search for anything likable or redeemable about the man I’m supposed to spend my life with.
He does have decent facial hair, dark and full and perfectly trimmed to give his jaw a strong shape. I wonder if the actual bone structure beneath is anything like it. Efrem had such a distinguished jawline, one that made him look both powerful and masculine without even trying.
I swallow hard as my heart twists at the automatic comparison my mind jumps to. Even when I’m doing my best to look for things I like about my betrothed, comparing him to Efrem leaves me finding fault.
I refocus my attention on his lips and lick mine as I hope they won’t be as paper dry as they appear. Then they curve up into an oily smile that makes me wonder if he’s watching me assess them.
Oh god, does he think I’m wondering what it’s like to kiss him? I suppose, in a way, I am. Only I find myself dreading the moment I’ll have to kiss him, and I fight the urge to gag as my stomach heaves. My morning sickness has begun to calm down a little over the past week.
But today, it seems to be back in full force. I imagine my anxiety isn’t helping things.
I close my eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath through my nose and out through my mouth as I do my best to hold down my nausea.
Then Mikhail’s commanding fingers give mine a squeeze, and my eyes snap open. Everyone is staring at me.
“Dani?” Mikhail prompts.
