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I wonder if it would have been better to be marrying a stranger. To some, the chance to marry the woman you love is a stroke of luck under the circumstances of an arrangement, but to know how I betrayed her brings with it a sense of unpredictability.
I wonder why she said yes to this marriage, for all these years I believed she hated me. Does she seek revenge? Does she still love me? Whose child did she carry?
My muscles tense, longing to bolt for the door. But I remain rooted in place, trapped by duty. The music swells and the guests take their seats, their eyes upon me. I straighten my spine. I am Mikhail Zolotov, and I do not falter.
***
The double doors swing open, and the murmurs in the room fade to silence. Caterina enters on her father’s arm, her emerald gown shimmering under the lights, the curve of her breasts dazzling under the plunging neckline. I inhale sharply. Even my memories did not do justice to her beauty.
Her inky curls tumble over her bare shoulders, and her full lips curl into a coy smile as all eyes fix upon her. But it’s her eyes that root me in place—those piercing green eyes I have lost myself in so many times before.
As she nears, her gaze locks with mine, and her smile falters. She hesitates mid-step, panic flitting across her flawless features. It’s almost as though she did not expect to see me here. However could that be?
Her father prods her onward, oblivious to her distress.
I should look away, but I cannot tear my eyes from her. The gap between her front teeth tugs at my heart. I used to love that little gap, called her bunny for fun; a little joke between us two. My Caterina, my bunny. What twist of fate has brought us back together?
Her father leads her to me and claps me on the back. “Mikhail Zolotov,” he booms, “allow me to present my daughter, your blushing bride!”
Caterina lifts her chin, a familiar fire in her eyes. There is the fighter I know, buried beneath the polish and poise. In this moment, the noise and crowds fade away. An old love rises between us, unspoken but undeniable. I take her hand, its warmth thawing my icy reservations.
“Caterina,” I murmur, kissing the back of her hand. She gasps, and tugs it away.
I frown as she regards me coolly, no hint of warmth in her emerald eyes. She stands a stranger before me, looking utterly confused. Her eyes dart between her father and me, as though seeking answers.
Behind her trails a young girl, no more than six years old. Dark ringlets frame her cherubic face, and her green eyes are a mirror of her mother’s. I catch my breath. The child is uncannily similar to old photographs of Caterina as a little girl.
Who could she belong to? My mind reels at the possibilities of her paternal lineage, but no man I know comes to mind. I search Caterina’s face for answers, but it remains an inscrutable mask. She reveals nothing, not even a flicker of recognition.
The girl clutches her mother’s skirt and peeks up at me curiously. I manage a gentle smile, despite the maelstrom building within me. The child offers a dimpled grin in return, and my heart lurches.
What am I doing here, pretending to play husband and father? She’s not my daughter, and the thought of Caterina having made a child with another man stabs at my heart.
Overwhelmed, I meet Caterina’s eyes again. “We have much to discuss, it seems,” I say thickly. She arches one brow, then turns away, aiming to lead the girl into the swirling crowd.
Tony stops her. “Caterina,” he bellows. “For so many days now, you have asked me who you were to marry. Now that you know, don’t run.” He gives her a small, threatening smile, grabbing the child from her grasp. “I will take my granddaughter. You may proceed to get to know your husband better. Mikhail Zolotov, she’s all yours.”
I watch Tony and the child go, my emotions a tangled wreck. Joy, confusion, anger, hope—all war within me. But one truth rises above the rest, solid and clear as a lighthouse beam: Caterina did not know she was to marry me, until now.
Caterina’s steps falter as she turns to face me, her father watching from a distance. A thousand memories surge through me—secret nights under the stars, stolen kisses behind the stables, whispered plans to run away together.
How many times have I pictured this moment, dreaded and longed for it in equal measure? But not once did I imagine it would happen like this, at our own engagement party, when she didn’t know she was to be wed to me.
I step closer, trying to bridge this gap between us. “Caterina,” I say, my voice hoarse. “It’s been a long time.”
“Not long enough.” She keeps her voice icy. “What are you doing here?”
I frown. “I was told of this arrangement. If I’d known you had no clue…” I trail off helplessly.
Caterina laughs, the sound brittle as glass. “What, you’d have refused the merger? Don’t play the noble hero, Mikhail.It doesn’t suit you.” She pauses, wrestling the bitterness back under control.
My heart is stricken with pain at the edge to her words. It’s clear she wants to deliver clean, deep cuts. There’s so much I wish to tell her, yet so little time. I need her to understand the circumstances which have led us here. I must begin offering her some kind of explanation, and hope it brings her some peace. “Caterina, I know you’re upset, but—”
“Tell me,” she cuts me off. “Did you know you were to marry me?”
“Yes,” I answer, honestly. “I thought…”
In the background, I hear the announcer invite us to the floor to dance. But I know our conversation is not done here. Caterina lets out a low, sarcastic smile. “And what? You thought I wanted to marry you?”
