Chapter Twelve
Day six…
I spend the rest of the day in a quiet funk. Sergei’s in his office, dealing with the aftermath of the attack at the Brick Market. He leaves a bodyguard with me the entire time he’s gone, however. I think he’s afraid I might hurt myself.
Our dinner together is quiet; we barely speak to each other. He tells me that he’s found out the name of the person who called Cataha – someone at the market overheard one of the merchants phoning him. He doesn’t tell me what he did to the man; he doesn’t have to.
I fall asleep in Sergei’s bed, wrapped in his arms. He just holds me, stroking me gently, and doesn’t say a word.
But when we wake up, everything is back to what passes for normal around here.
After breakfast, Sergei leads me into the drawing room and gestures at several three-ring binders splayed out on the coffee table. Pictures of wedding decorations in one book, wedding dresses in another, and flowers in the third.
“There’s a change of plans. We’ll be getting married in Sweden,” he tells me. “I want Lukas to be able to attend, and your family, and this will be safer. Look through these books and give me some answers.”
I refuse to sit down, and I don’t even spare the books a glance. I wrap my arms around my waist. “Can you please just slow down?” There’s a snap of impatience to my voice. “Just give me a few months, at least?”
It’s like arguing with a slab of concrete. His expression doesn’t even change. “No, I won’t. Why should we wait?”
Frustration bubbles up inside me. “Because I need time.”
“What would be the point?” His eyes frost over. I’m staring at Winter Sergei again, the one carved of ice, the one I can’t touch without burning my hands. “The end result would still be the same. You will marry me. You know that. I know that.”
I stiffen with anger. I’m not one of his foot soldiers, to be barked at like a cringing dog. “No, actually, I don’t. It’s not a marriage unless I say yes. Not a real marriage. And I haven’t said yes.”
“This again?” His voice has a dangerous edge to it now.
“Again. Still. Forever.”
I turn away from him. If I’m ever to forgive him, if I’m ever to agree to marry him, it can’t be under duress. If he doesn’t let me make up my own mind, I will spend the rest of my life waiting for the time when I can bolt, and sooner or later, even if it takes years, that time will come.
Sergei’s right about one thing.
When it comes to getting what you want, timing is everything.
I look up at him, shivering a little at the chill I feel radiating off him now. “Who is Lukas, and why are you caring for him? What is the secret you’re not telling me?”
At that, he just shakes his head.
Right.
So that’s how much he wants me to trust him.
One step forward, two steps back. I turn my back to him, but he puts his hands on my shoulders and spins me around to face him.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
I look at him.
“I’m thinking that you need to take me back to America so I can decide, on my own, if I can ever forgive you or trust you.”
At that, he shakes his head decisively. “No.”
“No? Don’t you want me to come to you on my own?”
“But you might not. So I’m keeping you.”
“Well, if I didn’t come back to you, wouldn’t that mean we weren’t meant to be?” My words are mean and spiteful, and I fling them at him anyway. I never used to be such a bitch. Not before I met Sergei.
“Don’t say that to me!” His voice is a lion’s roar, swelling up from deep within. I’ve hit him in a tender spot. His hands involuntarily bunch into fists. His eyes blaze with such rage that fear flares up inside me, and I flinch.
He points at the binders, and his words crack like thunder, ready to strike me down with their deadly force. “There are bookmarks on the table. Use them. Make three selections from each book. Now.”
And he storms from the room.
I flip through the books, and I put paper markers between random pages in each one. It takes me two minutes.
I’m so angry with him that I ask him to let me sleep in another room that night, and he agrees with a mere nod.
I’m locked in the room at night. The door is opened for me in the morning.
We barely speak for the next few days. We eat meals together, but I parry away all his attempts at conversation, and he doesn’t force it.
The closer to we get to the day he’s scheduled for our wedding, the angrier I get. Exactly how stubborn is he? Would he really march me down the aisle by force on our wedding day? Doesn’t he understand that would ruin any chance we have at happiness?
During the day, I read, I watch television, I sketch on an artist’s pad that he has sent to my room. He spends most of his time in the office.
My mood has changed, and he knows it. I have to give him that. He doesn’t force himself on me. He can sense when my “no” really does mean no.
When I see him, he’s locked away in his own mind. He speaks in a formal, polite tone. He gives nothing away. I can’t tell if he’s angry, or sad. He moves through the day with brisk efficiency, acting as if our upcoming wedding is a business meeting that he’s arranged and that I will definitely be attending.
* * *
Day ten…
I’m sitting in my room sketching a still life of a bowl of fruit when Sergei knocks on my door. The door is ajar, and I can see that it’s him, but he still knocks.
I remember that terrible time when he first took me, when he and his servants burst into my room whenever they felt like it. When I dreaded every visit because I was being used as a weapon to hurt my uncle, which meant that I had to be hurt.
“Come in,” I say, keeping my voice neutral.
He just stands there. “Darya is in the hospital. Here, in Pevlovagrad.”
I scramble to my feet, panic clutching at me. “What happened?” I cry out.
His expression is grim as he leans in the doorway. “She came here to talk to Grigor, and she was hit by a car. Fortunately, it wasn’t going too fast. Her injuries are minor.”
I hurry towards him, and he steps aside. We head down the hallway together. “Was it an accident?”
“No. The men who hit her with their car got out and tried to drag her in, and the only reason she escaped is because she was carrying pepper spray, which slowed them down for a minute, and there happened to be a police car driving by. I think the only reason they didn’t hit her harder was because they wanted her relatively uninjured.”
“I need to see her! Get me my winter clothes, Sergei. Please.”
He stops and puts his hand on my shoulder, and his voice is gentler and more patient than it has been in days. “I can’t let you. It is too dangerous. This isn’t me being a controlling asshole, although I am that. If you go there, even if I go with you and take a whole squadron of men, we’re still at risk. And you’re not just putting yourself in danger. You’re putting her in danger, and every innocent bystander around us too. Cataha’s looking for us, and he won’t stop, and if he tracks us down there, innocent people will get caught in the crossfire.”
Tears of frustration well up. “Damn it. She doesn’t have any family. She needs a friend by her side. But I know I can’t go. You’re right. This just sucks.”
He nods, sympathy glinting in his eyes. “I have four of my men at the hospital, guarding her. You can talk to her by Skype. Come with me – I’ve got a laptop for you to use in the media room.”
“Are you making any progress in catching him?” I ask, hurrying after him.
He glances back at me. “No. As cautious as he is being, it could take months. But it won’t take forever. I’m doing the same thing he’s doing. I’ve got a network of spies out there, I’m offering enormous amounts of money to anyone who gives up his whereabouts, and sooner or later he’ll screw up.”
I have to be content with that, for now.
In the media room, Sergei’s security chief Andrei is standing by the desk, holding a laptop. He hands it to me, and I quickly settle down on a leather chair. Andrei and Sergei leave the room, a rare sign of trust from Sergei that thaws my anger at him a little bit.
Darya’s waiting for me, with a rueful look. I’m relieved to see that she looks just fine; her face isn’t bruised up at all. She tells me that the car hit her at waist level and knocked her over, and she has some bruising, but she’ll be going home from the hospital that evening.
“Could Grigor have tipped the men off?” I ask her. “I hate to even think it, but…”
“No, you’re right to be suspicious of everyone. I mean, I am too these days. It’s a survival mechanism.” Her blue eyes are an ocean of sadness and disillusionment. “But it couldn’t be him, because I didn’t tell him I was coming. I didn’t tell anyone, I just took the bus. I was going to surprise him.” She shakes her head. “I can’t ever be with him. It would be too dangerous for him. It’s just not meant to be.”
“Bullshit.”
She looks at me in shock. I don’t swear often, unless I’m cursing out Sergei.
“Don’t say that,” I say heatedly. “Don’t act as if you have no power over your own fate, because it’s a terrible feeling and it’s a vicious cycle. And you know what? It’s lazy. It’s an excuse. You think you’re powerless, so you don’t even try to change things. I did that for a long time when I was growing up, and I regret it. Obviously you care about him. I agree, given that he’s right down the street from Club Hollywood, that it would be too dangerous to see him again in Pevlovagrad, but he could see you in St. Petersburg.”
“You don’t think some people are just born unlucky?” Her laugh is laced with bitterness. “Come on, Willow. My father died of a heart attack, my mother died of cancer. My older brother drank himself to death. I’ve been on my own since I was fourteen. And traffickers tried to kidnap me twice, and tried to run me over today.”
No, I’m not letting her throw herself a pity party, because I know all too well how toxic it is to stew in your own misery. “You escaped traffickers twice, which few women do, and survived being hit by a car. You have me for a friend. Sergei put you in a great apartment in a beautiful city, and got you a fantastic job that you enjoy and that helps people. You’re young, you’re physically healthy, and you can make your own life into anything you want it to be. I’d call all of that lucky, wouldn’t you?”
She manages a sad smile. “You’re a good friend, Willow. I hope someday we can live in the same city. After Cataha’s dead.” She says that last bit with pure venom in her voice.
“Promise me you’ll call Grigor and explain everything.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Aren’t you a naggy-pants?”
“I’m the naggy-pants who isn’t hanging up until you promise.”
Her gaze drops. “What if I tell him and he wants nothing to do with me?”
“Then he’s done you a favor by letting you know, and you’re free to date someone else someday.”
I hear raised voices in the hallway, and I could swear one of them is Slavik. He’s back! And he’s fighting with Sergei about something. Big surprise. Do these men ever have a peaceful moment?
“Darya, I’m going to let you go. If you promise to call Grigor! Do it!”
“I promise,” she says, and I sign off.
I hurry to the doorway, and stop. The only way to find out what Sergei’s really up to is to eavesdrop, because he still shuts me out of entire areas of his life.
“Sergei, you want my advice?” It is Slavik.
“Romance advice, from you?” Sergei barks out a harsh laugh. “The man who has, in his entire life, only ever had sex with prostitutes?”
“Hey, they have a lot of practice.” Slavik’s protest is good-natured. “So it’s good sex.”
“Thanks. I don’t need your help.”
“That’s not what the servants are telling me. Yes, your butler has a big mouth. He says she’s not even talking to you. You want her to trust you? Tell her the truth.”
I suck in a gasp of outrage.
Sergei is still lying to me?
Sergei’s voice is so sharp it could slice through diamonds. “I have told her the truth!”
“But you haven’t told her everything.”
“She knows I haven’t told her everything.”
“The thing that you’re keeping from her…the truth about her parents…it’s the thing that could set her free.”
The truth about my parents? What could possibly be worse than knowing that my father was in his thirties when he married my fifteen-year-old mother, that he pimped out little children?
I storm into the room. I know that Sergei will be angry at me for eavesdropping, and I am beyond caring.
I can feel blood rushing to my face; I’m flushed with rage. My heart is hammering against my rib cage, and adrenaline burns through my veins. “What the hell are you supposed to tell me?” I shout.
“And there’s your chance,” Slavik tells Sergei. Slavik is still recovering from his beating. His head’s been shaved, and I can see a healing line of stitches. His face is splattered with green and yellow bruises. He’s leaning on a cane.
Sergei swings on Slavik. “What the fuck? You knew she was there!”
He doesn’t even try to deny it. “Yes, I did. I saw her shadow.”
Sergei’s face flushes red, and he raises his fist. I fly forward, crying out, putting myself between him and Sergei. He accidentally strikes me on the side of the head, and I cry out and fall to my knees, pain pulsing in my right temple.
Instantly, he’s on his knees by my side. “Oh God. Holy shit. Are you all right? I’m so sorry, Willow!”
My ears are ringing. “You punch like a bitch. I’ll have to teach you how to hit,” I mumble. It’s something he said to me once, and hearing it, he manages a grim laugh.
Slavik is on his walkie-talkie. “I called for the doctor,” he tells Sergei.
“I’ll deal with you later,” Sergei snaps. “Fucking asshole.”
“Looking forward to it,” Slavik says, and he strides off cheerfully, leaning on his cane.
Sergei helps me stand up and walks me to his bedroom.
Apparently, Sergei keeps a doctor on staff, because a white-coated man hurries through the door right after Sergei helps me to sit down on his bed.
After he examines me and makes sure I don’t have a concussion, he surprises me by looking Sergei right in the eye and demanding, “Did you hit her?”
Sergei’s eyes blaze with anger. “What did you just say to me?”
“Did you hit her? I won’t tolerate that. I have daughters. I will not work for a man who hits women.”
I’m overwhelmed with emotion. I’ve wanted so badly for just one damn person in the entire district to show that they have morals and a spine.
Before Sergei can say something horrible, I jump in. “He was trying to punch his friend, and frankly, that’s the kind of thing these meatheads do all the time. Apparently it’s what passes for social interaction with this group. It really was an accident.”
“Well, all right then.” He looks at me sidelong, then leaves.
“That was amazing,” I say to Sergei. “It was worth it having you hit me just to have that happen.”
His expression shows that he doesn’t understand at all. “Have what happen?”
“To see that someone here can’t be bribed or threatened. It’s horrible, Sergei, how everything and everyone has a price. It makes me hate it here. It makes me want to hate humanity. It takes away all my faith. So to finally see someone brave enough to stand up for what’s right here…that means a lot.”
He looks disconcerted. “I don’t want to see you hate people, Willow. That’s not you. You always see the good in everyone.”
“Not so much anymore.” I settle back into the soft, puffy pillows and look up at him. He sits down next to me and reaches out and tries to touch my face, but I furiously swat his hand away.
I’m rigid with tension, and I grind my words out so there is no mistaking my seriousness. “What was Slavik talking about? What do you know about my parents? Tell me. I cannot stand living with secrets and lies anymore, Sergei.” I punch him in the arm, hard. It doesn’t hurt him, of course, but I want his full attention. “Tell me, or you will literally have to kill me to keep me here.”
He looks as if he’s about to argue, but then he catches the expression on my face. I’m not screwing around.
He takes a deep, long breath, and he’s staring at me but seeing something else too. Looking into the past. It seems as if whatever he’s about to say is so bad that he has to steel himself before he can speak.
Finally, he talks, and his gaze is full of pity.
“You’re not a Toporov, Willow. Not really.”