“You look beautiful, baby,” Kane says, and then kisses the crook of my neck. “But I think you need a little something extra.” I turn in his arms, and stand on my tiptoes to give him a peck on the lips. He grins at me as he reaches in his back pocket.

My heart sputters in my chest. Could it possibly be a ring? No. I shove down that hope even though it’s clawing its way up my chest. These last two weeks have been a dream come true. We have a cute little apartment I’m making into a home. I just got accepted into the university. All the little things on my wishlist are getting checked off.

And it’s all because of Kane. He’s my everything, and I feel like he loves me. I feel like we’re meant to be together. The doubt I had seems to dim each day. Most of the time I think we’re perfectly happy, perfectly fit for one another. I almost feel whole with him.

But a ring?

He’d be committing his life to me. To a liar. The dark voice that’s gone quiet for so long speaks up, and depression shatters the fantasy in my head.

“These.” He opens the box to reveal a pair of drop dangle sapphire earrings. “I think they’d really bring out your eyes.” My heart slows, and my world seems to stop. They’re beautiful. He gently pries one from the box and I quickly hold out my hand, waiting with bated breath.

I put them on one at a time and then face myself in the mirror. The silver boatneck dress I’m wearing clings to my curves. It sparkles in the mirror. My skin looks radiant. I’ve certainly gained weight. My hand rests on my lower tummy. Maybe a little too much weight. I clear my throat as Kane’s eyes catch mine in the mirror.

Déjà vu hits me. I remember what I looked like that day. My eyes drift to my neck, where the collar used to be. Where Kane’s collar was that day. I look to the small jewelry box on top of the dresser. He thinks I threw it away, but I didn’t. I don’t want to. It reminds me of that day and who I really am. I feel the blood drain from my face as the day plays fast-forward before my eyes.

“Do you like them?”

“I love them.” I force out a peppy voice and try to show him my sincerest gratitude.

I feel like a fraud. I don’t know what I’ve been doing all these days playing house with Kane. That’s what it feels like now that I’m reminded who I am. It’s fake. It’s all pretend.

I close my eyes and try to will away the feelings, but instead I see a flash of his face. My eyes open quickly and I instantly catch Kane’s questioning expression in the mirror.

“Are you alright, baby?”

“Yeah.” I force a casual smile onto my face and then look back in the mirror. My fingers touch the sapphires and I watch as they sparkle in the mirror. They’re beautiful.

But I don’t deserve them.

* * *

White tablecloths cover every table. Some have pale pink overlays, while others have a soft lavender. There are at least 20 tables in the hall, although most are empty now. Most guests are on the dance floor, leaving the tables empty. My ass has remained firmly in this chair ever since Kane sat me down. I don’t know anyone here. He at least knows a handful of the men.

It’s Vince’s uncle’s godson’s wedding. So, no one I fucking know. The only people I do recognize are the few from a time in my life I’m doing my best to forget. I loved how Kane put his arm around me during dinner. He made me feel more welcomed, and more comfortable. But I still couldn’t manage to contribute to the conversation.

Becca and Dom have a newborn, a son. I love babies, but I couldn’t speak up. Elle is pregnant now and she looks so beautiful, but I didn’t even compliment her.

This wedding is just like every other wedding. Only every wedding I’ve ever gone to in the past was for family.

I remember the last wedding I went to with my family. I went with my mother, father, and sister. We were the first table. Naturally. My father always got the first and best of everything. Alec Ivanov, the Pakhan of the Russian mafia, the Bratva. My father was an immigrant in the States when he met my mother. He was there on family business, but elected to stay behind when she got pregnant with me.

When I was eight, my grandfather died. We were only supposed to go there for the funeral, but that’s when things changed. My father went on the warpath. He was out for blood. And he got it. He quickly became known as a threat, but instead of fighting him, they made him the Pakhan, the boss.

It didn’t take long for things to spiral out of control. I don’t know whether my mother and sister didn’t see, didn’t care, or just didn’t want to admit it was true. The men my father associated with in his line of business were strange, and touched my sister and I more than they should have. I know my parents saw, but they didn’t do anything to stop it. It’s like my father paraded us around, saying we were untouchables, but he never did anything to actually enforce that. I never felt safe with any of the men he'd bring around, but he’d leave us alone with them and practically dare them to disobey him.

He taunted them.

He started coming home late and drugged up or drunk most nights. One night I watched as he beat my mother until her head hit the wall so hard she went unconscious. I watched as he kicked her, thinking she was faking it. Once, then again. He looked genuinely sorry he’d hurt her when he realized she wasn’t faking. He got down on his knees and held her. And then he passed out.

I’d never wanted to hurt someone so much in my life. He was there, helpless. But I didn’t. Not then.

I never saw him try to hit her again, but I was ready. He did leave me alone with his men again, well he tried, anyway. I was only 16. And Marie, only 14. But I knew better, and I wasn’t going to stand for it again.

“You’re a sick fuck!” I yelled at him as he turned his back on me. Our own father. Marie grabbed my wrist to pull me back, but I wasn’t going to let him do this to us. Leaving us with men who could hurt me, men who wanted to hurt me. Tears streamed down my cheeks, but they were from anger. I remember the faces of the men in the room.

“Excuse me?” he sneered, stomping toward me. “What the fuck did you just say to me?” His face was so red, and his eyes the darkest they’d ever been. His fists were clenched at his sides.

But I stood my ground.

“You know what you’re doing.” I looked to my right at the three men watching me with nervous glances. “How could you do this to us?”

His eyebrows raised, and a sick smile formed on his face. It was then that I realized I no longer truly knew him. He was a monster.

“Maybe I should just leave you here.” He nodded to the men in the room. “I’m sure they could teach you what this mouth is for.” He gripped my face and shook my head. My eyes burned, and my heart hurt.

When he let me go, the force made me stumble back. “You wouldn’t,” I said, looking up at him with daggers in my eyes. “It wouldn’t be as much fun to you.” I sneered at the ground, not bothering to look my father, the bastard he was, in the eyes. I grabbed my sister’s hand and dragged her out of the room with me. It was silent. I’d never been so scared in my life as we hid in my room. Waiting for him to come home.

I was too ashamed to tell my mother.

When he finally walked through the doors and my mother called us to dinner, it was as though nothing had happened.

As though we were the same family, not one of us broken.

I couldn’t swallow a single bite; I kept waiting. But nothing ever happened, and he never brought either of us around his businesses again.

That was my family.

And now they’re all dead.

I take a sip of water and try to calm myself. I need to stop with all these negative memories. I’m doing a miserable job of fitting in. The men took off a bit ago to let the women chat. I’m finding it hard to click with them, though. They seem like wonderful people; women I’d love to be friends with. But I’m holding myself back.

At least Kane doesn’t seem to notice. And everyone seems to think I’m just shy.

“Oh, she’s so shy,” they all say. And, “You’re so sweet.” I’ve heard it over and over today. I’m not sure why. I feel awkward and like I’m failing Kane. He just keeps kissing my cheek and running his hand up and down my back.

But now he’s gone.

Elle and Becca have been talking about kids and I know they don’t mean to, but I feel a little excluded. Even though every time they ask me a question, I give them a one-word answer. Maybe it’s better this way.

My heart sinks a little. I don’t want it to be this way. I take a deep breath and notice a pause in their conversation, so I cut in.

“Where did you two meet your husbands?” I keep my tone peppy and give them a bright smile. I lean forward to show them they have my full attention.

Becca answers first. “Work.” She looks to her right as if she’s searching Dom out in the crowd, and adjusts the napkin on her lap. But after a second she turns back to me with a small smile. “Sort of through my ex-husband.”

“Oh! I didn’t know you were divorced.”

“He passed away.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I respond quickly, and with a lowered voice. Dead. Death follows me everywhere.

“Where did you two meet?” Elle asks.

I blink once, then twice at them. “I was sort of lost...” I start to say, and Becca raises her eyebrows, almost comically. “In the States, I mean. I’m from here originally, but we moved to Russia when I was young. I bumped into Kane and he helped me find my footing here.” I make up a bullshit answer.

“Oh! So that’s where that hint of an accent comes from!” Elle says.

“Accent?” Becca looks at Elle like she just said something truly perverted.

“I think I may have a tiny accent on some words. But I was older when we moved,” I answer.

Elle starts to ask the obvious question. And I can practically see the wheels turning in her head as her mouth slams shut. I wonder how much she knows. How quickly she’ll be able to put two and two together.

“I have to say, you two are an adorable couple. I’m so happy we finally got a chance to meet you,” Becca says, and Elle nods in agreement.

I feel a slight smile pull at my lips and say thank you, but my chest hurts.

How did they meet? At a bar and through work. Like normal people.

“I have to pee. Again,” Elle says, holding her swollen belly and it’s funny, but I don’t laugh.

“Do you have to go, too?” Becca asks.

I do. But I’d rather not right now.

“No, you two go ahead. I’ll wait right here for you.” I smile back at them.

“Are you sure?” Becca asks.

“Of course, I’ll keep an eye out for the dessert tray for us.” I force out a happy tone. But I’m feeling more insecure than ever.

“You’re so sweet,” Elle answers, and turns to her right as someone calls out her name. She leans closer to me with a smile and says, “We’ll be right back to talk more.” She squeals at the end and it forces a smile from me.

But it’s forced nonetheless.

Everyone keeps calling me a sweet girl. Kane thinks I’m a good girl, but I’m not. None of them know me. Not the real me.

I’m not like these women. They’re strong, and obviously in love with their men. But they’re also normal. They aren’t ruined and broken beyond repair. My eyes fall, and I reach for the tall glass of champagne in front of me and put it to my lips. I taste the smallest bit on my tongue, but nausea keeps me from taking more into my mouth.

And they may already know who I am. What I’ve been through. They could be talking about it in hushed whispers in the bathroom right now.

Everyone at the wedding may know. They’ve been sweet to my face, but behind my back, what are they saying?

I’m sick of who I am. I’m sick of hiding it. I’ll never be okay. I’ll never heal. My eyes search the room and I find Kane by the bar. Talking and laughing. It’s genuine, not forced like me.

He deserves so much more.

Shame and guilt consume me.

He’s done so much for me; how can I treat him like this? All I do is lie to him and pretend to be someone I’m not. I can’t keep doing this. I set the glass down and lift the white linen napkin off my lap. As I place it on the table, I see the knife.

I casually slip the knife into my clutch and stand up.

No one will notice me leaving.

My heart clenches at the thought of Kane finding out. But it’ll be better this way. He deserves so much more than me. I’m so fucking selfish. I’ll keep lying to keep him. It’s wrong. I’m ruined and broken.

I’m not his good girl.