She is in a black dress that I hand-selected for her. The wedding was about love, but the ceremony tonight is about loyalty. It is about the men seeing Molly as their leader, not as an innocent, pure bride. They need to respect her authority.
The top is rigid and structured in a bustier style with a tight skirt that hugs her body close through mid-thigh. Then, over top, is a layer of lace that drapes to her knees. It is sexy and powerful—a dress befitting a Bratva queen. A dress befitting my wife.
“I can’t do this,” she says, waving her arms over the dress and her hair. “This. All of it. I just … this isn’t who I am. I don’t wear fancy things or have my hair done like this. I feel—”
“Different?” I ask, standing up and walking over to her.
Molly pulls her hands away when I reach for them, but I grab them anyway and lay them against my chest, pinning them there with my own hands. “You are different now. You should feel different.”
“Not really,” she whispers, glancing nervously towards where the hairdresser is pretending not to listen to us.
I know what she means. She isn’t really different. We aren’t really married.
I shake my head. “No, really. You are.”
“But I’m not.” Molly raises her voice and pulls away from me, tucking her hands behind her back. “I’ve been dirt poor my entire life, and now, overnight, I’m some rich Bratva wife who has a hair stylist. This. Isn’t. Me. I feel ridiculous.”
I don’t know how to fix this right now. Not when we need to be at the ceremony in twenty minutes.
“If it is about your hair, I’m paying this woman twice her normal fee. She can change it.”
The hairdresser turns around, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and nods. “I can. I’ll do whatever you like.”
“It isn’t the hair,” Molly says more gently, addressing the stylist. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine. Let’s just finish up and get this over with.”
Molly turns away from me and goes to sit at the chair in front of the vanity again. I can see tension in the hunch of her shoulders, but I can’t do anything about it now. Based on what I overheard before walking in, my presence is only making things worse.
So, I turn and leave, pulling the door shut firmly behind me.
I’m not sure what happened between last night and now. I’m not sure how Molly went from clutching me and surrendering to me to this, and even worse, I can’t fix it.
As her husband, I should know how to calm her. I should know what to say. Yet, I don’t.
I run a frustrated hand through my hair before I remember it has been gelled into a respectable style. I try to flatten it back down as best I can and then go back downstairs to sit with Theo until Molly is ready. Once we get through the ceremony, we can talk about everything. I can comfort her.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Molly claims she isn’t ready to be a Bratva wife, to be the queen, but she could have fooled me.
The ceremony is a success.
She smiles and looks at ease, even as her finger is pricked and her blood is spilled over the Bratva symbol. When she is asked to repeat her oath of loyalty, she stumbles over a few of the words, but she remains confident and strong. I can tell my men respect her when they make their own oaths. I can feel it in the tone of their collective voice. They will protect her.
When we walk back to the car afterwards, I open Molly’s door for her and then walk around the front, hoping the strangeness from before has passed. Hoping I can chalk it up to pre-ceremony nerves.
Those hopes are dashed the second I close the car door.
“How much did I fuck up?” Molly asks, dropping her head in her hands.
I’m so surprised by the sudden change in her that I don’t say anything for a second.
Molly tips her head back against the seat, her eyes closed. “Everyone knew something was wrong. I used the wrong silverware and misspoke during the ceremony. And God, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I might as well have hung a sign around my neck: FAKER.”
“No one noticed anything. I thought you did great.”
She looks up at me, her face twisted in disbelief. “Don’t lie to me. You more than anyone know how important it is that we each play our parts, and I’m fucking it up.”
“No, you aren’t,” I say, this time more forcefully. “My men loved you. If they don’t now, they will. You did great. You’re safe now. We are safe.”
She takes a deep shuddering breath, and I can see her lips trembling. Her hands shake in her lap. “You don’t know what it is like to be me, Viktor. You have always been wealthy. You’ve been a part of this world forever, and you are always, always, in control. Of yourself. Of those around you. You don’t know what it feels like to be tossed around by life.”
I want to let Molly thinks whatever she wants. I want to throw the car into drive and speed away from this night, from this conversation. Soon enough, Molly will find her footing. Everything will work out, I’m sure.
Still, for some reason, I stay put. For some reason, I tuck the car key in my pocket and sit back in my seat, settling in to tell a story I never planned to tell.
“Did I ever tell you how my parents died?”
Molly goes still the way all people do when I bring up the subject of my parents. No one wants to touch it. It’s uncomfortable and messy and, more importantly, I don’t like to tell it. The story makes me look weak. It isn’t something I broadcast.
She shakes her head, and I take a deep breath.
“It was a fire while we were sleeping. The only reason I woke up is because Fedor came into my room to tell me. I’m still not sure why he didn’t go to our parents’ room. Maybe the way was blocked with smoke or … I’m not sure. I never asked, and I guess I’ll never know now.” I shake my head and try to get back on track. “He woke me up, and I knew I had to save him. The house was already starting to come down and there was smoke everywhere. The only thing I could do was get him out through the window. I didn’t have any other choice.”
Molly reaches out and lays her hand over mine the way I tried to do with her. Except, for me, it works. Her touch is gentle and it soothes me in ways I didn’t know I needed. I continue.
“We stood in the yard while our neighbors called for help. Fedor fought against me, desperate to get inside and save our parents, but I couldn’t let him go back in. It was too dangerous. He asked me to go in. He begged me to save them, but I couldn’t. I just stood there in the grass, watching our house and our parents burn up.”
“You were young,” she says. “What else were you supposed to do?”
All of the possibilities flash through my mind. I’ve had many years to imagine the many different ways I could have rescued my parents and pulled them from the flames. I’ve also had years to imagine how my actions could have changed things for Fedor. Would he have gone through the same struggles he did if our parents had been around? I’m not sure, and it doesn’t do any good to ask. Things are the way they are.
I pat her hand and then remove it from mine, turning the car on and shifting it into park. “I know you are overwhelmed right now, but don’t be fooled into thinking my life has always been easy. I may look like I’m always in control, but that is the point—that’s how I look. Like you, like everyone, I’m doing the best I can with what I have. From here on out, I expect you to try and do the same.”