I kiss her cheek in greeting, then straighten. “You look nice.” And she does. Her long, blonde hair is tied back and her makeup, as always, is impeccable. But something is off. Something distant and hazy in her green eyes. Like her thoughts are far away from here. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” She half-smiles.
“Lot of that going around today.” First Alek, now her.
When I turn to greet Leonid, my father quirks an eyebrow. “You’re late.”
“I apologize.”
“Katerina, darling,” Leonid says languidly, “take your fiancé and go get him a drink. He looks stiff tonight.” He and my father both laugh, though I don’t get what’s so funny.
Either way, Katerina nods demurely and rises, offering me her hand. I don’t take it. I follow her slinking form through the doorway and out onto the patio.
“What would you like to drink, Tomas?” she asks me. Her voice is pleasing, but there’s a bite to the end, a nip she puts on the end of my name. And that look in her eyes—there’s something she’s not telling me. Something I don’t know.
“Nothing.” I don’t need a drink. I don’t need to eat roasted duck or rack of lamb or whatever is on tonight’s menu. Getting through this is the best I can hope for. Getting through it and home before Corrie is asleep is probably too much to ask.
I glance inside the window. Leonid and my father have their heads bent together, probably plotting to take over the world. Katerina follows my gaze, sees them too, and chuckles. “They’re like two little girls, so pleased with themselves and their plans for us.” Her eyes flit back to mine. “Does calling this whole song and dance awkward make it more or less so?”
I do a double-take. “What? You aren’t thrilled to be forced into dinner with the man you’re being forced to marry?”
“Hearing you put it into words is so …” She widens her eyes and shrugs. “I don’t know what it is. But I know it isn’t pleasant.” She sighs, overdramatic. “The only saving grace is I know it isn’t any more pleasant for you.”
“Ouch.” I lay my hand over my heart.
“I go for the kill shot.” She makes a pistol out of her thumb and forefinger and shoots.
“Good to know. I’ll keep my distance then,” I mutter.
“What’s our play here?”
I blink. I have no fucking idea what she’s talking about.
She sighs. “Our play. How are we doing this with them? Are we going along or … what?” There’s a hint of panic in the way her voice quivers.
“With dinner or with the … other thing?” I know what I want to say about both, but her eyes are watery, sad. She looks like a bird in a cage, I realize suddenly. A beautiful cage, but a cage nonetheless. I don’t know how I didn’t notice before how terrified she looks all the time. How desperate.
“Either. Both.”
“I’m hungry so I’ll probably go along with dinner. Personal chef and all. Then maybe we can get together and decide what to do about the … other.”
“Okay.” She nods and looks down. There’s something she isn’t telling me.
It takes a minute for her to compose herself so she can go back to pretending we’re just a happy couple making wedding plans.
“Don’t worry. I’m not at all offended that the thought of marrying me reduces you to tears.” I feel compelled to lighten her mood, but her frown only deepens. “Hey, I’m just kidding. No big deal. You can be as unhappy as you want.”
“Thanks.” Sarcasm?
“Don’t mention it.”
Just that fast, the atmosphere turns to shit. She’s sullen. My father and hers are watching the whole thing, and I don’t have any choice if we want to keep up the charade. I pull her close, stare down, and when she doesn’t lift her head, I curl my finger under her chin and nudge her until she’s looking up at me.
“Smile,” I instruct her. “They’re watching us.”
Thank God, just then, Lucy, my father’s housekeeper, announces dinner and we adjourn to the dining room.
Apparently, judging by the number of forks beside my plate, we’re locked into at least four courses. No matter what I do, there’s no way to speed it along.
Katerina is across from me next to her father, not smiling, not doing much more than pushing the food around on her plate. I’m still racking my brain for what all this means and what I can even do about it. Katerina doesn’t want this shit anymore than I do. So what? Does that change anything? It’s a surprise, of course—she’s always struck me as a demure daddy’s girl, the kind of puppet daughter every Russian don dreams of—but I don’t know that her father gives a shit what she wants, what she cares about.
My father speaks up, interrupting my thoughts. “Leonid and I have changed the date for your wedding.” I glance at Katerina just in time to see her grimace before she wipes it away.
I turn to my father. “When?”
“Two weeks.”
Fuck. Now Katerina looks up, panic—could be terror—making her eyes darker, and a new batch of tears appears. I should say something, let them know I can’t do it.
But I don’t. Because why? Because I’m a fucking coward? Because my father is the don and I’m the derzhatel obschaka and I’m supposed to obey my don?
Katerina shoves her chair back with a murmured excuse and slips from the room. My father shoots a glare at Leonid. Shit.
“I’ll just go check on her,” I say. Maybe I’ll sneak out the back door while I’m at it.
I toss my napkin onto the table beside my plate and walk into the hallway. She’s leaning against the wall with her hands covering her face. For a second, I think she’s crying, but when she looks at me, laughing, I chuckle first then laugh with her.
“Holy fuck. Two weeks.” She laughs louder and covers her mouth. “Two weeks and then a lifetime of cheating on each other and pretending we don’t when we’re in public.”
I frown, start to object, but she cuts me off.
“Don’t pretend like it isn’t your plan. Like you don’t have some bottle blonde living in your place right now.” She shrugs. “It’s okay. I’m not exactly spending my nights alone. A girl’s got needs. Dreams.” She looks me up and down. “And you’re busy with the American.”
“And who are you busy with?” It doesn’t matter, not really, but I find myself asking anyways.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
As I cast around for the right thing to say, my phone vibrates and I pull it out to look at the screen. I immediately swipe to answer.
“What’s up, Alek?”
“There’s a problem.” He details the issue, and I sigh as if I’m not dying to run out, ready to give him my share of this week’s cut of money for getting me the fuck out of here.
“I’ll meet you in ten.” I hang up and shake the phone at Katerina. “I have to leave.”
“Of course you do.” She makes a clicking sound with her tongue, a tsk, tsk. “You know, when we’re married, you’re not getting by with this kind of thing.” Then she throws her head back and laughs.