“We need to start planning a wedding right away,” my mother said in a slightly slurred voice, her cheeks rosy as she downed the rest of her wine. Without saying anything else, she held the glass up, waiting for one of the staff to refill it.
My mother and father started talking about the guest list and planning my wedding as if I weren’t even there and had zero choice in the matter. I was opening and closing my mouth, feeling my eyes widen, pure shock just settling into me.
I looked over at Ivan, but he was busy devouring his food in between taking large drinks from his tumbler of alcohol.
My heart was racing, I felt dizzy, and before I knew what I was doing I had my hands flat on the table and pushed myself up. It was such a sudden move the chair scraped against the hardwood floor, sending a screeching noise throughout the room.
The conversation ceased, and I felt all eyes on me.
As I looked between my mother and father, I felt tears prick behind my eyes. I was always one of those people who cried when they were angry, intense emotion making it impossible for me to act like I had any semblance of control.
But this was going too far. My parents had gone too far.
I felt like I couldn’t breathe, like my chest was rising and falling harshly as I tried to suck in oxygen, my head feeling almost detached with dizziness.
“I don’t know what’s going on here,” I said for what felt like the hundredth time.
My father’s brow was lowered in confusion. I knew I was mirroring that same expression. I’d never had an outburst, not something like this, not since Kostya had left without saying a word to me. I’d always followed my father’s rules, but he also gave me my independence, and never pushed me to do anything I didn’t want to do.
And I thought I’d be able to have my own life after he’d agreed to let me stay in the city on my own, albeit with his guards to watch over me. But this… this was too much.
“I’m an adult.” The words sounded sour in my mouth, as if I were throwing a temper tantrum. But surely I was allowed that when I was being pawned off to a man who reeked of opportunity and sadism.
I looked over at Ivan, who watched me with a stoic expression. I’d known men like him my entire life, had seen them come and go through this house as they spoke about killing their enemies and doing heinous things, all to gain more power.
Men like him, ones with so much power in organized crime, were used to getting their way. And a lot of the old-school ones expected the women at their side to be silent and obedient.
“You’re being dramatic,” my mother said. I looked over at her, shaking my head because I wasn’t sure exactly what to say in response to that. “Your father and I were arranged and look at how well that worked out.”
I couldn’t tell if that was sarcasm in her voice. She had had too much to drink as it was, and her words slurred. But it was laughable, and that panicked sound left me in response.
My parents hated each other, but because they were bound to the rules of their world, stayed in a loveless, hate-filled marriage. They had one child, me, and even that wasn’t enough to bring them together.
“I don’t want that kind of marriage. I don’t want what you and Papa have.” I thought I said the words in my head, but when I realized they were out, I felt this heaviness come from my father. I watched as he slowly rose from his chair and felt a strange coldness settle into me.
Instead of cowering in the face of discomfort, I straightened my shoulders and tipped my head up, showing him the strength he instilled in me all these years.
“For one, I’m not ready to marry.” I met his gaze head-on. There was a little bit of shock in his expression, probably because I never acted like this. Then again, I never had a reason to lash out.
“Overly dramatic,” my mother said again. “You don’t have to love your husband. You just have to pop out an heir or two, be obedient, and you’ll be fine—”
“Ksenia—” my father snapped, his lips pursed, his brows pulled low. “Enough.”
My heart was racing as I felt it pound against my ribs. “How could you do something like this and not talk to me about it?”
That hurt was starting to rise, a betrayal that I felt. My father at least showed a little bit of shame, maybe even remorse as he glanced away briefly before curling his hands into fists at his sides.