32
CORA
“Married?” My hand shifts up to squeeze the locket resting against my collarbone.
The phone Ivan gave me is wedged under my mattress. There’s no way I can get to it and text Ivan in time.
Even if I did text him, I know what would happen.
He’d rush into the house to save me unprepared. He’d try to fight, but Alexander and the Sokolovs would be ready for that. He would die. And it would all be my fault.
So I can’t text Ivan.
But I also can’t leave with Mikhail.
Once we’re married, death will be the only way out: either his or mine. Divorce won’t be an option.
“You knew this was coming. Don’t act surprised,” he says.
“It’s the middle of the night. Of course I’m surprised!” I spit. “Plus, tonight at dinner you all said it would be a few weeks. You said—”
“We have new information now.”
It could be my imagination, but Mikhail’s face seems to sharpen. The angles of his face turn ominous. I’ve never enjoyed looking at Mikhail, but I’ve also never found him scary.
Right now, though, he’s terrifying.
He reaches for me, snagging the sleeve of my t-shirt just as I dodge out of the way. “Come on, Cordelia. It’s time to go.”
“No!” I crawl over the bed and make for the door, but Alexander is still there.
“You aren’t getting out of here, Cordelia,” he says. “Not until we let you.”
“Not until we drag you,” Mikhail amends.
I spin around and look to my mother. This is it: her last shot to be maternal. To take care of me. To save me. Please, my eyes beg. Please don’t let them do this.
Her lips purse. I can see her writhing under the uncomfortable pressure. She doesn’t want to be here doing this.
But then she looks away.
My mom doesn’t mind that I am in danger; she minds only that she is uncomfortable. Her entire life has been about taking care of herself. And that won’t change anytime soon.
Mikhail walks around my bed towards me. “Let’s go. It’s time to—”
Just before he can grab me, I turn and lunge for my bookshelf.
How many times have I practiced sliding the letter opener out of its hiding place? Countless. I’ve pulled it out just to make sure it’s still there. To console myself with the thought that I have a backup plan in case everything goes sideways.
Well, things aren’t just sideways—they are upside fucking down.
I crash into the white set of shelves, crying out at the pain in my shoulder. But there isn’t time to stop. To hesitate. Because Mikhail is on me.
His cold hands wrap around my ankle, tugging me back.
But I grip the shelf with enough force that I think my fingernails might crack and kick my legs. I flail and flop until Mikhail can’t hold me.
I crawl forward and swipe my hand under the shelf. For one panicked second, I think it might not be there. Despite how many times I’ve double- and triple-checked, I imagine hitting nothing but dead air.
But then my hand wraps around the now-familiar wooden handle. I rip the letter opener free of the tape, whirl onto my back, and hold the blade in Mikhail’s direction.
He pulls back in shock that quickly turns to rage. “What is that, Cordelia?”
“I’m not going with you,” I grit out. “You can’t force me into this. You can’t drag me out of bed in the middle of the night and have a shotgun wedding.”
“Can’t I?” He smirks. “I’m not sure if you heard me the first time, but I can do whatever the fuck I want.”
I shake my head. “Not me.”
His smile widens. “Especially you.”
I tighten my grip on the letter opener, but it doesn’t matter. Before I can say anything else, an arm swipes out from behind me and knocks my only weapon out of my hands.
I scramble after it, but Alexander kneels on my chest, pinning me down.
“I can’t breathe!” I gasp, clawing at his thigh. “Get off of me!”
He looks down at me, his eyes cold. “Are you going to cooperate?”
A sob wrenches out of my tight chest. “Please, Alexand—I can’t—You’re suffocating me.”
“Are. You. Going. To. Cooperate?” he repeats slowly.
I want to refuse, but my vision is narrowing to pinpricks. Black is creeping in, a growing circle of darkness swallowing my sight.
If I refuse, he’ll kill me. I know it.
“Yes,” I rasp in a desperate attempt to breathe. “Yes, I’ll cooperate. I’ll—Please. I can’t—”
His knee lifts and I inhale greedy lungfuls of air. I flop back on my floor, my head pressing into the plush carpet. Sprawled out and oxygen-starved and defenseless.
“That’s a good girl.” Mikhail grabs my arm and yanks me to my feet.
I wobble as the blood rushes out of my head, but before I can even regain my footing, Mikhail is dragging me towards the door.
For a few stunned seconds, I let him. There’s no use in fighting. Alexander, Mikhail, and my mother are all here and they all want me to get married to Mikhail. No one is going to help me.
Then I hear Ivan’s voice in my head. Captivity is nothing but a state of mind.
The moment I decide I’m caught, it’s over.
I have to fight.
“Wait.” I don’t jerk out of Mikhail’s hold, but I lay a hand on his wrist. I slow him down. “Wait a second.”
“You aren’t getting out of this, so shut up and come—”
“I’m not trying to get out of it,” I lie. “But I… I don’t want to get married like this.”
He rolls his eyes. “If you wanted romance, you shouldn’t have started our wedding day by shoving a knife in my face.”
“I don’t need romance, but we can still make this nice, right?” I brush my thumb along his wrist.
Mikhail looks down at our hands. I expect him to twist away from me. Surely he’ll see right through my games and demand that I shut my mouth, right?
Instead, he glances up at me. “What did you have in mind?”
I release his wrist and throw my arms wide. “Not getting married in my pajamas is a start.”
He looks me up and down. “I don’t care what you’re wearing. All I need is a signature.”
“And consummation,” I blurt. My face flushes deep red, which I’m actually grateful for. It makes me look every bit the literal blushing bride. It sells my lies.
Mikhail frowns.
“After the wedding,” I explain softly, stepping closer to him. “If I have to do this, I want it to be memorable. I want it to be nice. We should try to start our marriage off on the right foot.”
His mouth twists down even further. “Why would you care?”
“This may not be love, but I still have my dignity.” I lift my chin and press my shoulders back. “I want to shower, clean myself up, and choose something nice to wear. Right now, I’m braless in ripped pajamas. Is that how you imagined your wedding night?”
Mikhail probably imagined his wedding night with torture racks and whips. Or, no—that’s too exciting for him. More likely, it involved joyless missionary sex until he finishes and rolls off of his bride. I’m sure that’s his fantasy.
I don’t plan to fulfill it.
“I suppose not,” Mikhail admits. He considers it for a few more seconds and then nods. “Okay. You can have an hour to get ready.”
An hour. Maybe that’ll be enough.
I’ll be alone and I can text Ivan. I can tell him what is going on. Maybe he’ll have time to rally his forces and stop this. Maybe he—
“But your mom will stay here with you the entire time,” Mikhail adds.
Just like that, my hopes crash and burn.
“I’d be happy to,” my mother says.
There’s some pride in her voice. It must feel nice for her to be useful after so many years spent as little more than a lawn ornament. Is that what I have to look forward to?
I dismiss the thought as soon as I have it. That won’t be me. I won’t give in.
Mikhail stops in the doorway, casting one long look back at me before he closes the door and leaves me and my mother alone.
The air is thick with tension. Somehow, it’s even worse than it was with Mikhail in the room.
I never expected Mikhail to help me. I’ve never had any notions that, in my time of need, he would rise up and save me. But my own mother? Some deep, childlike part of me refused to believe that she would really turn me over to my enemies on a silver platter. Yet that’s exactly what she did.
“Well,” she sighs, clapping her hands together, “I can get your dress out and steam it if you want to get in the shower and—”
“I want a maid to help me,” I interrupt.
“What?”
“A maid,” I repeat. “Um… the woman who served me tonight. I liked her hair. The blonde woman. Maybe she could fix my hair for me.”
My mom frowns. Then recognition crosses her face. “Oh. Oh. No, that won’t work. She’s fired.”
“But she was just here tonight.”
“Until Alexander caught her messing with the security cameras,” she says. “He fired her on the spot. She’s gone.”
My only ally inside the house is gone. My connection to Ivan is wedged so deeply under my mattress it might as well be in Timbuktu. I’m alone. Completely alone.
And I have no idea what I’m going to do.
“Go get in the shower,” my mother cajoles. “I’ll iron your dress and get it ready. We don’t have much time.”
“No,” I mutter softly. “We don’t.”
I pad into the bathroom and close the door behind me. Captivity is a state of mind. And I can feel the bars rising up around me.
I grab my necklace and look up at the sky, praying for a miracle.
“Help me,” I whisper. “Someone, please. If I don’t get out now, I never will.”