35
CORA
Mikhail and Alexander didn’t use the last hour to get ready the way I did. When my mother and I walk into the sitting room, the two of them and a third man who I can only presume is the minister are lounging on the sofa.
There are no candles or flowers. No attempt to arrange the furniture into an aisle or play some music. Mikhail isn’t even wearing a suit. He’s in a pair of dark wash jeans and a dark gray button-down. I look ridiculously overdressed in comparison.
“Finally,” Alexander mumbles, rising to his feet.
Mikhail follows suit. He keeps a half-step behind my stepfather, but his eyes are glued on me.
I thought taking the time to put on the dress would give me a chance to get out of this. Instead, I’m in even deeper. There is nothing in Mikhail’s eyes that makes me believe I can convince him he shouldn’t touch me tonight. I told him I was getting dressed for the occasion, and now, he has some seriously perverted expectations.
His pale eyes go dark with twisted desire. Finally, he looks away. “Let’s get this over with.”
“The words every bride dreams of hearing on her wedding day,” I mutter.
Alexander grabs my arm and hauls me to the open space in front of the fireplace hearth. A TV hangs on the wall above our heads with an infomercial for kitchen knives on the screen. At least they had the decency to put it on mute.
A few guards linger in the hallway. I hear more patrolling the entryway.
Mikhail steps into place across from me. He reaches for my hands, but I keep them flat at my sides. I won’t run screaming from the room, but I’m not going to hold his hands and pretend this is all hunky-fucking-dory.
“Where is your father?” I ask. Not that I care. The only thing that would make this already gloomy wedding even worse is Konstantin Sokolov’s appearance.
“Probably in bed,” he admits. “He’s more interested in the outcome than the destination. I’ll fill him in later.”
“Okay. We’ve got a bride, a groom, a minister, and witnesses,” Alexander says. He snaps at the third man. “Let’s get on with it.”
The minister is a middle-aged man with dark circles under his eyes and what looks to be a tattoo peeking out of the collar of his neck. He looks like exactly the kind of person who would perform a middle of the night wedding ceremony with an unwilling bride and then hop over to his 4 AM appointment of harvesting black market kidneys.
He opens a book and begins reading. “Welcome. We are gathered here today to join—”
“Move on,” Alexander barks.
The man nods and skips a page. “Love is the joining of—”
“Nope.” Alexander circles his finger in the air. “Skip that shit. Get to the meat.”
The officiant looks flustered as he skips ahead even more. Then he looks up at Alexander, a question in his eyes as he continues. “Do you, Mikhail, take Cordelia to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Mikhail looks into my eyes, his chin raised. “I do.”
Holy shit. It feels impossible that this is happening. Should I stab him now? I feel the tip of the letter opener pressed against the spot above my heart. If it starts beating any faster, I might accidentally impale myself first.
There are too many people. Alexander is standing behind me, probably to make sure he can sneak attack me if I try to fight. Plus the guards outside the room. They can be here in a second.
It’s happening.
And I don’t see a way out.
The officiant clears his throat and turns to me. “And do you, Cordelia, take Mikhail to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
No. Hell no.
The words ring in my head loud and clear, but my mouth stays closed. I stare at Mikhail, silently begging for him and the rest of this situation to just disappear.
But he doesn’t.
“Come on, Cordelia,” Alexander whispers. His words hiss against the back of my ear. “Don’t leave us in suspense.”
This is it.
There is no way out.
I don’t have a choice.
I squeeze my eyes closed and swear to myself that I’ll be free again… one day.
Then I open my eyes and meet the gaze of the monster I’m being forced to marry. “I—”
Before I can finish, the ground quakes and the French doors behind us rain glass.