Page 120 of Betrayal and Vows

“Please,” I whimper, grabbing her wrist. “Anton. Has anyone seen Anton?”

Her face twitches. She covers it quickly with a too-bright smile. “Why would I see him? He’s not part of the ceremony.”

“Don’t,” I hiss. “Don’t do this. I have to see him. Where is he?”

“Don’t be stupid, Lena. You’re getting married. Focus on surviving this without more drama. For your sake and ours.”

“Is he alive?”

“I don’t know,” she says softly.

A sob escapes my lips and I nearly collapse.

“Come with me,” she murmurs.

I barely feel my feet moving as she takes me back to my room.

“You’re a mess.” She goes into the bathroom and returns with a cloth. “Your makeup. Oh Lena, your dress!”

“I don’t care.”

“You know what has to be done,” she says.

My mother sits me down at the vanity and begins dabbing at my tear-streaked makeup with gentle strokes. Her hands are steady, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she presses her lips together.

"Listen to me," she says quietly, meeting my eyes in the mirror. "You will survive this."

"How can you say that?" My voice comes out broken, hollow. "You don't know what he's like. What he's capable of."

"I know exactly what men like Mikhail are capable of." Her hand stills on my cheek. "But I also know what women like us can endure. We are survivors, Lena. It's in our blood."

She continues working, covering the evidence of my breakdown with more makeup. Making me presentable for my own funeral.

"The best way to survive is to keep your head down," she continues, her voice barely above a whisper. "Don't fight him directly. Not at first. Learn his weaknesses. Be smart about when and how you resist."

I watch her in the mirror, searching her face. "That's not living. That's just... existing."

"Sometimes existing is enough. Sometimes it's everything." She pauses, her hand hovering over my face. "And sometimes, fate intervenes when you least expect it."

Something in her tone makes me turn to look at her directly. "What do you mean?"

She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Nothing. I just know how strong you are. Stronger than you realize."

"Mama, do you know something? Is there?—"

"I know that you have more fight in you than any woman I've ever met," she interrupts, applying lipstick to my mouth with careful strokes. "I know that you're resourceful. And I know that Mikhail underestimates you."

"He'll kill me," I whisper. "Eventually, he'll get tired of me and?—"

"He wouldn't dare." She hands me a tissue. I take it and slip it between my lips, smacking the paper until she takes it. "Not until you produce children, at least. And there are ways..." She trails off, glancing toward the door.

"Ways to what?"

She leans closer. "Ways to prevent children without him knowing it. Ways to buy yourself time."

My eyes widen. She suddenly sounds like an ally. Before I can ask her what she means, what methods she's talking about, heavy footsteps pound down the hallway.

"Elena!" My father's voice booms through the door, followed by aggressive knocking. "Get her out here! The guests are waiting!"