Page 121 of Betrayal and Vows

The door rattles under his fist. "Lena! Enough of this nonsense!"

My mother's face transforms back into the perfect mask of composure. She caps the lipstick and steps back, surveying her work.

"There," she says. "Beautiful."

I look at myself and don’t see beauty.

I see terror.

Sadness.

Resignation.

My mother opens the door and my father looks ready to murder.

Me.

He would murder me if I didn’t know what I was ordered to do.

“Let’s go. Now.” He extends his arm, waiting for me to hook my arm through his.

My mother nods once and then leaves us.

I fight the urge to vomit as my father practically drags me down the stairs.

At the entrance to the ballroom that has been transformed for the wedding, he pauses.

“Do not disappoint me,” he warns.

“You’ve already disappointed me,” I reply calmly.

The heavy wooden doors are opened.

I stand there with my father, watching as the guests rise to their feet.

The room is full. Candles flickering like a hundred tiny lies. The air smells of flowers and smoke from the candles.

My gown feels too tight. My lungs are panicking, trying to escape the corset. My heels clack against the floor as my father leads me down the aisle. I’m drifting. Floating.

I feel like a ghost.

Mikhail waits with a smug expression on his face. His hands are clasped in front of him like he’s some pious groom, not the executioner holding my fate hostage.

I search the pews, scanning each face for familiar blue eyes.

But there’s no sign of Anton.

He didn’t come.

Maybe he did leave.

Maybe he chose freedom.

Or maybe he’s dead.

Mikhail leans close. To our audience, it looks like he’s whispering something sweet.

I know better. “He’s dead, Lena,” he whispers. “There’s no running now. You’re mine. And I’ll make sure you pay for every second you gave him.”