“That sounds like a dream.” I’m tipsy from all the champagne, but I know I’m going to need a clear head for the day ahead. I need to start focusing on reality and leave Dimitri in the past. What’s done is done. I can’t go back in time and fix anything; but moving forward, I can start fresh. I am marrying Pavel. Nothing is going to change that fact. And today gave me the reality check I so desperately needed.
I know now that I need to put an end to this game we’ve both been playing. I decide right then and there that I’m gonna go cold turkey and cease all contact with Dimitri. No more sneaking around. No more late-night visits. No more texts.Nothing.
I just hope I can stick to my plan, because I have a feeling it will be easier said than done.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Savina
I’VE BEEN AVOIDINGDimitri for almost a week, and it’s been working. Well, for the most part. I did respond to a few of his texts out of courtesy alone, but I’ve been successfully keeping my distance from him. I’m hoping that the more time we spend separated, the easier it will be. But what if time apart actuallydoesmake the heart grow fonder? God, I hope not.
Truth be told, I don’t actually believe that Dimitri is capable of love. At least not with me. He’s always hated me to a certain extent, and the feeling has been mutual. I still can’t forgive him for what he did in the past, and I need to keep those deep-rooted feelings on the surface and not let them die. Because if we end up falling for each other, it will only end in disaster.
I’m wallowing in self-pity when I receive a text from my father early on a Tuesday morning.
Papà:You have a medical exam to attend at eleven today. A car will pick you up half an hour before your appointment time.
With no other details given, I can’t help but wonder what kind of medical exam I’ll be having. Is this being requested by Dimitri’s father to make sure that I’m in good health for his son? The whole thing sounds kind of archaic to me, but so does an arranged marriage, so perhaps nothing should surprise me at this point.
I shower, put on minimal makeup and blow-dry my hair. I dress comfortably in joggers and a t-shirt with a zip-up hoodie over it. I’m slipping on socks and a pair of sneakers when I hear a car horn sounding from the street below.
I grab my purse and phone and hightail it out of the building and to the familiar, awaiting car parked out front. The driver gives me a wave through the window when I get close, and I smile. It’s Reggie, one of my father’s favorite drivers.
“Good morning, Miss Savina,” he says when I climb into the back.
“Good morning, Reggie.”
“Doctor’s appointment?” he questions, his warm brown eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.
“I guess so,” I say solemnly.
“Alright then,” he says before pulling the car out into moving traffic.
It takes about thirty minutes before we reach the building. It’s in the seedy part of the city, and the office looks worse for wear with a crumbling façade and faded signs.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” I question Reggie.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says before rattling off the address. “This is where they told me to drop you off.”
“Oh-kay,” I drawl out, not wanting to get out of the car. I have a bad feeling, but I will myself to just get this over with. “I’ll be back soon,” I tell him before opening the door.
“I’ll be waiting,” he assures me, and I find some semblance ofcomfort in his words.
I walk through the front door of the doctor’s office, and the inside somehow manages to look worse than the outside. The old wallpaper is yellow and peeling off the walls; there are brown spots all over the ceiling from numerous water leaks, and there is a stench of mold and cigarettes lingering in the air.
“Hello,” the receptionist, an older woman with white hair and huge metal-rimmed glasses, says to me from behind a desk that looks like it was salvaged from a dumpster. The top is covered in scratches and red marker, and it sits off kilter as if one of the legs is shorter than the other three. “What’s your name?” she asks impatiently.
“Savina Cipriano,” I answer nervously.
“You can go back to room number one. The doctor will be with you shortly,” she informs me.
“Thank you,” I mutter before walking back the hall. I find the room and go inside. I’m a ball of nerves, my hands trembling as I take a seat on the worn examination table. I sit on the very edge, the cracked vinyl squeaking underneath me as I try to get remotely comfortable.
A few moments later, a nurse comes in and gives me a gown to change into. “Put it on backwards and leave it open in the front,” she instructs me before leaving and closing the door.
Confused, I change out of my clothes, neatly folding them and putting them on a rusty metal chair beside the table before putting on the gown. I put it on backwards, like she told me, but I tie all three of the strings, effectively closing myself off.
I take a seat on the exam table once more, my knee bouncing nervously as I wait. It’s cold in here, and I hate the fact that my nipples are so hard they could cut glass right now. I fold my arms in front of me, hoping to at least hide them from the doctor.
