The large room was wrapped in different exquisite perfumes and the silent hum of power.
“Where’s Mitya?” I asked Liza as Greta brought drinks and pastries before leaving again.
“She’s at Mikhail’s. With the nanny. The brothers are meeting there so,” she explained, shrugging, “killing two birds with a stone.”
“How are you doing, Alina?” Emilia inquired, her tone kind. “We understand the situation. We know it might be hard on you.”
Their gazes landed on me. But it wasn’t overwhelming; it was understanding.
“Everything feels wrong,” I blurted out, sighing. “This is not my life. Life feels forced here, like I’m in a movie or something.”
“It was all so sudden,” Liza uttered, her tone soft.
I nodded before explaining, “He doesn’t make it easier. One minute he’s talking and asking questions, the next minute he’s all mysterious. To him, I’m nothing but a pawn. It’s frustrating because I didn’t ask for any of this.”
“I assure you, darling, it’s not about you. Konstantin is wired that way. But I can also assure you that he means well. Everything he’s done to this point is to keep you alive. To protect you,” Isabella answered.
“I know. But it doesn’t make it any easier,” I pointed out.
“You’re right,” Emilia said. “But you’re not a pawn, take that thought out of your head. Yes, things were circumstantial, but it’s not the end of your beautiful life. It’s just the start of another phase.”
“And,” Isabella drawled, “I might have heard a conversation between your husband and mine when the whole issue was still fresh. I still remember his anger at any option that could put you in harm’s way. That’s not ‘nothing,’ my dear. Forget what he acts like, a pawn is the last thing he sees you as.”
“And you know Mikhail is the closest thing he has to a best friend, or a friend at all. So, whatever he tells or shows him is the truth,” Liza added.
“Is he his immediate older brother?” I asked without thinking.
“No,” Isabella answered, laughing.
“Mikhail is the second. Roman is the third. Then Konstantin,” Emilia revealed.
“Oh,” I remarked.
“Yeah,” Liza mentioned, chuckling. “So, we can say you’re our youngest sister.”
“I’m still surprised about the warm welcome, seriously. Thank you,” I divulged, smiling at them.
“Whatever it is, we’re here for you,” Emilia assured.
“Yes. Always,” Isabella confirmed, nodding.
I blinked back tears. I didn’t expect to feel at home, but I did. They made me feel seen and understood.
We talked, joked, and ate for another few hours before they left.
Even though I got tired after all the hanging out and, a while later, TV watching with Greta, I resisted the urge to go upstairs for just one reason: I wanted to see him. I wanted to meet him here when he arrived. I wanted to smile at him and tell him ‘thank you’ for inviting the women over. I didn’t care how that made him see me. I wanted to have dinner with him and let him know how much what he did meant to me.
But after another hour, several yawns, and Greta’s prodding, I decided to retire to bed. She promised to bring my dinner when the ‘boss’ arrived, after I refused to be served immediately.
I had changed into my plain navy silk pajamas after a warm bath when I heard a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I called, shifting to the edge of the bed, expecting Greta.
But it wasn’t Greta who stepped in in black cotton pajama pants and a tee shirt, it was Konstantin.
Barefoot, he carried the tray of food to the stool and set it down. A lock of his hair fell to his face as he came back to his full height, and I found it hard to look away from his gaze. The domesticity of it all was absurd. Still, he didn’t say anything to me. As if his silence compelled me, the ‘thanks’ I had planned to tell him evaded me.
“Konstantin,” I called as he was about to turn around. “Why did you marry me?”
