She smirks and sits on the couch nearby. She’s dressed impeccably in a red dress, her blond hair styled in a fierce bun at the nape of her neck, makeup painted perfectly. The Botox she gets regularly hides any of the lines that show her age.
“I didn’t want to marry your father, but here we are.” She tilts her head, watching me. “This is the life we live, Natasha.”
“I know. I just don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to like it, you just have to follow orders.” She examines her perfect red-tipped nails. “Your father needs this alliance.”
“I know.”
She checks the time, and a little smile tugs at her lips. “It’s time for my tennis lesson.”
That’s code forI’ll be fucking my tennis coach for the next two hours in the guest house.
“Enjoy,” I reply and start to play again, but then my phone pings with a text.
Elliott: I apologize for last night. I’d like to take you out for dinner tonight to make it up to you.
I close my eyes on a deep sigh. He always apologizes. Doesn’t mean that anything’s going to change. But my father needs this, so I’ll suck it up and play nice.
Me: What time should I be ready?
Elliott: Thank you, baby. I’ll pick you up at 7.
I wince.Baby.Ugh, I hate it when he calls me that. Or anything at all. The man gives me the serious creeps, and I have to marry him?
Suddenly, heavy footsteps stomp down the hallway, and my father barrels into the library, his face masked in rage. Viktor, his number two, is right behind him, with fuckingexcitementon his ugly face.
“What did you do?”
Frowning, I stand from the piano and back away from him. “What do you mean?”
“What the fuck did you do to earn that beating?” He points to my lip. “Your mother just told me that Elliott hit you last night, and I want to know what you did to earn it.”
My mother just threw me under the bus so my dad would be occupied with me and she could flit away to fuck her tennis coach.
That’s pretty on brand for her.
“Papa, it was a misunderstanding.”
“That’s bullshit.”
My back hits the bookcase, and I don’t have anywhere to go, so when Papa reaches me, he slaps me, reopening the wound on my lip and making me see stars.
“What. Did. You. Do.”
“I didn’t do anything.” My voice is so quiet, it’s almost nonexistent. “I promise.”
“A man only punishes when it’s necessary.”
If I wasn’t so good at keeping a straight face, I would laugh at that. Men hit women all the time, whether they deserve it or not.
“He’s already apologized,” I tell him. “He’s taking me to dinner tonight.”
“If you ruin this for me,” he threatens, getting so close I can smell his rancid breath, a mixture of cigars and vodka, “I’ll kill you. You’re only good for one thing, and that’s this alliance. Without it, I’ll put you in the ground and not think twice about it.”
I believe him.
“Yes, Papa.”
