Page 95 of Twisted Prince
“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Lycaon,” the clerk says, passing us the marriage certificate. “By the power granted to the great state of New York, you’re officially married.”
“Thank you,” Mel says breathlessly, accepting the papers.
The church ceremony takes even less time as Pyotr calls up one of his father’s old friends—the same man who married him and Silvia—who agrees to meet with us for a private blessing with just the seven of us in attendance.
And by the time the entire production is done, I feel the last dregs of my anticipation shifting to remorse because Mel looks so riddled with guilt, I think she might just spontaneously combust.
Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested we go to Pyotr for advice.
Maybe I should have put my foot down and said we wouldn’t be getting married.
I knew better than to hope Mel did this for any other reason than to protect Gabby. So, was I just taking advantage of the situation?
“Congratulations, you two love birds,” Pyotr says with a cheeky smile, clapping our shoulders as we head down the church steps back to the car.
“Thank you for today,” Mel says. “I can’t believe you dropped everything for this.”
“Are you kidding? We wouldn’t miss it,” Silvia says warmly.
“Exactly,” Pyotr states, his eyes twinkling. “And now, I think it’s time we celebrate your successful escape from the clutches of Vincent Kelly with a nice dinner. My treat.”
“You’re too good to me,” Mel murmurs.
But she doesn’t object as Silvia brings her in for a warm side hug. Which means we’re actually going to spend the evening celebrating as if this were an actual marriage. However, I know the right thing to do will be to let Mel out of it as soon as the danger has passed.
Tortured by my inner conflict, I steel myself for a night of revelry, though it feels like the knife in my gut just won’t stop twisting.
40
MEL
After a good-sized glass of wine at dinner, I find that my guilty conscience has dulled to a muted roar at the back of my head. Gleb didn’t drink—I don’t know that I have ever seen him do so—and he drove me and Gabby safely to his home.
To my astonishment, as he pulls into the parking garage beneath his building, I realize just how close we are to the house I used to rent in Harlem with Annie and the girls.
“I didn’t know you lived here,” I say, perking up. My tongue is considerably looser with the help of wine, and I find it far less challenging to talk to Gleb—or look him in the eye—than I did at the courthouse nearly six hours ago now.
“That’s because I never told you,” he states flatly, bringing me down in an instant with cold, hard reality.
“Right,” I say, biting my lip as I cast a glance toward him.
Gleb was very quiet all through dinner, while Pyotr and Silvia prodded me for more details on how I’ve been doing and what Boston was like. I can’t shake the sense that Gleb is angry with me. He’s only grown stiffer and more curt since his sharp and entirely justified words on our drive from Connecticut to New York.
And I fear that it’s because I’ve trapped him in a marriage when he only just told me he thinks it would be best if we went our separate ways. What feelings we used to have for each other, I think I’ve destroyed by pushing him away every time he tries to help me and by fighting my feelings for him for so long. It might be too late.
Now he’s been forced to not only protect me but spend every day in the same apartment with me when I know he would rather I not be there.
He steers us into a parking space near the elevator bank, his silence sullen, and puts the rental in park. Carefully avoiding his eyes, I look into the back seat to find Gabby sleeping once more. The poor little girl must be so tuckered out after everything she’s been through.
Wordlessly, I open my door and slip into the back to collect her. This time, she’s so tired, she hardly stirs as I lift her into my arms. Gleb collects the bag of clothing Silvia lent me and Gabby from the back, and together, we make our way to the elevator.
“It was sweet of Silvia to give us some clothes,” I say softly, trying to make conversation and ease the awkward ride up.
Gleb nods. “I’ll go back to New Haven tomorrow and collect what belongings I can.”
“Thanks.”
His soft grunt is the only answer I get before the doors ding open onto his floor. He leads the way to the room marked 1233 and unlocks it, then swings it wide for me to go first.
