I’m playing dress up.
“Do you see a phone?” I ask Olga.
She makes disgruntled noises under her breath, but points. “Table.”
I pass no less than three side tables, before coming to the correct one in the foyer. A black iPhone sits on the entry table next to a key and a designer bag. It gives the hall a lived-in quality that comes off as discombobulating. Even worse when I tap the screen, I see the phone is already on and the wallpaper is now a shot of Maxim and I’s first kiss.
By all accounts, we look like a happy couple, but I can’t help but wonder if this phone is bugged.
Of course it is you, stupid bitch.
Maxim and his family showed no signs of concern at Marissa’s stunt. They didn’t bat an eye. But they’re not stupid enough to welcome me to the family without an extensivebackground. While Maxim fucked me within an inch of my life, his father probably spent the weekend uncovering every detail from the past twenty-six years of my miserable existence.
Luckily, I cleared their security clearances, otherwise, the breath play Maxim likes would have taken a different turn.
They transferred my number to a new phone, syncing everything over. There are the same text reminders about having rewards at my favorite coffee shop and a stream of memes from Daisy. The only new message is a photo from Marissa. Yet another photo from the wedding.
One from the reception, from our ten-second interaction, before Maxim hauled me here. I’m looking up at him, staring into those serious eyes. It’s raw and candid and a bit artsy since it’s in black and white. The dress did look fantastic and I guess Olga will find it and deal with it. But other than noting that for once I don’t have a double chin, the photo leaves me with nothing.
Just another day of dealing with Marissa’s shit.
Marissa: They say love is the greatest blessing. Sending you all of mine for your future!
For my future.
My hands curl against the phone, wishing I could crush the steel. It’s not my future I care about.
I know better than texting Marissa back.
I press a button, the private elevator doors opening. A bulky, bald guy in a suit stands at attention.
He nods his head, though, I suspect he’s surprised to see me. There’s a package in his hand. “Mrs. Zimin.”
Right, that’s me.
“Can I help you with anything?”
“A walk in the park,” I request.
“It’s very cold.”
“A movie.”
“I don’t think there’s any good releases.”
“Grocery store.”
Olga appears at my elbow. “I do that.”
Passing the security clearances doesn’t grant me free-range privileges.
Olga openly watches me as I unlock my phone, scrolling through my contacts knowing a new number’s been added. I pause my tapping and a second later the maid walks off with the package the man delivered but she doesn’t go far.
Russet: Am I your wife or your captive?
Maxim: Both.
Maxim: Rest. You’ll need it for tonight.
