I ponder pushing Mikhail’s leniencies out by an hour or two until I recall how he left my office without looking back. He doesn’t seem the type to offer compassion anymore. He once cared for my mother, but he negotiated with her health like her soul was his for trading.
I’d never speak to him again if I had any other option. The treatment stated in the contract is over two hundred thousanddollars. I could never come up with the funds in enough time, so I have no choice. I must marry the man I’m growing to hate or bury my mother.
Tears burst in my eyes just considering the latter, and it fortifies my decision.
“Will you ring me after Wynne’s consultation?”
“Of course,” my mother replies, instantly appeasing my worry. “But I’m sure it is nothing.”
“Still, please keep me updated. Not just on Wynne’s appointment, but also on your upcoming ones.”
“Of course, darling,” she repeats, eyeing me suspiciously. “I hope you will do the same.”
“With?” I say with a laugh, stupidly nervous.
“On your getaway with Mikhail. I’m sure the time you’ll spend together will inevitably stir up some old feelings. When they arrive, I’m happy to listen.”
Ipfftlike she didn’t hit the nail on the head. “I highly doubt I will see him. Furthermore, we were young and dumb back then. We’ve both moved on.”
When did lying become as easy as breathing to me?
Mikhail moved on with a bevy of big-breasted blondes, but the one from the will reading isn’t on the long list of many that the media has kept the public abreast with. She’s married to his brother, who now has a different surname.
During my lackluster sleep last night, I tried to make sense of the deceptive web currently weaved around the Dokovics. All the endless news articles rewarded me with was a headache.
“Emmy…”
I hate the concern in my mother’s voice, and for the umpteenth time this morning, it fills me with worry that I’m making a horrible mistake.
“I’ll stay in touch. Ifanythingpops up, you’ll be the first to know.”
My aunt Marcelle’s eyes bulge out of her head. “Anything,anything… or just any old thing?”
I’m reminded how much I love being raised by strong, independent women when I reply without the slightest hesitation. “Anything.”
I laugh when Aunt Marcelle fans her overheated cheeks. “Oh dear. I think I’m having a hot flush.”
Chapter 8
Mikhail
As I stand at the end of a long line of church pews, my heart beats fitfully. The priest is waiting at the end of the altar, peering at me curiously. I can’t bring myself to stand next to him. I’ve been there, done that. It ended in heartbreak.
The thought of Emerson not showing up again makes me want to fold in two. I don’t know why I’m worried. Our arrangement will benefit Emerson more than it ever will me. I have enough money to live off, plenty to survive without inheriting a penny of my grandfather’s dirty money.
I must be a sucker for pain. What other reason would I be here with palms drenched in sweat and a wave of anger I’ll never fully suffocate overwhelming me?
Definitely a sucker for pain.
As I stray my eyes across the church, memories of the last time I was here fill my head. We booked this church and priest the last time we decided to get married.
Emerson is a girlie girl, so I thought she’d want a big white wedding with all her family and friends in attendance. Her suggestion that we elope shocked me.
I assumed her decision was to save her mother from offering to pay for her only daughter’s wedding.
How fucking dumb was I?
My sigh echoes throughout the empty church. There are no attendees to witness our union, and there is no fanfare. It is a replica of the empty church I stood in for over three hours a decade ago, waiting for Emerson to show up.
