My reality is to remain here until a wedding is planned, then I’ll have to stand in front of everyone and say ‘I do’ to Mikhail Kuznetsov and start my new life as his wife.
My stomach rolls at the thought, and acid tingles in my throat. My eyes dart to the bathroom, uncertain whether I’m about to throw up, but the sensation passes in a few moments, and I tiredly roll my swollen eyes.
If his attempts at kissing are anything to go by, I won’t have a choice where he’s concerned.
Eventually, exhaustion from the day gets the better of me and I slide from the window. Crossing over to the bed, tears threaten once more when I spot the chocolate square Katja left on my pillow.
That’s another painful part of this arrangement I barely considered. Mikhail won’t live here, will he? I’ll go to him, which also means leaving behind Katja, the only friend I’ve ever known.
The fresh tears soak into my pillow when I crawl under the sheets and wrap myself up like a burrito. Everything’s about to change, and I want no part in it. I’d rather live another hundred years under the thumb of Mara than face any part of my future.
I cry until I have no tears left to give, until nothing but dry sobs hiccups out of my chest and my face burns from the drying salt.
Briefly entertaining the dream of Kristof rescuing me again, another idea slowly starts to form. A bolder idea that will take a lot of thought and careful planning to put into action, but given how much I get ignored around here, it might actually work.
Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the dark ceiling and the idea forms into one certain thought, a promise to myself.
No one will save me.
I will save myself.
This marriage will never happen, not next year, not ever.
Right there and then, with a swollen, tear-stained face and a heavy heart, I make a single vow. A promise to myself.
I will play the part of the perfect daughter. I will earn Mara’s trust.
And I will run away next year, just before the wedding, before I turn nineteen.
I will run away before Mikhail can get anywhere near me.