Page 13 of Forced to Marry the Bratva

“Just swell,” she says, turning her back to me and grabbing another glass of champagne.

“Did you eat anything?” I ask, noticing this is her fourth glass.

“Who are you? My dad?” she scoffs, beginning to take large sips.

Just then, she notices her brother walk by. Without saying a word to me, she goes to be by his side. I watch her face turn from one that’s morose to completely joyful, and my heart shrivels from the cold.

For the rest of the night, Genevieve maintains a careful distance from me as we mingle with the guests, talking to me only in the presence of other parties.

She makes it clear that tonight, she wants nothing more to do with me.

And for some reason, the rejection makes it impossible for me to think of anyone but her.

Chapter 6 - Genevieve

I wake up to the sound of birds chirping outside the window. The sun is shining brightly, casting a warm glow across the room. I sit up and stretch my arms, feeling the soft silk sheets against my skin.

I grab my phone and notice that it’s a Sunday. Today marks a week since we’ve been married. I feel a flutter of excitement. I’ve been bored this entire week, all alone in Damien’s apartment. He leaves before I wake and returns after I sleep. I’m beginning to understand that my husband is a busy man, but finally, today, he has a day off.

I jump out of bed and get dressed. So far, we don’t share a room. I walk out gingerly, wanting to avoid waking him, and quietly open his door. The bed hasn’t been slept in.

Did he wake up and make it himself? Usually, the part-time housekeeper comes and does that.

Perhaps he’s in the kitchen, making breakfast.

I walk to the common living space and check out the kitchen. Not there. His study? Empty. The living and TV room? Untouched.

And then, it hits me like a pile of bricks.

He’s not home.

I stare around at the house filled with luxury but empty of companionship and begin to feel numb. Memories rush back of a lifetime of Sundays. Gael and I would usually head out for pancakes and coffee, talk about our week. He’d fill me in on ridiculous things that happened at the office and I’d fill him in on the latest gossip from our social circle. It was …tradition. I miss Gael and want nothing more than to call him, but he’d only get worried. He’d think something’s wrong or that I’m unhappy with Damien if I choose not to spend our first weekend as a married couple with my new husband. With a sigh, I push thoughts of Gael out of my mind. Maybe I can call him next weekend.

I walk like a zombie, to go make myself some coffee. And there, on the countertop, lies a note with a velvet box next to it.

“Away on business,” it says in beautiful penmanship. “Attaching the number for your driver and car. Use it if you must. Please have a good day. Love, Damien.”

Damien is away on business, but he’s left behind his mark in the form of yet another extravagant gift. I open the velvet box to find a dazzling diamond necklace that glimmers in the sunlight pilfering in from the wall-to-wall windows.

I pick up the necklace and let it dangle from my fingers, admiring its brilliance. As I put it back down, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My hair is messy, and my eyes look tired. I’m slowly going to drive myself mad being alone in this house far too big for one.

I pick up the necklace and take it to my room, throwing it into the drawer filled with his other gifts. So far, I’ve collected a gold watch I’ll never wear, a perfume that probably costs more than a small car monthly payment, a pair of emerald earrings, and a credit card with no limit. In the corner, the flowers he left our first morning together are wilting near the window. I pick them up and throw them in the bin, with infuriating rage at the loneliness I feel.

In another life, I would’ve thought it’s sweet for a husband to buy his wife gifts. Now, a painful gnawing truth scratches the surface of my old beliefs, breaking through the layers to show the ugliness that lies beneath: I’m beginning to feel that the gifts are a cover-up for the fact that my husband doesn’t wish to be near me. Maybe he never even wanted to marry me. Is he truly busy with work or staying away to avoid me?

I feel a lump forming in my throat. This life of loneliness isn’t one I imagined for myself. I begin to feel angry, sad, and confused all at once. I wish I could talk to him and understand where his head is at, but how can I when I never even see him?

Suddenly, my phone rings, interrupting my thoughts. It’s Anoushka, my sister-in-law. “Hey, Genevieve! Robin and I are in the Upper East Side for the day. We thought we’d swing by your place and say hello. Is that okay?”

“Of course, it’s fine,” I reply, my heart racing with excitement. I haven’t seen them since the wedding and only recognized the number since Damien inputted all emergency contacts in my phone.

“Great! And Lev’s with us, too. He’s a pain in the ass, but what can we do? Can’t exactly chuck him back where he came from,” she groans.

I burst out laughing at the good-hearted sibling rivalry. “Oh, Anoushka. I think we can manage having him around!”

“You sure?” Anoushka says, sounding skeptical. In the background, I hear Lev protest with some colorful curses.

“Okay, the monster’s trying to snatch the phone away from me,” Anoushka screeches into the phone. I hear some scuffling, and then I hear Lev’s voice.

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