Page 55 of Sinful Bride

When I turn to look at myself in the mirror, all I see is sadness on mine.

None of this is right.

Nothing feels right.

“We’re right here, Daph.” Melanie takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “For you. If this is what you want, you know I’m right behind you every step. But…” She leans in closer and lowers her voice to a near whisper. “If this isn’t what you want, just say the word. Jameson’s car is out back. You know he won’t ask questions.”

“No.” Sofi’s worry shifts into panic. “You can’t—what the hell, Melanie? She can’t leave! She’s not leaving!” She looks at me, eyes wide. “Right? You’re not… you’re not thinking about leaving us. Are you?”

I wasn’t.

I really wasn’t.

But now… I don’t know.

I think she sees the uncertainty in my eyes, because she doubles down in her panic. “Daphne, please. Don’t do this. Don’t run out on him. I know he’s bull-headed and a pain in the ass sometimes, but he loves you. And… and we love you.”

I’m too scared to blink. That might send tears through my mascara. I can’t help it, though; my eyes are too damn dry.

Hazel is the one who catches the droplets with a tissue before they have a chance to fall. “It’s okay, Daphne. Feel what you feel. Just be honest with yourself.”

Fuck. I’m trembling. “I can’t… I mean, I… I won’t…”

Sofi sucks in a sharp breath. Melanie shoots her an equally sharp, silent warning. Hazel just rubs my arm, but I know she’s waiting for me to take up the getaway car offer.

Asya’s the one who steps in to give me air. “Ladies, would you mind stepping out for a moment?” She’s kind and gentle when she asks, but she’s not really asking. No one argues with her. No one dares.

Once we’re alone, Asya guides me to a comfortable chair and helps me sit down. She pulls up one of the other chairs to sit facing me, and for a while, we just sit there together. Not saying anything.

Finally, after I feel myself calming down, she smiles. “Anything we say in here, malyshka, it’s just between you and me. No judgment. No limits. Nothing you say can ever make me think or feel less of you. Da?”

I nod. “Yeah. Okay.”

She leans back in her chair and sighs. But the smile never wavers. “Do you want to marry my son?”

“Yes.” The word flies out without a single flicker of hesitation. Because I do, very much. “I love him.”

“But you’re having doubts about this wedding.”

“I’m having doubts…” I glance around the room. “I don’t want to force Pasha into this.”

Shit. I need to stop talking. I’m going to cry and Hazel isn’t here to save my makeup from my tears.

Mama furrows her brow. “I am confused. Who is forcing Pasha?”

“Me? Our baby?” I sniffle and shrug. “He made it pretty clear this is not what he wanted.”

When she lets out a soft laugh, I almost feel insulted. I’m having a very serious, heartbreaking moment of admission, and she… laughs?

But she dismisses her own slip with a wave of her hand and apologizes. “I am sorry, malyshka. I’m not laughing at you. Well… maybe a little.” She leans closer. “Listen: no one, and I mean no one, makes Pasha Chekhov do something he does not want to do. I used to threaten him with Baba Yaga, with dangling him by his toes from the balcony! But that boy would not eat his vegetables, not even under threat of torture. So, please forgive me, but I do find this a little funny.”

I try to envision Pasha as a stubborn little boy throwing a tantrum over carrots. Somehow, it’s not that hard to imagine.

“But I think, Daphne, that there is more to this than just that.” She peers at me. “You say you’re worried he does not want this marriage. I think you’re afraid he does not want you.”

My hiccup turns into a sob, and all I can do is nod. She grabs a tissue to dab away my tears, hushing and clicking her tongue as she does.

You know, like mothers are supposed to. It’s strange to me.

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