Page 44 of Doctored Vows

“No, Keet,” Zoya denies, shaking her head. “He went to jail for killing the men who took her from you.” Tears prick in my eyes so hard and fast it stings when she says, “Because he knew from the moment he laid eyes on you that your momma’s claims of insta-love were true.” I wipe a tear from my cheek fast enough that she shouldn’t be able to see it, but she does. “Don’t…” Her voice cracks with emotions. “If you start, I’ll start.”

“I’m not… I won’t.” I exhale quickly before staring up at the cabana’s ceiling and fluttering my lashes, hopeful it will dry my tears. “I just miss him.”

I haven’t seen my dad in over seven years. When he was convicted to life behind bars, he made me promise I’d never visit him. He said the Russian prison system was no place for a woman, that it is more corrupt than a foreigner trying to defend himself during an unjust trial.

I tried a handful of times to see him, but he forever refused my requests. I want to believe he is doing it to protect me, but part of me wonders if it is because I look too much like my mother. We have the same pale porcelain skin and opposing almost-raven hair. She just had green eyes, whereas mine are hazel.

I stop recalling the pain in my father’s eyes the last time I saw him, when Zoya says, “Scoot.” She is no longer on her sunlounge; she’s hovering over mine, shadowing me from the sun I’ve been protected from all morning.

When I move as requested, she slips onto the sunlounge with me and pulls me into her chest. My heart melts, but since I’m still fighting not to cry, I’ll never let her know that.

“I thought you said there was no girl-on-girl action on the agenda this weekend.”

Her laughs have my head bouncing off her ample chest like a bronco rider vying for a podium spot. “I did…”—just like me, she keeps the tension low—“but then I remembered how much guys love it, so I thought, what the hell, why not give them what they came here to see.”

Giggles bubble in my chest until the heaviness weighing it down has no choice but to lighten and the only wetness in my eyes are laughter tears. “I love you, Z.”

“I love you too, Keet.” She could leave it there, but she wouldn’t be Zoya if she did. “Just like I know you’re going to love him too. You just need to stop looking at this as if it is a bad thing.”

“I’m trying. It’s just hard with no memories.” Small snippets are starting to filter through the dark, like Maksim on his knees, peering up at me with dilated eyes, but other than that, I’m wandering in the dark, unable to find the light switch.

Zoya jackknifes into a half-seated position so fast she almost sends me flying off our shared sunlounge. “I have pictures. I took a ton of them.” After snatching our room keycard off the table wedged between our daybeds, she twists to face me. “I’ll be back!” She’s halfway out of the cabana before she twirls back around. “Can you keep an eye on Aleena for me? I’m trying to tell her to pace herself, but she’s like…”

“You?” I fill in when she struggles to find an appropriate comparison.

She nods as if delighted before air-blowing me a kiss and leaving.

After wrapping a sarong around the lower half of my swimsuit and protecting my eyes with sunglasses, I shadow her exit. With everything going on, it is easy for me to forget this weekend is meant to be about Aleena. I just refuse to be that woman. I loathe people who make everything about them.

I find Aleena at a bar near the wave pool.

“Hey, Keet. I’m glad you’ve finally joined us.”

Her dilated eyes reveal she is on her way to tipsy but far from being drunk.

“Hey. Are you having fun?”

She wiggles her brows before eyeing the line of shot glasses in front of her. “I sure am.”

When Shevi holds out one for me, I shake my head. “I think I’ll stick with water today.”

“Are you sure?” checks the bartender after refilling the glasses Aleena and her bridesmaids down. “I can mix a mean cocktail.”

“The bartender last night said the same.” While cringing, I slip onto a barstool. “It wasn’t good.”

The bartender’s rumbling laugh rolls through my chest as I freeze. That’s the first memory I’ve had of last night that didn’t involve Maksim. It’s so hazy it is more an audible clip than a video montage, but it is a memory, nonetheless.

“Were you working the bar yesterday?”

“During the bikini competition?” When I nod, dark hair falls into his eyes as he shakes his head. “No. That was Riccardo. Last I heard, he was let go.” When I can’t hide my shock that he said the same name Maksim mentioned this morning when advising I was drugged, his smile grows. He’s clearly mistaken my panicked face as disappointment. “I can get his number for you, if you want. You’re just his type.” He bites his lower lip before murmuring, “Actually, you’re everyone’s type.”

“Oh. I’m flattered but?—”

“She’s married,” Aleena interrupts before lifting my left hand in the air, blinding him with my new bling.

“To who?” the bartender asks, shaping up like he’s willing to fight for my affection.

Aleena’s expression is just as glitzy when she replies, “To him.”

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