Page 38 of Frozen Heart

I shook my head.

Those gorgeous lips pouted, and he nodded. Then he lifted one arm and stretched it out. He did it so hesitantly and awkwardly, I didn’t know what he was doing, at first. Then the arm settled around my shoulders, and he pulled me into his side. And however awkward it was, it worked. The arm felt like a protective barrier, shielding me from the scariness of the hospital. I still felt small but for the first time, I didn’t feel alone.

When my name was called, I hurried in. My Rheumatologist is fantastic, and she agreed that I needed to change my maintenance medications. As I expected, she prescribed a short course of steroids to calm things down while the new medication was kicking in. But she reminded me I’d need to work hard to avoid catching anything because even a mild bug could make me really sick.

When I came out, Radimir was pacing, restless as always. He didn’t see me and I took a moment to just admire him. The elegant lines of his cheekbones. The brutal power of his muscles, even under his suit. He really was gorgeous.

Then I saw a nurse nod towards him and whisper to her friend, and they both blushed and giggled, but went pale when he glanced towards them. A family on their way to visit a sick child, clutching a teddy bear and balloons, saw Radimir and veered off, giving him a wide berth. Two doctors, discussing an x-ray as they walked, broke off to stare at him. “Fuck,” muttered one in fear. “That’s Radimir Aristov.”

My stomach flipped. I’d been seeing these little glimpses of warmth and somehow, between them and the attraction, I’d forgotten what he was. What he was capable of. But everyone else knew, that’s why they were scared of him. Radimir Aristov was a cold-hearted killer.

And in less than three weeks, I’d be his wife...forever.

Radimir drove me back to the bookstore and for the rest of the day I beavered away updating displays and refilling tables. But it felt hopeless because there just weren’t enough customers. If I didn’t figure out some way to get more people through the doors, or cut some costs, or both, I’d be out of business in a couple of months.

I rode the subway to Radimir’s neighborhood. When I got above ground, the air was so cold it hurt my cheeks, and I figured it was going to start snowing again any minute. I started walking fast, arms hugging myself for warmth. But then I passed a hotel with golden light spilling out of an open doorway and a sign:Wedding Expo.

I slowed to a stop. I’d never been to a wedding show. Nathan and I had never gotten as far as planning things. I felt a guilty little surge of excitement, like the one I’d gotten at age six, pretending to be a princess on her way to marry her prince in one of Baba’s old nightgowns.

I knew that my wedding to Radimir was fake. But it couldn’t hurt to take a look...right?

I edged nervously inside, down a hallway...and emerged into a huge, warm ballroom lit with fairy lights.

I looked around, stunned. It was a weddingparadise!

There were caterers offering free canapes. There were entire stalls devoted to stationery and others to tableware. One big area was given over to wedding cars, everything from a vintage Rolls Royce and a 1950s Cadillac to modern limos and supercars. A string quartet was playing in the corner and wedding bands were offering up headphones so you could audition them. There was a guy who’d carve you an ice sculpture of the two of you for yourwedding table and a woman with a guitar who’d write you a song about how you met.

Someone offered me a glass of Prosecco and I wandered deeper. There were photographers and videographers. There were wedding dresses—so many wedding dresses! —and bridesmaid’s dresses and groom and usher’s suits and even mini-suits in case you wanted your dog to be the ring bearer. There were at least twenty different wedding cakes to try, and cupcakes and chocolate fountains and travel companies selling honeymoon packages…

At first, I just wandered around, stunned. But then someone gave me a free tote bag and once I had a place to put things, I thought I might as well take a pamphlet for this gorgeous country mansion that was offering itself as a wedding venue. And that kind of broke the seal and suddenly I was trying cake samples and wedding bands and having in-depth conversations about stationery. That wedding fantasy I’d had ever since I was a kid started to come alive as I painted in every detail.

Then the lead guitarist of the band I was talking to asked, “Do you know what you’d like for the first dance? Most people pick the first song they ever danced to, or the song that was playing when they met.”

I’d been buzzing and glowing, somewhere up near the ceiling. It felt like he’d grabbed my ankle and slammed me down to the floor, leaving my stomach behind.We don’t have a song,I screamed at myself.Because it’s just a fake wedding you fucking, fucking idiot. It’s just to get a marriage certificate, it’ll be in a courthouse with Radimir’s brothers there to make sure I don’t escape?—

“I’m sorry, I made a mistake,” I mumbled to the guitarist, and turned and tried to run out of there. But the aisles were blocked by happy, excited brides and now I could feel the tears prickling at my eyes, my vision swimming with them, and Itried desperately not to blink. As I threaded my way through the crowd, my chest started to tremble and now people couldsee,and they were all looking at me in sympathy and that made it a thousand times worse?—

As I plunged into the freezing night, a big, heaving sob broke through and I doubled over and just howled, grabbing onto a railing for support. How could I be so utterly, pathetically stupid? How could I forget what this really was? It was snowing again but the cold wasn’t enough to cool my face: my tears burned my eyes and made scorching rivers down my cheeks. I cried for all the years to come, trapped in a loveless marriage to a monster. And I cried because now I’d never have it for real: I’d never know what it was to be loved by someone so much that they want to spend their life with you.

People were looking. I used the cotton tote bag to wipe my eyes and then I marched off through the snow, trying and failing to make my face an impassive mask, like one of the Russian wives.

When I got back to the penthouse, I stuffed the tote bag and all the pamphlets I’d collected into a drawer and slammed it shut.

26

BRONWYN

I hadn’t hadthe nightmare for three nights. I’d been hoping that meant I’d finally shaken it off and left it to die in Baba’s apartment. But that night, as I lay sleeping in the penthouse, it caught up with me.

It was a beautiful Fall day and the trees outside our house had formed a rustling, gold-and-scarlet canopy overhead. Already, the sidewalk was ankle deep and just thewhumpof me slamming the door of Baba’s Volvo made another few leaves drift down.

The drapes were still closed, even though it was past nine. “We’re a little early,” muttered Baba. “They may still be asleep.” ItwasSunday and daddidlike his Sunday morning lie-ins, sprawled on his back, shaking the house with his snores. She ruffled my hair. “Want to go to the park for a little while?”

I grimaced. “I need the bathroom.” Then I thought of something and grinned. “Give me your key, I’ll sneak up and surprise them.”

Baba considered. “Okay,” she said at last. “But if their bedroom door’s closed, youknockbefore you go in there, you hear?”

I nodded and she passed me the key. I bounded up the steps with an eight year-old’s enthusiasm and slotted it into the lock, then quietly turned it. Hopefully I could make it all the way to their room without waking them.

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