Page 14 of Vitaly

Once we make it to a sitting area, the driver leaves Papa and I to drown in discomfort by ourselves. I eye the couch but don’t sit when Papa opts to stand. His nervousness is making me want to rub at the stain on my dress, but I settle for covering it with my cupped hands. I keep my head down and try to wait patiently while my father paces the room.

“Hello.”

My heart skips at the velvety voice, my arms tensing. I peer up, unable to help myself, and lock onto a dark set of eyes in the doorway.

For a moment, a half second, I think it’s my future husband, and the warm smile he gives me threatens to melt me into a puddle on the floor.

But the lines on his forehead—visible beneath combed-over, blond hair—hint at his age. He’s at least a decade older than the eighteen-year-old I’m to marry.

“You must be Mila,” the man says, sharp canines gleaming at me as he crosses the room and holds out his hand. “Nikita Petrov.”

Petrov.

He’s one of them.

My palm feels sweaty as it meets his, but if he notices, he doesn’t voice it. I don’t take my eyes off his nearly black irises. The darkest I’ve ever seen.

“Pleasure to meet you,” I say, my voice smooth, showing none of my nerves. Pride bathes my shoulders with ease as I give him a slight smile and dip of my chin.

Papa clears his throat beside me, pulling Nikita’s eyes to him. “Fyodor Alekseev.”

Nikita’s smile falls in a pointed way, and he makes no move to shake Papa’s hand when he holds it out. Turning back to me, Nikita lifts his lips once more. “I better go get my nephew… He’s a lucky guy.” He gives me a friendly wink before turning and strutting from the room.

The moment he’s gone, my father makes a fist in my hair and yanks my head back, pulling a gasp into my lungs.

“I swear to God, if you spread your legs for any man who isn’t your husband, I will give them my blessing to fucking kill you. I’ll do itmyself, do you understand me,shlyukha?”

Shlyukha…Whore.

My eyes burn more from the moniker than from the pain in my scalp. “Yes, sir. I would never?—”

“You wereflirtingwith the uncle! What happens when he tells your husband? What kind of man would want aslut?”

“I wasn’t?—”

“Shut up,” he spits, hot, angry breath hitting my cheek. When footsteps sound nearby, he lets go of my hair and steps to the side, giving my future husband a better view of me.

My eyes threaten to water, but I bite my cheek and force my hands to still, picture the nervous energy leaving my body—a trick my mother taught me.

I keep my eyes lowered as two men enter the room. I’m afraid to make eye contact with the wrong man again, especially in front of my future husband.

Nausea coils in my stomach, and although I promised my mother I wouldn’t cry, right now I want to. I can feel Papa’s disapproval, even as he talks lightheartedly with my future father-in-law. It eats away at me, digs into my pride, and slices across the part of me that craves perfection. Acceptance. Approval.

I’m standing in the most important moment of my life. This moment, right now, determines my family’s destiny. This decides whether my father grants me his forgiveness, hislove.

With a steady breath and a shot of bravery, I lift my eyes to a set of amber irises, so light they look like gold. Despite their shine, they hold no warmth. No compassion. Not a drop of kindness. These are something from my worst nightmare, and before anything is out of his mouth, I know I’ll be seeing these eyes every night when I lay down to go to sleep.

“No.” He shakes his head in disgust before turning to his father. “Pick someone else.”

My lungs stop working.

“Vitaly,” his father scorns, as if he can feel my heart breaking.

Vitaly. I didn’t even know that was his name.

Yesterday, I might’ve liked it. Today, it sounds like hatred.

The look Vitaly gives me next, one of pure disdain, is so hard to take that I lower my head. It’s what a submissive wife would do. I hate that it feels natural.

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