Page 107 of Nikola
Ever since my memory had resurfaced, I suspected it was Mama’s grandmother who starred in my nightmares, but I didn’t voice that thought. I couldn’t bring myself to bring any more pain to my parents. Besides, I still hadn’t confirmed it was indeed that very same woman.
Papa, unfazed by the reality of the situation and ghosts of my past, had been full steam ahead with wedding preparations. He refused to take Nikola’s refusal seriously.
If I was a better person—a better woman—I would have told my parents to forget Nikola and this ridiculous marriage. But it turned out, I wasn’t a good, selfless woman.
“I like this penthouse,” Mama signed, desperate to talk about anything but what weighed on all of us. “We should stay here next time.”
Sasha and Branka’s penthouse was our temporary home while they were staying in the Nikolaev compound with Damien. Honestly, I never understood why they had a penthouse here when they spent the majority of their year in Siberia, and whenever they visited New Orleans, they stayed at the Nikolaev compound.
“Are you all packed up?” Mama asked for the hundredth time.
“Yes, Mama.” I shifted my legs, folding them under me.
The couch in this penthouse had sadly become my best friend. At least today I’d showered, which was a major accomplishment in my current state of depression.
I didn’t want to go back to Trieste, fearing that the physical distance would make matters worse. But that was ridiculous because it wouldn’t matter if we were five feet or five thousand miles apart, there couldn’t be a deeper wedge between Nikola and me.
My cell buzzed in my lap and a message flashed across the screen.
Penelope: So, Christmas wedding here I come. Might be a funeral too.
Amara: Ohh, two for one. Sounds like a perfect commercial ad.
Me: Have you gotten a dress yet?
I hated to admit it, but part of me was jealous. Penelope didn’t want a wedding yet she was getting one. I wanted one,and the man I loved refused to give me one. The most frustrating part was that I couldn’t wrap my head around his reasoning.
To me, he was still the same exact Nikola he’d always been: strong, protective, and loving.
Another message pulled me from my own misery to focus on my friends.
Penelope: I’m not wearing a white dress. I want Enzo to know I’m no longer a virgin.
Amara: Ohhh, love that. You going to go down wearing something risqué?
Penelope: I would walk down the aisle naked, but my family’s going to be there.
Me: Maybe give him a chance?
Penelope: Yeah, I’ll give him a chance to have a quick death.
Amara: I wouldn’t.
Penelope: Enough about me. How are you, Skye? Ready for your big day after that scandalous sex tape?
Fuck, the news of my broken engagement hadn’t made it out.
Me: Nikola dumped me. It was the shortest engagement—if you can call it that—in recorded history.
Amara: Fuck, what happened?
Penelope: Aside from the sex tape.
Amara: It’s hot from what I heard.
I winced, but before I could type a reply, Penelope’s came first.
Penelope: It was done discreetly so you couldn’t tell who it was.
