Page 20 of The Bratva's Sextuplets
“Yet you performed beautifully during the ceremony.” I continue working on the dress fastenings, noting how the formal structure begins to loosen as I progress. “You played the role of grateful bride with remarkable conviction.”
“I played the role because I didn’t have a choice.” Zita’s voice carries the strain of holding back explosive emotions all day. “Just like I don’t have a choice about anything else in my life anymore.”
The dress finally gives way and slides down her shoulders, revealing the delicate lace undergarments beneath. Zita steps out of the silk puddle and kicks aside the expensive gown withunnecessary force, as if attacking the symbol of everything she resents about today.
“Better?” I hang the dress carefully on the provided garment rack, treating it with more respect than its wearer currently feels it deserves.
“Better.” Zita walks back toward the window, now wearing only the ivory silk camisole and matching panties that were chosen specifically for tonight. The lingerie is beautiful and expensive and clearly selected by someone other than the woman wearing it. “But not good.”
I remove my shirt and tie, noting how she watches my reflection in the window glass. There’s curiosity in her observation, but also calculation, as if she’s trying to determine what kind of threat or ally she’s been chained to through marriage.
“What would make it good?” I ask, genuinely curious about her answer.
“Freedom to make my own choices about my life, my career, and my relationships.” Her response comes without hesitation. “The ability to build something meaningful based on my own values instead of adapting to circumstances created by other people’s moral compromises.”
“Those things aren’t possible. The circumstances we’re dealing with don’t allow for individual preferences to take priority over family obligations.”
“I’ll find ways to create them anyway.” She turns away from the window to face me directly. “I’ll find ways to maintain my integrity even if I can’t maintain my independence.”
The fierce determination in her voice reminds me why she’s been so difficult to manage throughout our engagement period. Zita isn’t someone who adapts gracefully to situations she didn’t choose. She’s someone who fights back against circumstances she can’t control, even when resistance seems pointless.
“You realize fighting me will make both our lives significantly more difficult than they need to be.” I approach her slowly, noting how she doesn’t retreat despite the obvious tension in her posture.
“You realize that expecting me to submit gracefully will guarantee a marriage based on resentment and hostility rather than anything approaching partnership?” Zita lifts her chin to maintain eye contact as I stop just close enough to touch her. “Trying to control me will fail spectacularly and probably create the problems you’re hoping to avoid.”
“I don’t want to control you.” The admission surprises me as much as it seems to surprise her. “I want to find ways for us to work together instead of against each other.”
“Working together requires mutual respect and shared decision-making.” Zita’s response is delivered briskly “It requires treating me like an equal partner instead of a political acquisition.”
“What will you do if I’m willing to treat this marriage as something… more than business? Friendly, perhaps? Equal?”
Skepticism and possibly hope flicker in Zita’s expression. “I might be willing to work with you instead of spending our entire marriage finding ways to make you regret forcing me into it. Make my life easy, and your life might be a little easier too.”
The honesty of her response is both encouraging and troubling. She’s offering cooperation in exchange for respect, which seemsreasonable until I consider what partnership with someone like Zita might actually require. She’s intelligent, strong-willed, and completely opposed to many aspects of how my family conducts business. Treating her as an equal partner could mean accepting challenges to methods and decisions I’ve never had to justify before, but the alternative is a marriage based on resentment and hostility that could undermine everything I’m trying to build.
“A pleasant partnership,” I say, testing the concept. “Shared responsibility. Sharedbed.”
She laughs. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
I shrug. It was worth suggesting, especially after that wedding kiss. I won’t forget the way she did it, with passion rather than trepidation.
“We can do a partnership,” I say. “And then we’ll see where it goes.”
“A partnership with the understanding that my opinions and preferences matter as much as yours, even when they’re inconvenient or challenging.”
“I can work with that.” I reach out to touch her face, letting my thumb trace the elegant line of her cheekbone. I’m surprised she doesn’t move away. “Partnership requires trust, and trust takes time to develop.”
“Trust has to be earned through actions, not promised through words.” She still doesn’t pull away from my touch, but she doesn’t lean into it either. “Especially when those actions involve consummating a marriage neither of us wanted in the first place.”
The elephant in the room. We’re married now, which means certain expectations about tonight that I’ve only just begun to address. The suite includes a king-sized bed that’s been prepared with rose petals and champagne in a romantic staging that assumes newlyweds are eager to celebrate their union physically.
“What do you want from tonight?” I ask, deciding that direct communication serves us better than dancing around obvious realities.
“I want to get through it without feeling like I’ve been conquered or claimed or reduced to someone’s property.” Her answer is delivered with the straightforward honesty that seems to be her default approach to difficult conversations. “I want to maintain some sense of agency even in circumstances I didn’t choose.”
“I’d like the same thing.”
She eyes me warily, clearly not sure she can believe that. “If that’s true, we might discover that forced marriage doesn’t have to mean forced intimacy.” Zita steps closer, eliminating the space between us. “We might discover choosing each other is different from being chosen for each other.”
