Page 9 of The Bratva's Sextuplets
“I want this marriage.” His statement stuns me. “Not for romantic reasons, of course, but because it serves practical purposes for both our families.”
I roll my eyes. “How romantic. I’ve always dreamed of a marriage based on practical purposes.”
His lips twitch, but his tone remains serious. “Romance is temporary. Practical partnerships last longer and cause less damage when they end.”
I tilt my head, genuinely curious about his answer. “How long do you expect thispractical partnershipto last?”
“Until one of us dies or the benefits no longer justify the costs.” He says that in a tone he might use for quarterly profit margins. “Ideally, we’ll develop enough mutual respect to make the arrangement tolerable.”
“Mutual respect based on what, exactly? Your family destroyed my neighborhood, you dismiss my concerns, and you’re forcing me into marriage. What should inspire my respect?”
“The fact that I’m being honest about our circumstances instead of pretending this is something it’s not.” He sounds impatient. “Most arranged marriages begin with false promises. I prefer realistic parameters.”
“Should I be grateful for your honesty about treating me like a business acquisition?”
“You should be grateful that I’m treating you like an intelligent adult instead of a romantic fantasy.” Tigran maintains distance while making clear he won’t be dismissed. “Your intelligence is one of your most valuable assets.”
“My intelligence tells me this marriage is a mistake for everyone involved.”
“Your intelligence is limited by incomplete information.” Tigran’s tone becomes patronizing. “You don’t understand the pressures my organization faces or the advantages this marriage provides. Your unwillingness suggests independence that could be useful if properly motivated.”
I shake my head, rejecting the idea. “This marriage is happening whether either of us wants it.” I walk toward the door. “I accept that, but don’t expect me to pretend I’m grateful for the opportunity.”
“I expect you to honor the commitments your father made on your behalf.” Tigran’s voice follows me. “Beyond that, your attitude is your own choice.”
I pause at the door. “My attitude will reflect my circumstances. If you want a willing partner, you might consider creating conditions that inspire willingness.”
“Willingness can’t be created through external conditions.” His response carries certainty. “It comes from accepting reality and making the best possible choices within the existing constraints.”
“If those constraints are too restrictive, the choice becomes whether to stay or go,” I say, glaring at him.
His mouth twists downward. “I expect you’ll have more strength than your mother. You won’t run away when things get hard.”
I lift my hand, poised to slap him for his remarks about my mother, but I hesitate. I’m conflicted about her, and while he’s probably using that weak point to goad me or make a point, there’s truth in his implications. Mom did leave without me. I don’t blame her for getting out while she could, but I can’t imagine any circumstances that justify leaving behind a child. In that situation, I’d stay and fight to the death if need be.
As I lower my hand without striking, his arrogant smirk briefly tempts me to raise it again. Instead, I turn and walk away from him without another word.
The next morning,I wake to find my engagement announced in the Chicago Tribune’s society section. The headline reads “Local Business Heiress to Wed Russian Entrepreneur,” and the article spins our arranged marriage into a romantic love story.
My phone starts ringing at eight o’clock with congratulations from friends who believe the newspaper’s fairy tale. Each conversation requires me to smile and sound grateful while inside I’m mourning every dream I had about choosing my own future.
By noon, I realize this performance of happiness will be my life from now on. I’m no longer Zita, who had plans and dreams. I’m already becoming Mrs. Tigran Belsky, the grateful bridewho found love with a sophisticated businessman. The woman I actually am will have to exist privately, in the spaces between public appearances and strategic obligations.
4
Tigran
The wedding planner quits on Tuesday morning.
I discover this when Viktor calls to inform me Valentina Petrova, the woman we hired to coordinate the ceremony, sent her resignation via email at six-thirty this morning. She gave no explanation and made no attempt at negotiation, just a curt message stating that she can no longer provide services for our event due to “irreconcilable creative differences.”
“What kind of creative differences?” I ask, though I suspect I already know the answer.
“The kind that involve your future bride rejecting every suggestion and proposing alternatives that, according to Ms. Petrova, demonstrate complete ignorance of proper Russian wedding traditions.” Viktor’s tone suggests he finds this situation more amusing than concerning. “Apparently, Miss Lo Duca has very strong opinions about flower arrangements.”
I lean back in my office chair and stare at the ceiling. Three days have passed since the dinner at the Lo Duca house, where I met the woman who will become my wife in less than six weeks. It’s become clear in that time that Zita Lo Duca has no intention of making this arrangement easy for anyone involved.
“Hire another planner.” I turn my attention back to the stack of contracts on my desk, each one requiring my signature to authorize payments, approve operations, or establish new business relationships. “Find someone with more patience for difficult clients.”
