Page 18 of Poisoned Vows

“Is Nikolai not eating with us? Or your father?”

Marika laughs. “Papagets up very early in the morning. He has breakfast alone, usually. He has ever since our mother passed away. Niki usually eats on the go. Just a protein shake or whatever he has on the way to the gym.” She rolls her eyes. “So it’s usually just me and all of this. I’m glad to have the company. Sit down.”

She points at the chair, and I gape at the food, astonished at the waste that must occur every day. There’s no way a girl as petite as Marika eats more than a small portion of this.

“Eat whatever. Help yourself.” She gestures again, looking at me as if she doesn’t quite understand my reaction, and then starts to spoon scrambled eggs mixed with some kind of cheese and herbs onto her plate.

My stomach growls audibly, and I swallow hard, reaching for my plate. I’ve been on my father’s strict diet for so many years that I don’t know what to do with the literal buffet in front of me. “Nikolai is fine with this?”

Marika looks at me as if I have lost my mind. “Why would he care?”

Because he won’t want his wife to get fat.The thought crosses my mind, even as I realize exactly how ludicrous it is. I have a long way to go before I could even come close to that—and even then, I’d be fit as long as I kept up with my usual routines. I’m painfully thin now, and exercising according to the regimen I’ve been on for as long as I can remember usually leaves me dizzy and tired.

He wanted me like this.

“Lilliana.” Marika blows out what sounds like a frustrated breath. “Eat. We have appointments to get to.”

I put some of the eggs and a piece of dry toast on my plate, picking at it. Even as hungry as I am, my anxiety closes my throat and makes it hard to swallow anything. None of this feels real.

Last night, I was bracing myself for the loss of my virginity. Now I’m staring down the barrel of an unwanted marriage.

I couldn’t have imagined how quickly things would change.

Marika plows through her own plate of food, and then waits for me until it’s clear that I’m not going to eat anything else. She pulls out her phone, tapping out a quick message, and then gets up. “The driver will be around in a minute. Let’s go.”

The driver. I feel a moment’s small satisfaction as we walk out to the steps in front of the mansion, and a black SUV pulls up in front of us. It’s exactly the kind of thing my father aspires to—a driver and a car, being chauffeured around, enough money to spend without limits. I don’t want this—but there’s something just the tiniest bit vindicating about the fact that I’m getting this kind of treatment, when my father had intended for nothing other than to sell my body to gain a pathway to it for himself.

Marika sits across from me, and she reaches over to a wooden panel, pressing it open. I see dry ice and small bottles of champagne and orange juice. She pulls out two flutes, handing one to me as she makes herself a mimosa, and then fishes out another of each bottle and passes them to me.

“Maybe you’re not feeling very celebratory,” she explains, “but it’ll take the edge off one way or another.”

I can see that hint of sympathy in her eyes again, and I look at the small bottle of champagne. I’ve never had the opportunity to drink like this. I’ve never been allowed. A flush of rebellion washes over me, and I think,why not?

It’s not as if Nikolai told me I can’t drink. And who cares, anyway? What could he do to me that hasn’t already been done, or won’t be done very soon?

My father isn’t here to tell me no, and I don’t belong to him any longer.

Fuck it.I make the mimosa and take a long sip.

The champagne bursts over my tongue. It’s dry and tart, tinged with the sweetness of the orange juice, and I’m pretty sure it’s one of the best things I’ve ever tasted.

“You like it?” Marika grins at me, and I realize she’s enjoying this—introducing me to new things.

She seems excited to have a sister. A friend, even. It makes me feel a little guilty for how cold I’ve been to her. It’s not her fault my father groomed me to sell to her family, or that her brother is forcing me into an unwanted marriage.

She’s probably going to be forced into one, too, eventually.

“It’s good,” I tell her, and she smiles. “Really good.”

“Well, there’s plenty in here, if you want another.” She tips her glass back, draining it, and then clinks it against mine. “Here’s to spending my brother’s money.”

Three mimosas in by the time we reach the bridal boutique, the world is a little fuzzy around the edges, and I feel a little more capable of handling what’s ahead of me—until I see the wall of white silk and lace surrounding me when we step inside, and I feel my stomach churn.

“I can’t do this,” I whisper to Marika, as if she’s my confidant instead of a part of the enemy’s plan, and she gives me that sympathetic look again.

God, I hate feeling pitied.

“You can.” She pats my hand. “We all have to deal with it, eventually. My turn is coming up soon enough, I’m sure.”

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