Chapter 33: Natalia

“Would you like anything else?” Sophia asks as we step out of the store.

One of her bodyguards tags along behind us carrying our shopping bags while the other two guard us. A reminder of the situation at hand.

I’m starting to feel nearly as sorry for myself as she probably feels for me. She came by this morning to take me shopping. We’ve spent the day doing so.

I would have preferred to stay inside the house and lick my wounds in private rather than be on show for all to see how pathetic I am.

The pathetic wife who got married five days ago and hasn’t set eyes on her husband since.

“No,” I mutter.

“How about something to eat? You didn’t have much at lunch. We could have dinner at that restaurant you liked last week.”

Last week, I ate like a pig because I was anxious about the wedding. This week, I’ve barely eaten a thing because I’m anxious about how the rest of my life is going to play out.

I keep thinking Mikhail is spending his nights with one of his women.

Every time the thought pops into my head, my stomach twists into knots tighter than a macramé.

It’s doing it now. Since it’s nigh on nightfall and I suspect I’m going to spend another night without him, it’s probably best I refrain from eating anything because I might throw up.

“Is it okay if we just head back. I’m a little tired.” I attempt a smile, and she places an arm around me.

“Of course, that’s no problem. I have tired you out.” She laughs heartily.

“No, it’s me.” Because I haven’t been sleeping. It’s funny. I’ve been spending my nights the way I thought I was going to spend my first few nights of captivity—alone and locked away.

The novelty of me has worn off like a new toy that’s lost its appeal.

Or in my case, I might be more like an animal that’s lost its use and been put out to pasture. Mikhail controls the cartel now, and he’s taken what he wanted from me. He has no further use for me. I wonder if he’ll go back on his word and sell me or give me to his brother.

Sophia cuts into my worries when she links her arm with mine.

“There’s a bake sale at the hospital next week. I’d love for you to attend. There are some important people you’d be interested in meeting.”

I perk up a little to humor her. It’s nice of her to spend time with me. Without her I’d probably sit in that house day in and out with the dog, the only living thing in there that likes me. The staff still treat me like shit, and the house still has that unwelcoming vibe.

“That sounds great. I’d love to go.”

“I’m sure you’ll love it even more when you meet my friend. He’s the dean at New York University. I told him about your interest in becoming a doctor.”

I can’t even muster the strength to look fascinated, because going to college is not something I think I’ll be able to do.

I can’t start something I always dreamed of doing only to stop when the shit hits the fan and I either have to flee because people found out I’m not who I say I am or for other reasons.

I couldn’t do that to myself.

All I can hope for is that one day, something will happen for me to accomplish my dreams by some other means. But again, I humor her with a smile as fake as I am.

“Thank you so much. That would be amazing.”

“I thought you’d like that.” She chuckles. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

We get home half an hour later. Before she leaves, she steeps a Slovenian tea made of chamomile and lavender to relax me.

The mood I’m in, though, would most likely require a whole field of chamomile and lavender to work.

I spend the night thinking and worrying. Not sleeping.

I’m back at that place again where out of sight definitely does not mean out of mind. Seeing my enemy would give me an idea of what’s happening on a day-to-day basis.

This nothingness is driving me crazy. It doesn’t even help that I get to talk to José, because he can’t help ease my mind, either.

The next day, I leave the house at breakfast, not bothering to eat. I take food for Snow, and we spend the day in the woods. I disobey the rules and stay out until it’s late, and I don’t eat.

I see no point in making myself feel worse by sitting at that table with the maids either ignoring me or talking about me in a language I don’t understand.

I knew my actions wouldn’t go unnoticed, but I didn’t expect Aleksander to be waiting by the door when I got back. With that stern expression on his face, he reminds me of one of my old headmasters everyone feared because he was so strict.

“Mrs. Dmitriyev, your husband requests your presence at dinner. Now,” he informs me.

“Mikhail is actually here?” I hate the way my heart flutters for that bastard.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He started calling me ma’am after I got married. It’s either that or Mrs. Dmitriyev. I hate both. I long to be called Natalia. I never realized how much I would miss hearing my name.

Aleksander takes Snow, and I head to the bathroom to wash my hands and take off my coat.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and wince. I look tired and like I’ve aged a hundred years. My hair is up in a messy bun, and my eyes are red like I’ve been crying. I hope Mikhail doesn’t think I’ve been sitting here crying over him.

Summoning courage and the I-don’t-give-a-shit-where-you’ve-been-for-the last-six-days attitude I practiced, I walk out into the dining room, where I see my husband.

Dressed in black and sitting at the head of the table, he reminds me of weeks ago when I first saw him looking like that.

It feels like a lifetime has passed since that happened, yet it’s been only two days shy of five weeks. I can’t believe so much has happened in such a short period of time, or that I’ve matured so much.

It’s like I’ve been to war.

His eyes pierce the distance between us and take me in as I walk up to him.

I wish I could feel nothing and like the time apart has made me feel less for him. But the only true thing about not being with him is that it’s annoyingly made my fucking heart grow fonder.

Mikhail has the audacity to give me a smile that might pass as pleasant, for him.

“Malyshka, out late again?” he says, enunciating every syllable of my pet name I never thought I’d hear again. “I’m fairly certain I told you to take someone with you if you plan to be out until dark.”

“I had Snow to keep me company, thank you.” I sit in my designated seat opposite him. He continues to regard me.

“My concern isn’t having someone to keep you company. It’s more for safety. Snow is too little to keep you safe.”

Safety?

This is the first we’ve spoken since we said our vows, and he’s talking to me about safety. I’m about to snap because I feel that out-of-control emotion again. If he is so concerned about my safety, why has he been gone for so long?

Tomorrow will mark a week since our wedding, and this is the first fucking time I’ve seen him. Prior to that it was more than two fucking weeks.

“Where have you been?” I don’t care if he thinks my tone is defiant or some shit like that. I think I’m in my right to ask.

“Working.” He gives me a tightlipped smile.

“How come you’re here?”

“I heard you weren’t eating. So, I thought I’d check in.”

I narrow my eyes at him. Before I can think of what more I can say, the maids enter carrying the food.

Dinner was supposed to be served an hour ago. It seems like they were told he’d be home for dinner tonight because they prepare the usual spread they make when he’s around. They do near enough the same for me, but when he’s here, it’s more elaborate and they treat him like the lord of the manor.

Irena, the maid who used to at least smile at me, walks out with a bottle of expensive wine.

She stopped smiling at me the week of the wedding. I guess my suspicions were right about her interest in Mikhail. I figured she was probably hoping to be the next Mrs. Dmitriyev in the family.

She’s smiling now as she approaches Mikhail, and I watch him return the smile with a real one. He’s never smiled at me like that—so easy and normal.

All the smiles he’s given me were either scowls or mocking smirks or taunting in some way.

They start speaking in Russian like old friends who haven’t seen each other in years. I watch them feeling my blood heat, and when she giggles and he laughs, I decide I’ve had enough.

The only thing left is for her to sit in his lap and straddle him. I’ve known him for close to five weeks, yet I’ve never heard him laugh.

They continue talking, but I interrupt the conversation when I tap on the hard wood of the table.

They both look at me then.

“Excuse me,” I say. “What are you guys talking about?”

Irena looks surprised, as does Mikhail.

“Adriana—”

“No, scratch that,” I cut him off before he can have the pleasure of punishing me or embarrassing me in front of her. “You.” I point to Irena. “You understand me. I’ve heard you speaking English before, so I know you understand me.”

“I do,” she replies.

Wow. Five weeks in this house, yet those are the first words she’s spoken to me.

I straighten. “When you come to this table and I’m sitting here, I want to know what the hell you’re talking to my husband about.” I don’t care who I’m supposed to be pretending to be or that I face death if my secrets are revealed. I’ve had enough of people treating me like shit. I’m not going to sit here and take it. “You don’t walk in and have some secret conversation with my husband I can’t understand. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Mrs. Dmitriyev. I apologize.” She dips her head and leaves.

Of course, Mikhail is staring at me with his eyes blazing when I look back at him, but I still don’t care. No matter what happens to me, I’m glad I did that. It’s not like Irena didn’t deserve the warning.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” he asks, squaring his jaw.

“Are you kidding me? You think I’m the problem? The maids don’t talk to me ever, and Aleksander is rude as fuck. Why is that? Did you tell them to treat me like shit?”

“No, they just know they’re not here to socialize.”

“Well, you sounded like you were socializing just fine with that girl, so I don’t believe that.”

“You believe what I tell you to believe.”

“She got a real smile from you,” I snap back. Outside my head, the words sound stupid.

“What?”

His stupid phone buzzes with a message, cutting into our conversation. When he pulls it from his back pocket, looks at it, and stands, I realize straightaway he’s going out again.

“We’ll finish this conversation another time.”

“When are you coming back?”

He pauses for a moment, considering the answer, then shakes his head.

“I don’t know. I have to work.”

With that, he leaves, and I fall into my usual habit of watching him walk away.

I’m so pathetic. And listen to me; I just sounded like a crazy brat.

Or maybe I just sound like I’m in love with my husband and am trying not to be.