Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
I stare straight ahead and let them talk, plotting all the ways I’ll prove them wrong. I’ll never break, not as long as I live. Especially not because of Mikhail Grinkov.
He tried to be civil when we met. He brought flowers and my favorite chocolates and a tacky diamond bracelet. He pretended to try, at least.
My father hosted dinner in our Brighton house. The long table was set with imported crystal and the fancy silver that my grandmother brought over from Russia. Silver that she would have screamed at Papa for using for any occasion other than a wedding or a funeral. Then again, maybe it was my funeral.
I didn’t understand at the time why Papa had invited me to come to dinner. He never involved me in his business affairs. I also couldn’t understand why Mikhail was being so nice. He repulsed me, and his reputation more than preceded him.
The conversation revolved around shipping routes and dock access for the first hour. I tried not to look as bored as I felt. Some decorum was warranted.
Mikhail spoke softly. That’s what surprised me the most about him. I assumed he would be boisterous or commanding, especially given his reputation for intimidation. It didn’t take long to realize that he didn’t need to raise his voice to command a room.
He forces men to lean forward when he talks. It’s a classic power move. He’s a snake that way. He’ll smile in your face, then stab you in the back.
I couldn’t believe Papa had even stooped so low to take a meeting with Mikhail. Our family is well off on our own and business is good. At least I thought it was. Then the topic shifted, so smoothly it had to be on purpose. Papa made a comment about strengthening legacy. Mikhail talked about the unity of our families. Then my father brought me into the conversation, like an afterthought.
“Dochka,” Papa started, already trying to butter me up with an affectionate pet name. “Mikhail and I have been discussing a few things for some time, and we’ve come to the conclusion that you two should get married.”
I nearly spit out my wine. I looked to my mother, but she was looking down at her hands, refusing to engage.
This wasn’t a meeting after all. It was an ambush. Papa thought that if he brought this up in front of Mikhail, there’s no way I could say no to him. He underestimated me.
“It would be good for our families to form an alliance,” my father explained. “We have assets that would help the Grinkovs and vice versa. Your marriage makes sense.”
“No,” I said, without another thought.
Then I got up from the table and stormed away toward my room. I wasn’t going to be a pawn in my father’s endless game. I certainly wasn’t going to agree to marry Mikhail Grinkov. I grabbed the flowers from the entryway and tossed them in the garbage.
It was only a minute later when Papa came bursting through the door, his face so red. it was almost purple.
“I seem to have misspoken, moya doch,” he said lowly. “You are going to marry Mikhail. You are going to do your duty to this family and you aren’t going to embarrass me again.”
“Perhaps you misheard, otets,” I shot back angrily. “I said no. You can’t force me to marry that gnil. I would rather you shoot me in the head right now.”
Another shadow appeared in my doorway, and I looked up to see Mikhail standing there, assessing me. He didn’t look angry, but he was definitely sizing me up.
“You will come around,” he said quietly and confidently.
I knew in that moment that there was no choice to be made. My father and him had already made the alliance. As far as he was concerned, I was his property now, and he was owed a bride. So, I did what any rational woman would do.
I left the house that night and stayed gone for three days.
I didn’t run far. I’m not naïve. I know the geography of power in Brooklyn too well to pretend I could disappear entirely. I stayed in a borrowed apartment under a different name and waited to see how far Mikhail would push.
Within a few hours, the apartment was surrounded by Mikhail’s men. They didn’t come to the door or try to drag me away. They just stayed a safe distance away, watching me. It was Mikhail’s way of telling me that, no matter where I went, he would have eyes on me.
When I returned home on my own terms, Papa didn’t punish me for leaving. Not directly, at least. He did increase my security detail. He insisted we would continue discussions, and that I would eventually say yes.
Mikhail, for his part, tried to woo me. He sent me a bouquet of flowers every single day. They smelled rotten, and each had a card that said something to the effect of, “You will be my bride.”