Page 122 of The Darkness is Calling

Ekaterina

My heart has been hammering in my chest ever since I woke up, stirring a painful storm even in my stomach.

My first thought is not Today is the big day, filled with excitement.

It is, in fact, Fuck, followed by an agitation that feels dangerously close to a panic attack, one that keeps chasing me. It’s nothing like the stress I feel before a recital. This time is an emotional weight made of frustration, anger, and sorrow.

I barely slept last night. I got lost in thoughts about how I ran from Moscow, where an arranged marriage would surely have been waiting for me, only to fall into another trap. Except this time, it was my choice, signing that contract that blocked every possible way out.

Every minute passes like a silent film, because most of the time I stare into nothing and barely hear the words of the people around me.

Jane fusses enough for an entire army. A full team of stylists has been swarming around me since early morning, some taking care of my makeup, others my hair.

“Are you okay?”

Oksana’s worried voice pulls me out of my trance, but I smile when she hands me a glass of prosecco, which I accept without hesitation.

“All I want is to get through this day as quickly as possible.”

“Why? Is tomorrow going to be better?” she throws back, pressing her lips together sadly before drinking nearly a quarter of what is in her glass. “When do you leave for the honeymoon?”

“Tomorrow.”

“I heard it rains in the Maldives this time of year.”

“That’s exactly why Oliver decided last week that we’re going to Bali instead, remember?”

She rolls her eyes.

“You still have time to decide whether you want me to buy a ticket and come after you. I think Oliver would have a lot of fun discovering I’m in the picture. Something tells me he would deserve a scenario like that.”

I laugh softly, a gesture I have barely glimpsed in myself these past few days, silently agreeing with the last part. After I told her about Oliver’s reaction at the restaurant, she withdrew whatever support she might still have had for him, and now her purpose in life seems to be making my future husband miserable.

I hate that title, but unfortunately, I need to get used to it. He will be my husband very soon.

“Don’t joke about it, because I might shove you straight into my luggage and save us the trouble of booking another flight.”

A knock at the door interrupts our wicked plans, and a serious Dima slips into the room. His allblack outfit, just like his boss’s, brings a fresh wave of sadness over me.

“Miss Borislova,” he begins, politely lowering his head. “May I disturb you for a few minutes?”

“Of course,” I answer, gesturing for the people working on my hair to take a break, while I set my glass on the table.

“I have been informed by your fiance that my services will end before the ceremony. As my final task, I am to introduce you to the new team he has brought in for your protection.”

I rise from the chair at once, looking at him in confusion, then doing the same when I look at the man and woman behind him. They are dressed in black suits too, but unlike Dima, they wear white shirts. Even the brunette woman, whose hair is pulled into a simple, very tight bun has the same outfit.

“What do you mean? You’re leaving?” I ask, unable to hide the sadness of losing the last link to Artem, no matter how small and wrong that link may be.

Dima was a piece of my past with Pakhan. Now, on my wedding day, even this last fragment disappears completely, and all I can do is cover it back up with the pain that has dominated my entire existence for the past ten days.

“I’m sorry,” he says, visibly disappointed. “I thought I would be here at least until you left for your honeymoon, but things have changed.”

My new guards step forward to introduce themselves, but my eyes don’t leave Dima. I barely hear their names, focused instead on the man pressing his lips together, looking at the two of them as if he is underestimating them.

“I didn’t know anything about this. I thought…” I stop.

“One day more or less, it makes no difference,” he says, then adds just as dryly. “Congratulations, and I wish you a beautiful celebration.”