Page 14 of Pas de Trois
I pull out the pages.
I unfold them.
My hands tremble as I read the words.
Certificate of Marriage.
My heart stops beating.
Anya Antonov and Nikolai Mikhailov were joined in marriage on the twenty-first of September in the year…
Oh, God.
I remember.
This is what happened that day.
That’s what he was trying to remind me of when I was forced to spend the night with him three months ago as my punishment for trying to commit suicide.
Nearly a year into my captivity—when I was tired of fighting him, when I was lonely, lost, and desperate—I’d come to his room willingly for the first and only time and he’d made me come with his fingers. He never showed me compassion or caring after. He used the knowledge he gained that day against me, knowing how to use my body to coax me into compliance. I went back to hating him after that, though I suppose that was the time when I stopped fighting and gave him my submission to avoid pain.
But this, this Certificate of Marriage, was from the day after that. I remember Nikolai’s brother making me drink beyond intoxication. I remember him bringing me into Nikolai’s home office. I remember seeing another man who I didn’t recognize.
A clergyman.
And Kostya, whose name is here as a witness on the certificate, along with Nikolai’s brother.
Then it’s true?
“We’re married?” I stare at the certificate in my hands. “We’re married. Is this true, Nikolai?”
“Yes,” he whispers. “I told you, I fell for you.” He gasps. “I was going to tell the board when I turned forty.”
Forty?
He would be forty in a couple of months.
I look at Ezra, hoping for some sort of clarification and thankfully, he’s able to provide it since Nikolai’s breaths are becoming erratic. “Heads of House choose a bride when they’re forty…to bear children and carry on the family name,” Ezra explains solemnly. “He was going to tell them he’d already married you, but he wasn’t supposed to marry anyone without their agreement. That certificate would’ve forced their approval.”
With insistence and no warning at all, a bubble of rage rises into my chest and bursts explosively. “Why would you do this to me?” I shout at Nikolai. “Why did you do this?”
“To keep you,” Nikolai says. “To make you worthy of me.”
“You bastard,” I snarl. “Worthy of you? I’m worth more than your sick soul could ever afford.”
“I know.” He’s shaking, pale as a ghost, eyes shadowed with his oncoming death. “I know that now. That’s why I tried to buy you back. To save you.” His eyes flicker toward the box again. “Look.”
I pull out the only other item I see in the gray box—a small, square, black jewelry box.
No.
Please, no.
I flip open the hinged top.
Sparkling bright is a large, square-cut diamond ring and a wedding band to go with it.
Hot tears spring to my eyes.
