I take a deep breath and bury my hands in my hair, squeezing my head like it’s going to help find a solution to this fuckup. Because I am not marrying anyone, fake marriage or not. “Okay, let’s think. There must be some way to correct this. I have some savings, maybe fifty grand. I have my next exhibition in a month, and I should be able to get another twenty if I can manage to finish all fifteen pieces and they all sell. How much money can you get for the house?”
“Maybe eighty grand. Or ninety, if we sell the furniture as well. I can get ten more for the car.”
“Good. That places us at somewhere around one hundred and seventy thousand. Will that be enough? How much do you owe them?”
“Three million.”
I must have had a minor stroke because there is no way he said the words I just heard him say. “Can you please repeat that?”
“I owe them three million dollars.”
I stare at him with my mouth wide open. “Dear God, Dad.”
I bend down and place my forehead on my knees, trying to control my breathing. I’m not marriage material, no one in their right mind would offer three million dollars in exchange for six months of marriage. There must be a catch.
“He’s ninety, isn’t he?” I mumble into my knees.
“I don’t know how old theirpakhanis, but I don’t think he’s ninety.”
“Eighty then. I’m so relieved.” I’m going to be sick.
“They said it’ll be a marriage in name only. You won’t have to... you know.”
“Sleep with him? Well, if he’s eighty, then he probably can’t have sex. That’s good. Eighty is good.”
“Nina, I-I am so sorry. If you don’t want to go through with this, that’s okay. I’ll figure something out.”
I straighten up and look at my father who is now sitting slumped in his chair, his hair in disarray and his eyes bloodshot. He looks so old and frail all of a sudden.
“Unless you plan to go to the police, there is nothing else to be done, is there?” I ask.
“You know I can’t go tattle on the Russian mafia to the police. They would kill us all.”
Of course they would kill us. I close my eyes and sigh. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
My father watches me for a few seconds, then places his hands over his face and starts crying. I want to cry as well, but there is no point.
“I suppose they will set up a meeting, or something, where we’ll discuss the details.”
“They already did. We are meeting thePakhanin an hour.”
I look at my father and bury my hands in my hair. “Perfect. I’m just going to the bathroom to puke up my lunch, and I’ll meet you at the front door in five.”