Caterina
I can’t do this.
That’s my first thought when I wake up the next morning, Viktor has already gone, the sheets on his side of the bed rumpled where he slept.
I roll over, shoving my face into the pillow as I try to stop the tears, but I can’t. Viktor gave me my first injection last night, and he was hardly gentle about it. I’d had some idea of what to expect. Still, I hadn’t expected the sheer indignity I’d feel as I’d pushed up the side of my pajama shorts, baring the curve of my ass to Viktor’s gaze as he readied himself to give me the shot.
I’d almost expected him to take advantage of that, to try to touch me in some intimate way, but he hadn’t. He’d just jabbed it into my flesh, none too gently, and I’d bitten my lip so hard I’d tasted blood, refusing to give him the satisfaction of the pained noise I’d wanted to make.
I chose this,I’d reminded myself.So don’t make him think you’re regretting it.
The silence between us has become almost constant, cold and drawn out. Our interactions have even become stiff when we’re around the staff or the children. It’s hard to pretend to be a happily married couple when the disdain between the two of us feels as if it’s growing by the day, and even Viktor seems to be getting tired of the charade. He makes it to dinner every night, but all of his attention is on Yelena and Anika. Any other time he’s home, he stays in his study as much as possible.
For myself, I feel like a glorified nanny. I know I’m expected to be up by now, dressed and helping Olga get the children ready to leave for school. But I can’t seem to get myself up. I shove my face deeper into the pillow, letting myself sob just a little—once, twice, and then deep gulping breaths as I try to pull myself together. I’m supposed to have lunch with Sofia today at least, the first time I’ve been out of this house, with the exception of the fertility appointment. The reminder of that gives me the boost I need to sit up. I rub my hand over my face in an effort to wipe the tears away and make it into the shower so that I can get ready and see what needs to be done before I meet her.
There’s nothing to be done though, really. I don’t have any purpose in this house beyond helping with Anika and Yelena. By the time I manage to get out of the shower, braid my wet hair into a single long braid that dangles over my shoulder, and put on a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, Olga has already gotten them dressed and fed and bundled off to school. I can see what she thinks of that in her disapproving look as she walks through the dining room while I’m eating my breakfast, feeling adrift at the long table that’s empty except for me.
“Mr. Andreyev expects you to be the one caring for the children sooner rather than later,” she says, pausing at the table and catching me with a spoonful of steel-cut oats halfway to my lips. “I know you need time to adjust to this new role. But I am not their mother, Mrs. Andreyv.”
Neither am I.I want to retort, seeing the stern, almost grandmotherly expression on her face. But the truth is, I wouldn’t mind being a mother to them. It breaks my heart that they lost theirs, and it doesn’t escape me that if their mother was still alive, I wouldn’t be here. But I don’t exactly know what to do. Yelena is warming up to me more quickly, but I’m at a loss about how to take care of her. I don’t have any real experience with children, not in this kind of setting. And I don’t know how to break past Anika’s walls because they’re all valid. She lost her mother, and her father has tried to replace her with someone nothing like her. I can understand Anika’s bitterness.
Viktor had suggested I try to connect with them through the loss of my own parents, but that feels difficult too. I don’t know ifI’mready to share that. I’ve barely spoken about that loss, even to Sofia. I don’t know if I’m prepared to share it with children, children who will have questions, children who I will have to delicately tiptoe around the details of my parents’ deaths with.
No, I don’t think I’m ready for any of that.
“I’m doing my best,” I say quietly. “Like you said, it’s an adjustment.”
Olga looks at me disapprovingly. “I don’t think you are, Mrs. Andreyva.Caterina.” She says my name with distaste, her accent thickening. “I told Viktor he should marry a Russian woman. Someone who knows her place here. But he insisted on you. He insists that I model respect for you, too, for the girls. So I try. But the girls are not here right now, Caterina, and I will tell you that I think it was a poor choice for Viktor to bring you here.”
I feel something knot in my stomach, burning acid climbing up my throat. I want to spit all kinds of things at her, all sorts of angry vitriol about how I don’t want to be here either, what I think of the Russians and what they’ve done to my family and others over the years, how I feel about Viktor and her and everyone in this godforsaken house. But instead, I slowly set down my spoon, taking a deep breath as I meet her icy blue gaze.
“I didn’t choose this marriage,” I tell her calmly. “So I would agree with you that Viktor made a poor choice. I was not told I would be a new mother to two girls. But Anika and Yelena are very sweet, and I want to make the effort that is required of me. Viktor wants a son, and I am doing my best to provide that as well. Believe me,Olga, if I had a choice about being a part of this marriage, I would not be here right now. So, like I said before. It’s an adjustment.”
Olga is silent for a long moment, watching me keenly. “His first marriage was a love match, you know,” she says quietly. “A tempest in a teapot, always. She didn’t understand that you cannot change a man, and most especially a man like Viktor.” Olga narrows her eyes at me. “I think you understand that. I think you know that Viktor has a nature that will not be changed. He is the man he was made to be and nothing less.”
“I know that.” I push my bowl of oatmeal away, my appetite gone. “He’s made—some concessions, for me. I’m grateful for those. I know he’s not—an easy man.”
“He’s not,” Olga says quietly. “If he’s made concessions for you, youshouldbe grateful. That’s unusual for him.” She pauses, still watching me. “I’ve known him a long time, Caterina,” she says finally. “I’ve worked for this house when his father was the one who ruled here. Viktor’s family comes from a long line of hardship. They killed their way to what they have here, now, in America, earned it with blood and violence. That sort of thing is in his bones. That’s what Vera, God rest her soul, couldn’t understand.”
“What happened to her?” I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t resist asking. I know from the shadow that passes over Olga’s face when I do, though, that I won’t be getting answers from her today.
“That’s not my business to tell you,” she says, her shoulders squaring. “Now, I have work to do, Mrs. Andreyva. But if you want to know that badly, ask Viktor. He should be the one to tell you such things.”
I let out a sigh once she’s gone, looking morosely at what remains of my breakfast. I should have known I wouldn’t get answers from her. And regardless of her encouragement, I’m not going to ask Viktor—more than anything because I’m afraid of the answer.
Surely, if Viktor had killed his first wife, Luca would have known and not agreed to the marriage. Surely he would at least have warned me if he still felt he had no other choice than to go through with it.
I make up my mind to ask Sofia when I see her. Maybe she’s heard something, or Luca has said something to her at some point. I also trust her not to say anything to Luca or anyone else, either.
She’s already at the restaurant when I get there, a French bistro spot that we both like, idly fiddling with her phone while she waits. I’m astonished to see how good she looks when she stands up to greet me, a smile on her face. Her dark hair is in a high ponytail, her skin glowing, her figure filled out with her steadily growing pregnancy. There’s still only the slightest of bumps under her form-fitting black sheath dress, elbow-length and belted at the waist, but everything about her screams that it suits her. She’s wearing a long diamond lariat necklace and long silver earrings with diamond teardrops at the ends, and she touches her ears self-consciously when she sees me looking at them, a hint of the shy old Sofia returning.
“Luca’s been spoiling me more these days,” she says with a small laugh. “We came back from our appointment and he had these waiting for me, along with enough roses to fill half the bedroom. He’s over the moon about the baby.”
“That’s got to feel good, after worrying about it for so long, though.” I remember all too well how terrified Sofia had been when she’d admitted to me that she was pregnant. I’d been in the dark about it too for a long time and for the reasons why Luca had insisted she not get pregnant, at a threat to her life if she did. Yet again, another thing that was my father and Franco’s fault, a contract that was meant to give our child—mine and Franco’s—my father’s seat at the head of the Family table one day. Sofia remaining childless had been part of the marriage contract my father had arranged between her and Luca, and she’d been terrified when she and Luca, during a night of passion, had conceived anyway. Her efforts to keep that child a secret had led down a dangerous path for everyone.
But now, everything is different. My father and Franco are gone and their reign of terror over Sofia is over. She and Luca are blissfully married, and she’s accepted this life and the things that her husband sometimes does in pursuit of keeping her and their soon-to-be little one safe. And this baby is now wanted by everyone, no longer a secret.
Gingerly, I touch my stomach under the table, wondering how long it will be before I’ll be harboring a small bump. My baby will be wanted too, and never a secret. In fact, the circumstances couldn’t be more different.