Everything feels wrong.
The dress isn’t right. The ring feels too heavy. Even the room is messed up. I was never really the kind of girl that obsessed over my wedding day, but this isn’t remotely how I saw it going down.
I look tired and scared. No amount of messing around with my hair is going to tame it now. I wish I could rip the stupid stud from my nose. I look goofy and weird, like a little girl playing dress-up in her mom’s clothes.
There’s a soft knock at the bedroom door. “Come in.”
It takes a second to recognize the man that enters. He looks a lot like Arsen: muscular, attractive, dark hair and dark eyes. I’ve seen him before though, and the memory hits me like a knife wound.
He was there when Saro got killed.
“They’re almost ready for you,” he says, looking at me like I’m an unpleasant stain on the carpet. “You should come out.”
“Uh, are there other people here?”
“Just me and the priest.” He looks away, back over his shoulder. “I’m Tigran. Arsen’s brother.”
“Oh. His brother.” It isn’t lost on me that I had no clue what my future husband’s brother looks like. That’s probably not the best way to start a marriage. “My name’s Lena. I know this is weird—”
“Just come out when you’re ready.” He walks away. I’m left stunned. It was like he hates me, but I don’t even know the guy. Except there’s clearly more going on here than I realized, and now I’m starting to shake with nerves.
I don’t want to do this.
But it’s the right decision for my family. This way, my mom and dad will be taken care of financially, and I’ll be able to have my baby without worrying about them. Maybe Arsen will make a good husband and father, or maybe he’ll be a total nightmare, but either way I’ll figure out how to deal with it.
I’m not going to cry right now.
My legs feel heavy as I walk back out into the living room. The priest is an older man. He looks tired and haggard, and gives me a little smile when I show my face. Arsen turns to look at me—
And his face brightens.
It’s strange. I’m not even sure it’s real. But one second, he’s chatting with the old man, and the next he’s looking at me like I’m the only ray of sunlight on a cloudy day.
Like he’s basking in me.
“Let’s get this over with,” Tigran says. He’s in the kitchen pouring himself a drink.
Arsen looks away from me and his expression fades. “I don’t want to hear any more from you.”
“Why not, big brother? I can’t comment on this fucking farce?”
“Tigran.” Arsen’s tone is low and warning.
“The girl’s nobody. What the hell are we even doing here? She’s pretty, sure, but she’s just some Russian chick with frizzy hair and bad nails.”
I look down at my hands. Bad nails? They’re not perfect, but come on. That actually stings.
Arsen marches over to his brother. Tigran steps back, but Arsen doesn’t hesitate. He swings a fist and slams it straight into his brother’s face. Tigran’s jaw slams back and he grunts in surprise, collapsing back against the counter. The two men glare at each other, neither of them backing down, and I’m pretty sure my wedding night is about to turn into an outright brawl.
“She is going to be my wife,” Arsen says, his voice a dark threat. “You can talk to me like that, but you will respect her.”
“You’re going to fight me over some fucking—”
Arsen raises his fists again. “My wife,” he snarls.
There’s another horrible moment where I’m sure they’re going to kill each other. But Tigran finally curses, grabs the bottle of whiskey, and takes a long pull. “Fuck it. Here’s to your marriage, brother.” He shoves the bottle over to Arsen, who takes a quick sip.
“Glad we cleared that up.”
Arsen turns away. He stalks over, grabs my arm, and drags me over to where the priest is cringing in the corner. The man looks terrified and exhausted like someone dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night.
Which is probably accurate.
“Ah, Mr. Sarkissian—” That’s the first time I’ve ever heard Arsen’s last name. “You know, it’s unusual—”
“Start saying the fucking words,” Arsen snaps. He turns to face me and grabs my hands in his. “Do the short version.”
The priest clears his throat. “Right, ah, yes. Well, I suppose the only important part is the vows.” He fumbles open a well-worn bible marked with little sticky notes to a specific page and starts to read. “Do you, Arsen Sarkissian, take this woman to be your wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish till death do you part?”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “I do.”
The priest repeats the vows for me but has to pause to ask my name, and I’m thinking this is a total fucking mess and an obscenity and really nobody should be doing this at all. Except Arsen’s grip on my hands tightens like he’s not sure what I’m going to say and his eyes are burning into my face like he can’t possibly look away, and now the priest is waiting for me to answer.
I don’t. I can’t. I won’t. Please, God, don’t make me.
“I do,” I whisper.
“Then by the powers vested in me by the state—”
Arsen doesn’t even wait for him to finish. My husband pulls me into his arms and crushes my mouth against his in a blistering, entirely inappropriate kiss, his tongue invading past my teeth and lapping me up, claiming me, dominating me, a kiss like I’ve never been kissed before in my life, and for a dizzy moment, nobody else exists in the world.
Until he breaks away and I’m left panting in his arms.
“Get the paperwork ready,” Arsen snaps at the priest, not bothering to look at him. The man hurries over to a briefcase left on the table.
“Does that mean it’s real?” I whisper.
Arsen nods slowly. “It’s real. My wife.” And I’m starting to wonder, based on that kiss and the way he’s looking at me, if this whole thing might be about more than just the baby growing in me.
“I don’t think your brother likes me very much,” I say, staring out the window of the car. We’re headed north through the city, speeding away from the congested parts of Baltimore and toward the more spread-out suburban edges.
“It’s not his fault.”
“You punched him.”
“He needs to respect you, whether he wants you around or not.”
“What’s his deal? I mean, I know this is short notice, but—”
He glances at me. His eyes are hooded and lost in shadows from the street lights as he drives. “Our marriage is going to cause problems.”
I don’t even know how to respond to that and he doesn’t seem interested in elaborating.
Row homes disappear and are replaced by sprawling yards and Tudor-style single-family structures. Arsen keeps going until he reaches a wall-ringed property with an actual black metal gate out front. He pushes a button on his garage door opener and the gate rolls slowly aside.
“Fancy,” I murmur, and he’s smiling slightly as we roll down a twisting driveway through tall oak trees and manicured bushes until a massive building comes into view.
It’s enormous. At least the size of a city block. The front has multiple entrances and the facade looks like it’s a Swiss skiing chalet. Flowers are everywhere, beautiful and in bloom, and a fountain sputters in low track lighting. He parks and kills the engine.
“You live here?” I manage to say. “Is it a hotel or something?”
“This is my house. It’s your house too now.”
I laugh but he’s clearly not kidding. “This is crazy. This place is enormous.”
“Sixty rooms. Allegedly.” He pushes his door open and gets out.
“Wait, hold on.” I hurry after him, aware that I’m still in the wedding dress. “You’re not messing with me, are you?”
“Not at all.” He strides down a path and toward a smaller side entrance. I’m exhausted and really dragging myself after him, and I know I’m missing a ton of little details all around me, but it’s dark and I can barely stay upright.
He unlocks the door and we’re inside. Everything’s dim and quiet. Hardwood floors, expensive paintings on the walls. Wealth, taste, luxury, the kind of house I’ve never even seen the inside of, let alone walked through. I stay close to Arsen, feeling like I might get the place dirty with my poverty.
But there are odd places. Little nooks and crannies. Narrow hallways, small doors. There are murmurs all over like the walls are talking. It feels like there are eyes everywhere and I shuffle closer to Arsen, not sure why the place creeps me out so much. Maybe it’s all the dark wood and the looming paintings.
We go upstairs. The master bedroom is in the east wing tucked in the back corner. Big double doors open into a wide space, and for the first time since we entered the house, I feel a little bit safe and comfortable.
“I’ll get you clothes,” he says and lets me change in a big, modern bathroom. The tiles are cold under my feet. I put on sweats and a big hoodie, and he is waiting for me when I come back out.
“I have to call my parents,” I tell him, hugging myself. The wedding dress is hanging on the back of the bathroom door, but I’ve still got on the ring. I’ll probably be wearing it for a very long time. Maybe the rest of my life.
“In the morning. They’ll be okay for one night.”
“What about my things?”
“I’ll have them sent over in the morning.” He begins to undress. I stare at him, unable to take my eyes away. “Certain wings of the house are off-limits,” he murmurs softly as he takes off his shirt. I can’t even pretend to be surprised. The vibe of this place is turn-of-the-century horror novel and I’m trapped between loving it and feeling pretty sure I’m about to get possessed by a demon.
“Why?” I ask because he’s basically dangling meth in front of an addict right about now. I lick my lips at the sight of his built torso.
“Renovations. The building is old and some sections are still unsafe.” He gives me a hard look as he yanks on a clean shirt. “This is for your safety.”
“Right. Understood. Keep out.”
And now I have a mission in life: find all unsafe, off-limits areas of the house and thoroughly violate them.
I give him a big smile and a cheesy thumbs-up. He doesn’t look reassured one bit.
