The saint looks exclusively into the eyes, but he would be better off examining the body, his gaze so piercing. It's hard to hold on when the blue cuts through with calm indifference, and his voice breaks the heart. Worse than words, for words are just letters, but the tone… Vlad's tone is even, emotionless, alien. He used a completely different voice to lull me to sleep at night. With a different voice, he promised to show strength and power in another sense. He showed. Now I see… My father simply destroyed my life, but I had been living with it since birth. Vlad, however, is right now, before my eyes, crushing hopes. I was right when I said that the pink castles have shattered. I just never imagined the catastrophic consequences.
— Alright, — I respond quietly. — The marriage will last as long as it is beneficial for both of us. You are right.
The saint studies my reaction. Alertness on the edge. He registers every emotion, movement, glance, and even what lies behind it. I'm sure he sees. He knows, he understands perfectly what these words mean, but he doesn't contradict them. Just marriage. A fictitious one, for the sake of a deal, saving my family and achieving his goal.
— I won't interfere, — he replies lazily. — I’ll prepare breakfast.
He walks away, and I slide down the wall. I’m not crying, nothing more. But in my chest, a wretched organ painfully contracts, having dreamed of something more despite everything… And he said… He warned that there would be nothing. Vlad has a goal, and for that, he tramples everything around him. Even the one who is a means to an end. Partially, as far as I understand, the saint has achieved his goal. He holds a controlling stake in his hands; all that’s left is to show Father who’s in charge and put him in his place, or so I imagine. The reasons why the brothers decided to punish the Wild one are still unknown.
I don’t want to leave the bathroom and have breakfast as if nothing happened. I have no desire to sit across from the saint, to see how his eyes darken at the sight of me, and to know, to know, to know that there will be nothing. Never. What breaks my heart the most is that it’s with him that everything is happening for the first time. New feelings, impressions, firsts, only with him. It’s even more bitter because the knowledge that I am just an object to everyone around me kills. Free yet tied. Just a chain that has grown longer than it was before.
I force myself to leave the bathroom. I return to the bedroom hearing Vlad whistling some melody in the kitchen, and I sadly glance at the wedding dress. The meticulous saint has already hung it in the closet and smoothed every crease. I run my palm over the fabric, holding a towel to my chest. My wet hair chills my back and prevents me from diving back into dreams of a carte blanche — and a dreamy reality where Vlad is nearby, and I am free.
— I'm sorry, — a voice sounds behind me.
I didn’t hear the saint enter. I turn around. I run my eyes over his bare body, noting once again the pleasing tan, the abs, and the strong muscles. I don’t look below his waist in his sweatpants.
— Why? — I ask hoarsely.
— A wedding is a special event for a girl.
— At least something will happen for the first time not with you, — I mumble under my breath, lowering my gaze.
— Breakfast is ready, — Vlad says more sharply than necessary and gestures with his head for me to follow.
Whether he pretends not to have heard my words or truly didn’t, I don’t know, but I follow him. The kitchen smells deliciously of cheese and meat. I immediately see two cups of tea on the table, herbs baked with toast, scrambled eggs, and a meat platter.
— Is there no clothing here? — I sit down at the table, watching Vlad. He takes the seat across from me. — It's uncomfortable in a towel, — I explain.
— There is; I brought some of your things.
— Thank you, — I sigh.
Then we have breakfast in silence. I want to say a lot, but I can’t find the words. Mostly they are hurtful, full of despair and hopelessness, so what’s the point? Boundaries are defined. I took a risk, went further, and now I don’t know if it was worth saying “And yet…”.
After breakfast, Vlad asks me to dress in the bedroom while he goes outside. I’m glad I don’t have to walk around in a towel or wedding dress and find my regular black t-shirt and jeans in the closet. I get dressed, tie my still wet hair in a ponytail, and then leave the house. I look around. The surroundings are beautiful: trees that shield us in their special world, lush grass, the scents of the forest, flowers, seep deep under my skin. The fresh breeze tousles my hair and quickly dries it. Above, the bright morning sun shines, joyfully greeting the day and inspiring positivity. My palms start to itch; I want so badly to paint this landscape.
The roar of a motorcycle pulls me from my state of calm. I wait for its source to appear, but I certainly couldn’t have predicted this: a black motorcycle bursts from behind the house like a wild beast and suddenly stops in front of me.
At the helm is Vlad, dressed only in sweatpants. A mischievous smile glints on his lips, a spark ignites in his blue eyes:
— Shall we go for a ride?
Well then, shall we remedy Julianna's bad mood and broken heart with speed and thrill? Do you think Vlad can handle it?