by Juniper Hart
“Close the door, Harley,” Annabelle demanded. “Ellie will catch a chill!”
Obediently, the lumbering dragon obeyed and followed his husband inside the house. The couple looked around with feigned, tight smiles on their faces.
“Hello, family,” Harley declared. “Who are you?”
“I am Marika,” she offered, adding nothing else in spite of Harley’s expectant look. Harley looked around again and finally rested on Johnny’s grinning face.
“That’s Trevor’s girlfriend,” Johnny offered.
“Oh,” Harley replied slowly, turning back to Marika with a cold look on his face. Before he could add anything else, Will spoke.
“It is lovely to meet you, Marika. I’m Will. I love your accent. You are Ukrainian?” he asked quickly, perhaps sensing his partner’s annoyance at having a stranger among them.
Trevor cringed. Though Marika’s eyes turned dark, she forced a smile onto her face and shook her head.
“No. I am from Hungary. Budapest,” she answered, shifting her eyes toward Trevor. He could feel a strange tension as their gazes locked.
“Oh, how strange. I studied linguistics in college,” Will said, cocking his head in confusion. “I have an ear for accents. I could have sworn you were Ukrainian. Örvendek. Élvezte eddig a tartózkodását?”
Marika paled, and she nodded, averting her gaze. Will’s eyes narrowed.
“Is my Hungarian that off? I haven’t spoken it since college,” he confessed. Trevor felt a chill pass through his body. Will spoke seven languages fluently and could write in three others.
“No, it is fine. I-I prefer to speak English only so I can become better,” Marika explained quickly.
Will nodded understandingly, his eyes lingering on Marika for a moment. Then he turned to his husband, who stared at her, his eyes like daggers.
We need to get out of here before things get ugly, Trevor thought.
“You’re a friend of Trev’s, huh?” Harley drawled. Marika nodded, and Trevor sensed danger well before his cousin opened his mouth to speak again. “What kind of friend? A rent-a-friend?”
Everyone gasped at his crass remark, and Tristan’s face turned into a mask of fury. Trevor felt himself get weak at the knees, but before Tristan could say a word, Marika spoke.
“I don’t understand this term, rent-a-friend,” she said slowly.
“I bet you don’t,” Harley sneered. “You brought a Russian prostitute to a family dinner, Trevor? That’s pretty weird. I wonder what Chris would say about that.”
The silence in the room needed to be sliced with a machete.
Ellie whimpered at the sound of her father’s name.
“Daddy?” she breathed. Trevor felt rage growing within him.
“You asshole—” Tristan hissed, lunging toward him, but Johnny caught her arm.
“You’ve got a baby in your arms,” her husband reminded her dryly.
Harley howled with laughter and winked at her as Sasha began to wail in her mother’s arms.
Marika cocked her head to the side, her eyes taking on an intense, hypnotic glow. Her blue-green eyes seemed to be alit with fire as she suddenly comprehended the foe in her face. Her gaze was fixed on Harley, who slowly allowed the smile to slip off his face under her scrutiny.
“I am Hungarian,” she told him. “I am a nanny to your small cousin. I make more money than most Russian prostitutes.”
Harley went pale, beginning to take in her pricey attire and glittering jewelry.
“I, uh, I was just making a joke,” he choked, but the family glowered at him. “Oh, come on! Trevor knows I was only kidding, right, buddy?”
Trevor’s heart was hammering in his chest. Though he willed himself to be calm, he could not bring himself to look in his cousin’s face. He sensed the combination of outrage and sympathy from his family, and both reactions made him feel worse.
Marika placed her hand in his and gently squeezed, smiling encouragingly. Trevor steeled himself and forced himself to look at his cousin. He grasped Marika and pulled her close to him, keeping her hand entwined in his. She put her palm above his, exposing a huge diamond ring on her left hand.
“I didn’t bring a Russian prostitute to a family dinner, Harley,” he responded coldly. “I brought my fiancée to meet my mother.”
7
Trevor eyed his fiancée in disbelief.
“Oh, come on! Every woman wants a big wedding!” he protested, stunned at her lack of enthusiasm. “You know, with the flowers and the fifty-piece orchestra and five hundred guests. Are you suggesting this isn’t something you want to do?” He looked imploringly at her, wanting her to show more emotion, but Marika maintained her stoic expression, a small smile on her face.
“Not me,” she said, looking down at their engagement announcement in the paper. “I do not like this picture. It makes me look old.”
Trevor laughed, glancing at the black and white photo again, eyeing Marika through his peripheral vision. She’s serious. About all of it!
“If you look old, what do I look? Ancient? Prehistoric? You look gorgeous as always.” He winked at her, but Marika shrugged and closed the page.
“I thought that no one in America read newspapers anymore,” she offered. Trevor stared at her, unsure of how to answer that.
“Marika, what’s wrong?” he asked tenderly. “You seem really… I don’t know, off since we got engaged. Do you not want to go through with this? I don’t want to pressure you.”
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head vehemently.
“No! Don’t say that!” she cried, reaching for his hand. “Of course, I want to get married! I’m…” She trailed off, pursing her lips pensively.
“What is it?” Trevor murmured, squeezing her hands affectionately. “You know you can tell me anything. Whatever it is, we’ll get through it.”
She met his eyes squarely.
“Maybe we just get married at the city hall?” she suggested. Trevor’s jaw dropped at the suggestion. He hadn’t been expecting that as a response, and he answered before he could stop himself.
“You can’t be serious, Marika! City hall? We are not having a shotgun wedding!” He wondered if she understood the reference, but she didn’t seem confused by his words.
She knows a lot about American culture. More than she should. A now-familiar sense of doubt crept down his neck again. Marika sighed heavily.
“Fine,” she muttered. “What do you want to do, then? We’ll do whatever you want, Trevor.”
He wasn’t sure if he liked her relenting, either. She was hiding something from him. He just didn’t understand what. He decided to compromise.
“We can get married in Long Island,” Trevor said slowly. “It’s easier for my family, especially with the kids. Ellie, Addy, and Sasha won’t do well with a long day, and the last thing we want is a bunch of cranky children at the reception.”
Marika nodded slowly, but she didn’t meet his gaze.
“That sounds good,” she said dully. Again, Trevor was consumed with uncertainty.
Why is she acting like this? What is going on with her?
“You should contact your family. Let me know how many tickets we’ll need and the names so I can book the flights. I’m sure the sooner I do it, the better the rate will be. Any idea how many people will be coming from Hungary?”
Marika was silent for a moment. Trevor thought she was calculating the list, but when she spoke again, he was startled by her response.
“One,” she answered.
Trevor blinked, wondering if she’d misunderstood the question. Marika hadn’t seemed to have lost anything in translation yet.
“One?” he echoed. “That’s it?”
Marika nodded. “Yes. My cousin Svetlana.”
“What about your parents?” Trevor insisted with a frown. Marika gnawed on her lower lip.
“They are dead.” He stared at her in shock, the lie ringing clearly in his head. He knew she was being untruthful, but
he couldn’t understand why.
“I didn’t know that!” he said. Why hadn’t he known that? He could have sworn she’d said her parents were alive when they had spoken of them. Hadn’t she said she wanted to message them with the laptop?
A peculiar feeling of suspicion threatened to overwhelm him, and he gritted his teeth together. He didn’t want to question her, but he couldn’t shake the sense that she was lying. Was she protecting herself, or someone else? Not for the first time, he realized how little he knew about Marika Varga.
Maybe I need to do a little more investigating into my fiancée before I tie the knot, he thought grimly, loathing himself for it. If he was having second thoughts, he knew he should be taking the ring off Marika’s finger and calling the whole thing off. And Trevor wasn’t prepared to do any such thing.
Marika’s aqua eyes narrowed as she caught the skeptical look on his face.
“They are dead,” she repeated, her voice ringing with more conviction than she’d spoken before. There was a finality to her statement, and Trevor closed his mouth before he could protest.
Abruptly, he shifted the course of the conversation. He wasn’t going to get anywhere by forcing her to tell him the truth.
“Does Svetlana have the same last name as you? I’ll set up the ticket,” he said instead. Once more, Marika shocked him with her answer.
“She will find her own way here,” she replied, reopening the newspaper as if the world news was suddenly worthy of her attention.
She didn’t want to discuss it anymore. But Trevor wasn’t sure he was done yet.
“Are you sure? In fact, I could fly to Hungary myself and escort her back here, even on my back.” He grinned disarmingly, even though he was only half-kidding. “She’s a Vulpes, too?”
Her eyes darted up, and she shook her head curtly.
“No. She isn’t, and I am sure she’ll come on her own.” Her tone left no room for argument. Trevor stared at her for a long moment, his well-honed sense longing to argue more, realizing simultaneously that he would get nowhere with it.
“I’ll speak to my mother about booking the Timber Point Golf Course for the reception, since she’s closer, and frankly, it will give her something to do. I should probably warn you—my mom is going to try to instill her wants and desires on you from start to finish with this wedding. As soon as she finds out your mother isn’t going to be involved, she won’t leave you alone.”
He hoped the refence to family would open her up more, but Marika only smiled, although her eyes were faraway. Trevor wondered if she was wishing her own mother were there.
“It is nice that your mother wants to get involved. My mother wouldn’t be interested if she were here.” He didn’t miss the slight bitterness in her tone.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Trevor offered quickly. “Every woman wants to be involved her in her daughter’s wedding—especially her only daughter’s.”
“My mother was a drunk who didn’t care about any of us,” Marika said flatly. Trevor’s eyes widened.
“Any of you?” he repeated. “You have siblings, then?”
She balked and forced a smile, shaking her head.
“No… no, my English,” she laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “I meant she didn’t care about me.”
She’s lying again!
Marika cocked her head up and smiled beguilingly at him.
“Tell me more about this affair,” she insisted. “Will Ellie be in the wedding party? A flower girl?”
Trevor reluctantly lowered his guard and nodded slowly.
“I think it’s important to have Ellie involved,” he agreed, suddenly envisioning his small niece in a lacy white dress with flowers in her hair.
“She will love that,” Marika said, smiling warmly. For the first time since they’d started the conversation, Trevor saw a genuine affection in her.
At least I know the love she has for Ellsbeth is real. What about the love she has for me? He forced the notion out of his head, reminding himself that no one was forcing Marika to marry him. Sooner or later, I’m going to need to let go of this insecurity. No woman wants to be married to a man who is constantly second-guessing her feelings.
“Other than that, we’ll make it a small affair, friends and family only. Okay?” he continued. Marika nodded absently, as though her mind elsewhere. “Are you all right, Marika?” Her head snapped up, and she plastered another smile onto her lips.
“Yes.”
“You have a funny look on your face.”
Instinctively, she pointed a manicured nail at the newspaper.
“Have you seen the crazy weather they’re having in Miami?” she asked. Trevor knew her question had nothing to do with what was on her mind.
“I haven’t read anything about it,” he answered, not realizing that there was nothing remotely regarding the weather on the page at which Marika was staring.
Of course, he didn’t bother to look, either. It was just easier to pretend that nothing was wrong.
The temperatures were sub-zero when Svetlana Orlyk stumbled outside to the mailbox, her small feet in a pair of fuzzy pink slippers. In the few short steps, her porcelain face had already frozen from the cold, and by the time she had collected the few items from the box, she could not feel her fingers.
Spilling back into the house, she shut the door with force, like that would keep the frigid air at bay, but there was no escaping the bitterness of the winters in this part of the world. She scurried toward the fireplace, her clear blue eyes trained on the letters in her hands.
“Get anything interesting?” Andreas asked. Svetlana ignored him. He arched an eyebrow, watching the slender brunette flip through the post. Her hand paused delicately over a cream-colored envelope, and her heart began to race. She immediately recognized the handwriting, and she tried to hide it before Andreas saw it, but it was too late.
“What is that you’re looking at?” Andreas demanded, standing up from the hearth to close the distance between them.
“Nothing,” Svetlana replied, shoving the envelope at the bottom of the pile. The action was futile. He was already onto her.
That’s why he’s here, isn’t it? For this very reason?
“What is that?” he asked again, his voice growing sinister. “Give it to me.”
Sighing, she retrieved the card from the bottom of the pile and handed it to him, managing to hide her trembling hands. He peered at the envelope, his brow furrowing in anger as he ripped it open. He thrust it back toward her and tapped the card inside.
“What does it say?” he asked, his words like tiny bullets. “Tell me!”
“I don’t know, Andreas. It’s in English,” Svetlana retorted, grabbing the paper back. “Only barbarians speak English.”
Andreas’ mouth twisted into a sneer, and Svetlana could tell that he didn’t believe a word she spoke. “Why did someone send you a letter in English?”
“Wrong address, probably. Why don’t you go ask them?” she retorted. “You should catch the first plane to America right now.”
Andreas ignored her, his eyes taking in the paper warily, as if trying to comprehend the words through osmosis.
“Seems suspicious,” he muttered. “And very curious.”
“Everything seems suspicious to you,” she barked back with more irritation than she should have, flopping into a chair. Andreas smiled and leaned closer, his eyes glittering with malice.
“You know, Lana, if you tell me where she is, we will go and not bother you again,” he told her in a coy voice. “Look around you. How much longer do you want to live this way?”
Svetlana snorted contemptuously and waved her hand like he was a pesky fly. “As long as I have breath, you will bother me, Andreas. The thought of you bothers me. It has almost been a year. When are you going to figure out that she’s not coming here? Wherever she is, she is not contacting me, and she is not coming back.”
“I go where I am told, Lana. Don’t be mad at me. You and I
used to be close once, remember?” His nearness unnerved her, but Svetlana managed to keep her composure. “Anyway, we aren’t bad house guests, are we? We clean up after ourselves.” Andreas grinned, and Svetlana looked away, disgusted at his presence.
She did not appreciate the reminder of how close they had once been. We all make mistakes, don’t we? But most of us don’t have their mistakes constantly mocking them in the face.
Andreas turned his blue eyes toward the pile of mail which Svetlana had set down on the table at her side. He was still fixated on the letter, his eyes scrunching as he tried to understand the words written in beautiful calligraphy. Svetlana’s heart began to thump in her chest. The buffoon had put it together. It had taken him long enough. Then again, Andreas wasn’t known for his brains. Only for his brawn.
Slowly, Andreas’ eyes widened as he had an epiphany.
“Leonid!” he yelled. Instantly, a towering giant appeared in the doorway to the sitting room, menacingly.
“What?”
“You speak a little English, no?”
The monster grimaced. “Yes.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Svetlana muttered furiously. “Like I said, only barbarians speak the language.”
Andreas ignored her comment and thrust the card toward his companion.
“What does this say?” The huge man peered at the writing, his brow creasing as if reading the words physically pained him. “Well?” Andreas snapped. “What does it say?”
Leonid scowled and threw the pages onto the ground at Andreas’ feet.
“It’s a wedding invitation,” he snapped. “I was watching porn, and you called me out to look at a wedding invitation.” Leonid turned and skulked out of the room, grumbling.
“Leonid, wait!” Andreas yelled out to his retreating back.
“What?” The reply was filled with annoyance, but he did not rematerialize into the room.
“Who is it from?” Andreas wanted to know. Reluctantly, Leonid’s head reappeared in the front room, his eyes shadowed with irritation.
“I don’t know. Some Americans in Connecticut.”
