“I, uh, I was just making a joke,” he choked but the family glowered at him. “Oh come on! Johnny knows I was only kidding, right, Jon?”
Jon’s heart was hammering in his chest but he willed himself to be calm but he could not bring himself to look in his brother’s face. He could sense 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. Jon steeled himself and forced himself to look at his older sibling. 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 meet your baby daughter, Christopher,” he responded coldly. “I brought my fiancée to meet my family.”
Chapter Six
“Oh, come on! Every woman wants a big wedding!” Jon protested. “You know, with the flowers and the fifty-piece orchestra and five hundred guests.”
“Not me,” Marika replied, looking down at their engagement announcement in the paper. “I do not liking this picture. I looking old.”
Jon laughed, glancing at the black and white photo again.
“If you look old, what do I look? Ancient? Prehistoric? You look gorgeous as always.” He winked at her but only Marika shrugged and closed the page.
“Maybe we just get married at the city hall?” she continued. Jon’s jaw dropped at the suggestion.
“You can’t be serious, Marika. City hall? We are not having a shotgun wedding!” Marika did not understand the reference but she did not question the phrase. She sat back in her chair and sighed.
“Okay, vat you vanting?”
“We can get married in Long Island,” Jon said slowly. “It’s easier for my family, especially with the babies. Tristan will have two by September so having them make a two and a half hour drive out this way is asking a lot.” Marika nodded agreeably.
“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?”
“One.”
Jon blinked.
“One?”
“Yes. My cousin Svetlana.”
“What about your parents?”
“They are dead.” Again, Jon stared at her in shock.
“I didn’t know that!” he said. Why didn’t I know that? I could have sworn she said her parents were alive when we spoke of them. Didn’t she say she wanted to message her parents with the laptop? Was something lost in translation?
“They are dead.” There a finality to her statement and Jon closed his mouth. Abruptly he changed the subject.
“Is Svetlana’s last name Darabos like yours? I’ll set up a ticket.”
“She will find her own way here,” Marika replied, still flipping through the newspaper.
“Are you sure? I don’t mind – “
“I am sure.” Again, her tone left no room for argument. Jon was left with a feeling that something was amiss but he was not sure what it was. Instead of pursuing the matter he nodded amiably.
“I will ask my mother about booking the Timber Point Golf Course for the reception since she is closer. 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.” Marika smiled but her eyes looked faraway.
“It’s nice,” she told him. “I do not minding.”
“Other than that, we’ll make it a small affair, friends and family only. Okay?” Marika nodded absently, her mind elsewhere. I wonder if Svetlana is ready now. I hope enough time has passed. I promised to go back for her. God, I wish mama and papa could be here with me. Perhaps I can find away. Maybe one day I will tell Jon the truth and we will figure out a way. Another thought popped into her head, one of those nagging, relentless drones which seemed to follow her everywhere. You cannot marry Jon. You are already married. She scowled at the newspaper, oblivious to Jon’s pensive stare. You are married. Marika Darabos is not. Marika Darabos can marry Jon. No one ever has to know. If they had any idea where you are, you would know by now. You are Marika Darabos. You can marry Jon.
“Are you all right, Marika?” Her head snapped up.
“Yes.”
“You have a funny look on your face.”
Instinctively she pointed a manicured nail at the newspaper.
“Have you seeing what the Republican party vants to do with immigration?” she demanded, outraged. Jon nodded, the concern clearing from his eyes. He began to talk about speak about different bills which had come about, not realizing that there was nothing remotely regarding politics on the page at which Marika was staring. It didn’t matter. It was a subject which Jon could go for days. She slipped back into her thoughts as Jon’s speech escalated into rambling territory. I will send Svetlana an invitation to the wedding, she decided. Enough time has passed. It is safe now.
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 as if her actions 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?” Marko asked but Svetlana ignored him. He arched an eyebrow as he watched 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.
“What is that you’re looking at?” Marko demanded, standing up from the hearth to close the distance between them.
“Nothing,” Svetlana replied, shoving the envelope at the bottom of the pile but Marko had already seen it.
“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.
“What does it say?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Marko. It’s in English,” Svetlana retorted, grabbing the paper back. “Only barbarians speak English.”
“Why did someone send you a letter in English?”
“Wrong address probably. Why don’t you go ask them?”
“Seems suspicious to me,” Marko grumbled.
“Everything seems suspicious to you,” she snapped, flopping into a chair. Marko shrugged.
“You know, Lana, if you tell me where she is, we will go and not bother you again.” Marko snorted contemptuously.
“As long as I have breath you will bother me, Marko. The thought of you bothers me. It has been months. 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? Anyway, we aren’t bad house guests, are we? We clean up after ourselves.” Marko grinned and Svetlana looked away, disgusted at his presence. She did not appreciate the reminder of how close they had once been. He turned his green 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. Slowly, his eyes widened as he had an epiphany.
“Leonid!” Marko yelled. Instantly a towering giant appeared in the doorway to the sitting room, menacingly.
“What?”
“You speak a little English, no?”
The monster grimaced as if the question pained him deeply.
“Why am I not surprised?” Svetlana muttered. “Barbarian.”
“What does this say?” Marko nimbly reached into the pile and tossed the envelope at his counterpart. The huge man peered at the writing and then tore into the paper with no finesse.
“Well?”
Leonid scowled and threw the pages onto the ground at Marko’s 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!” Marko yelled.
“What?” the reply was filled with annoyance but he did not rematerialize.
“Who is it from?”
“I don’t know, Marko. Some Americans in Connecticut.”
“What are their names, Leonid?” Marko insisted.
“Jon and Marika.”
Marko sat back in the high back wing chair, a pensive look on his mismatched face. Svetlana could feel beads of sweat forming around her brow.
“Who are these people, Lana?” Marko asked, his intelligent but frigid eyes watching her closely.
“Oh, she is a Facebook friend of mine. I haven’t even met her in person,” Svetlana answered offhandedly. “How strange she would send me an invitation to her wedding.”
“Yes, it is very strange. How did you meet her?”
“Playing Candy Crush, Marko.” She quickly rose to her feet, terrified as a dizzying feeling overcame her.
“Are you finished asking stupid questions?”
“Where are you going now?”
“To make supper. I have to eat something other than the shit pizza you idiots continue to order day after day.”
“Don’t go too far, my love,” Marko told her warningly. She shot him a disgusted look as she left the living room. As if that would ever be an option, she thought despairingly. As Svetlana entered the kitchen, she opened the fridge and pretended to busy herself with making the evening meal but her mind was racing. Marko is not smart enough to make the connection. He has no reason to believe that she is in the States. Is that invitation real or is that simply her way of letting me know where she is and that she is okay? I must find a way to get to her. Marika Darabos was a character from books that the cousins had read in their childhood. Svetlana knew who had sent the message. She prayed that Marko did not.
Inside the front room, Marko stared thoughtfully into the fire, contemplating. Finally, he reached into his pocket for his cell phone. He pressed the last caller and waited. When a voice on the other end answered, he picked his next words carefully.
“I believe I know where she is, sir.”
“Is that right? Did she contact Svetlana finally?”
“I think so,” Marko said slowly. If he was wrong, sending the man on the other end of the phone on a wild goose chase was as good as signing his own death warrant. The other side of that coin was, if Marko said nothing while his gut screamed at him and she was in America, he would most certainly end up dead by the same fate. It was a difficult choice to make.
An ominous silence followed.
“You think so, Marko?”
“Svetlana received a cryptic invitation to a ceremony in America today. She claims she knows nothing about who sent it but I suspect that it is she.” Marko purposely omitted the “wedding” aspect of the invitation.
“I do not pay you to think, Marko. I pay you to investigate and know,” the man told him. “If you are wasting my time based on a hunch…”
“I don’t think so, sir,” Marko said quickly. “But I can go to make certain it is her.” He had to commit or abort. He had chosen the former. Another pause ensued.
“No. Get Leonid to pack his things. You can stay with Svetlana. I will go with Leonid. If it is her, I want to be there myself.”
“Yes sir.”
“Where are we going?”
“Connecticut, USA.”
“Marika, you will not believe what I found at the market today!” Jon hurried into the apartment and kicked the door shut behind him. He dropped the half dozen plastic bags he was carrying onto the kitchen floor. He was grateful that he had begun taking the stairs up and down from the apartment every day but the weight of the groceries had been slightly more than he could comfortably handle up seventeen flights. He had lost twenty pounds and the excess flab was disappearing around his arms and legs. Still, both the exercise and the trip to the market had proved very fruitful. He had gone a little overboard but he had been overwhelmed with the sights and smells of the market. This is why you should never go shopping when you’re hungry, he thought ruefully, placing his keys upon the counter and poking his head around the corner into the living room. To his surprise, it was empty. He had been expecting to see Marika curled up on the sectional, covered by a blanket, reading a book. It had become almost a staple seeing her in that position upon his returns but as he wandered through the apartment, he did not find her anywhere. Hmm, I wonder where she went, he thought. He had discovered that the soup lady at the market had created a tantalizing pot of goulash and Jon had purchased half of it, knowing that Marika would appreciate the taste of home. He walked back into the kitchen to put away his purchases, including two impressive sunflowers which he knew Marika would adore. As he got down to the last bag, he bunched up the plastic to stick it in the cupboard underneath the sink. That was when he saw a white piece of paper slip to the floor. Crouching down, Jon retrieved it, grinning as he realized the motion took no effort. Four months ago, I would have been panting and huffing and puffing right now. Marika has been so good for me. Every day, she pushed him further without saying a word. She inspired him to do better for himself and soon, Jon found he didn’t hate to look at himself in the mirror anymore. Beyond that, Marika had figured out a way to incorporate his business and file his taxes appropriately, going back five years. When Jon had shown Tristan what she had done, his sister had been wowed.
“Is it okay? I mean, it’s not that I don’t trust her,” Jon said quickly. “It’s just, the tax laws in Hungary are different than ours. Is this done properly?”
“It’s perfect!” Tristan had sputtered. “She found loopholes I wouldn’t have found. Does she have an accounting background?”
Jon had shrugged and shaken his head.
“No, I don’t think so,” he answered but he was ashamed to discover that he was not entirely certain.
“Well, you no longer have to worry about the IRS coming to seize your business, brother. Your fiancée has you all caught up and somehow, you’re getting a hell of a lot back from Uncle Sam.”
Jon opened the slip of paper in his hand.
“Dear Jon,” it began and he felt ice chips in his veins. Nothing good ever came from a letter which began with those two words. As he took in the even, feminine scrawl, handwriting he had grown to know and cherish, his eyes began to swim in tears. It was from Marika. She had left him and was not coming back.
Part II
Chapter Seven
“Jon, please come over and stay the night,” Tristan begged. “I don’t feel right about you being home alone.”
“I’ve been alone my whole life,” Jon commented bitterly. “And I guess I always will be.”
He had spent the afternoon staring out the window, watching dusk fall over the Berkshires but not really seeing anything but the words Marika had written in the letter, words which pierced his heart like a thousand small pin pricks. In some depressive haze, he had reached for the phone, dialing Tristan. As soon as she answered, he regretted his action. Instantly, her voice had turned to sadness but he heard the unspoken undertone there, the one that said “I knew it!”
They sat in a partially awkward, partially comfortable silence for a moment and suddenly Jon knew his sister was right. He shouldn’t be alone, especially not in the condo. The entire apartment was a reminder of Marika. She was in every corner of every room. Her romance novels lined the bookcases and her too
thbrush was still in the bathroom. She couldn’t wait to get out of her. She didn’t even take her toothbrush, Jon thought with a sick feeling in his stomach. The thought of marrying me repelled her so much that she just ran back home.
“I’ll be there in a few hours,” Jon told Tristan.
When he arrived at Tristan and Jordan’s bungalow in Orange County, he recoiled in horror. Chris’ silver Dodge Caravan was parked in the driveway. For a fleeting moment, he considered turning around and the two-hour drive back to Connecticut but he was drained both emotionally and physically. What can Chris possibly say to make me feel worse than I already do? He thought smirking. He got out of the new Lexus, a car he had purchased at Marika’s insistence.
“Vy do you driving so old a car?” He shrugged, glancing at his beat-up Escape. He had purchased it second hand five years earlier and it had done its job, transporting him from point A to point B.
“I have no problems with ol’ Susy,” he protested but Marika had shaken her head.
“She is nice car, yes but you deserving much more nice, no?” Jon had looked at her uncomprehendingly.
“No,” he replied. Anger had lit her seaweed eyes, turning them a deep ocean blue at his answer.
“Yes, you do. And you vill buying yourself one,” she insisted. That very afternoon, he had driven them home in a brand-new silver 2016 Lexus. Jon had long since engrained his unworthy in his own mind but as the days had passed, he realized that he really enjoyed the luxury of the automobile. He had never indulged in material things for himself but under Marika’s guidance, he was suddenly wearing better quality clothes, smelling like expensive cologne and had even spoiled himself to a haircut, something he hadn’t done in almost a year. He found himself admitting that he felt better and everyone had commented on his happy glow. Why did she do all that? Why would she build me up to crush me like this? He asked himself as he slowly walked up the driveway toward his sister’s house. His throat was raw from the tears he had shed on the drive and he wondered if his eyes were swollen. Jon didn’t care. He was going to hear Chris’ ridicule anyway. I may as well give him more ammunition. Hopefully if I give him enough steam he will burn himself out and screw off home early. The toll from the day had beaten his body severely and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and go to sleep, possibly never to wake up again.
Romance: The Bad Boy Affair: A Second Chance Romance Page 18
