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Breathe. Take a breath.

I was in a foreign country, in a town I didn’t even know the name of, surrounded by people who were clearly loyal to Dima, and without any money or identification. Not even a phone. In short, I had nowhere else to go besides down the aisle, and he damn well knew it.

Breathe. Do not pass out.

When I could finally see through the haze of rage that overtook me, Dima still stood next to me, looking better than he had any right to in his new suit. I still wore a white dress, and my shaking hands held a bouquet of wildflowers tied together with a white satin bow. How did that happen? Who gave me these flowers?

Dima should have been grateful my hands were full, or they might have been wrapped around his neck. I took another breath and studied him. He was no longer smirking, probably because he could see how close I’d come to passing out. When he reached for me, I took a step back.

His brow furrowed, but he forced a smile, glancing through the arched double doors leading into the church. I followed his line of sight to see the priest waiting for us at the pulpit. It wasn’t a big church, but my imagination made it seem like he was a hundred miles away, and yet way too close.

Dima nodded at the carved wooden lectern the priest stood patiently behind. A large cross hung behind him and angel statues stood sentinel on either side of the podium. Neither of them made a move to save me.

“I’ll see you up there,” he said, heading through the vestibule doors.

He wasn’t just making me go through with this, he was perversely determined that we do everything just right. I supposed I should have been grateful he wasn’t dragging me down the aisle, but at the moment, I wasn’t grateful for shit.

“Why are you going to such lengths to make this look real?” I asked, jumping forward to stop him. Who was even around to see it?

He wasn’t the biggest practical joker of his siblings, so I couldn’t wrap my head around all this fanfare. I thought he was just taking me somewhere safe.

His eyes darkened as he gave me a serious look. “Because it is real,” he told me. “We’re really getting married, and you’re really going to be my wife. That’s the deal.”

“But I didn’t agree to the deal,” I yelped.

The girl behind me shifted on her feet at my sudden outburst, and I wondered how much she understood. Not enough to have the police here at any rate, or she really was on Dima’s payroll somehow. Did he own the whole damn village?

Dima only shook his head and disappeared into the church, appearing a few moments later at the pulpit. He stepped up onto the platform, smiling at the priest. The girl gave me a nudge just as an organ began to play, but I was rooted to the spot, transported to a time and place far away.

This wasn’t right. My mother had been gone for four years, but it seemed so much shorter than that, like no time had passed at all. It was as if we were discussing my future just last week. She was always so proud of me, and that made me work extra hard to get the grades she said I needed to be able to go to college and get a good job.

It never even mattered that I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life because she was confident in my ability to succeed at whatever I eventually chose. The most important thing—the only thing that mattered—was that it had nothing to do with the Bratva.

‘Don’t you worry about me and Papa,’ she’d say when I asked if I’d still get to see her. Because she certainly didn’t want me around my father’s associate. ‘That will all work out the way it should,’ she’d assure me. The only thing she was really forceful about was me getting away from a life that revolved around organized, and, in my father’s case, not-so-organized crime.

And never, ever marry into it.

But here I was, being forced to marry into the Bratva, both of our worst nightmares somehow coming to fruition despite all my hard work. Even though I couldn’t keep the first promise to go to college and get a normal job, I still thought I was on the right track. Eventually, somehow, I was going to put the life behind me and live on a small farm in the Midwest, maybe become a substitute teacher or something. Marry the local football coach or a dentist.

Anything but continue on in the life I’d been born into. Now, it seemed like I was being forced to stay in it. I nearly sobbed with despair when it hit me that even in the backwoods of Russia, I might have found a chance to slip away and disappear.

The girl nudged me again and I staggered forward, pinning Dima with my fiercest glare as I found my stride and made my way towards him. He had an inscrutable look on his face, but I wasn’t too concerned about his feelings.

Standing rigidly by his side, I dutifully repeated everything I was supposed to, barely hearing his deep, rumbling voice as he said his half of the vows. My mind was somewhere else, working in overdrive.

Before I knew it, I was Mrs. Dimitry Fokin. It was done.

But not forever like we’d promised in our vows. Not even close to that. Just until I could find a way to make him regret the day he ever met me. Not a moment longer than that.