thinks I threw it away, but I didn’t. I don’t want to. It reminds me of that day and who I really am. I feel the blood drain from my face as the day plays fast-forward before my eyes.
“Do you like them?”
“I love them.” I force out a peppy voice and try to show him my sincerest gratitude.
I feel like a fraud. I don’t know what I’ve been doing all these days playing house with Kane. That’s what it feels like now that I’m reminded who I am. It’s fake. It’s all pretend.
I close my eyes and try to will away the feelings, but instead I see a flash of his face. My eyes open quickly and I instantly catch Kane’s questioning expression in the mirror.
“Are you alright, baby?”
“Yeah.” I force a casual smile onto my face and then look back in the mirror. My fingers touch the sapphires and I watch as they sparkle in the mirror. They’re beautiful.
But I don’t deserve them.
White tablecloths cover every table. Some have pale pink overlays, while others have a soft lavender. There are at least 20 tables in the hall, although most are empty now. Most guests are on the dance floor, leaving the tables empty. My ass has remained firmly in this chair ever since Kane sat me down. I don’t know anyone here. He at least knows a handful of the men.
It’s Vince’s uncle’s godson’s wedding. So, no one I fucking know. The only people I do recognize are the few from a time in my life I’m doing my best to forget. I loved how Kane put his arm around me during dinner. He made me feel more welcomed, and more comfortable. But I still couldn’t manage to contribute to the conversation.
Becca and Dom have a newborn, a son. I love babies, but I couldn’t speak up. Elle is pregnant now and she looks so beautiful, but I didn’t even compliment her.
This wedding is just like every other wedding. Only every wedding I’ve ever gone to in the past was for family.
I remember the last wedding I went to with my family. I went with my mother, father, and sister. We were the first table. Naturally. My father always got the first and best of everything. Alec Ivanov, the Pakhan of the Russian mafia, the Bratva. My father was an immigrant in the States when he met my mother. He was there on family business, but elected to stay behind when she got pregnant with me.
When I was eight, my grandfather died. We were only supposed to go there for the funeral, but that’s when things changed. My father went on the warpath. He was out for blood. And he got it. He quickly became known as a threat, but instead of fighting him, they made him the Pakhan, the boss.
It didn’t take long for things to spiral out of control. I don’t know whether my mother and sister didn’t see, didn’t care, or just didn’t want to admit it was true. The men my father associated with in his line of business were strange, and touched my sister and I more than they should have. I know my parents saw, but they didn’t do anything to stop it. It’s like my father paraded us around, saying we were untouchables, but he never did anything to actually enforce that. I never felt safe with any of the men he'd bring around, but he’d leave us alone with them and practically dare them to disobey him.
He taunted them.
He started coming home late and drugged up or drunk most nights. One night I watched as he beat my mother until her head hit the wall so hard she went unconscious. I watched as he kicked her, thinking she was faking it. Once, then again. He looked genuinely sorry he’d hurt her when he realized she wasn’t faking. He got down on his knees and held her. And then he passed out.
I’d never wanted to hurt someone so much in my life. He was there, helpless. But I didn’t. Not then.
I never saw him try to hit her again, but I was ready. He did leave me alone with his men again, well he tried, anyway. I was only 16. And Marie, only 14. But I knew better, and I wasn’t going to stand for it again.
“You’re a sick fuck!” I yelled at him as he turned his back on me. Our own father. Marie grabbed my wrist to pull me back,