Cruel Compassion: A dystopian thriller with a hint of romance (Insurrection Series Book 1)

by A. E. King

  “You said you wanted the wedding to be soon. With all of the necessary planning, I can’t imagine we’ll be married before November. That gives me at least six months.”

  He cuts me off. “Soon, Yulia. That means a month, two at most. My assistant will have the date scheduled by the end of the week.”

  I hold my face emotionless, trying to conceal how sick I feel inside. Facing weeks rather than months shouldn’t make me feel so wretched. But I dread that day. And my desire to go to Moscow increases exponentially. There may be nothing but pastries and an ambitious caterer to be found. But I cling to the hope that it’s more. That maybe I will find someone to help me. I can bear this marriage better if there’s hope that someone out there is willing to stand with me as we overthrow my father.

  I try once more. “Well then, it absolutely must happen this weekend unless you want me to get married in a bedsheet. I’ll have to wear something off the rack and altered, which is only marginally better.” I pack up my portfolio aggressively to show my disgust at the idea and turn to leave. “I will arrange the security team and schedule the flight crew, since I know you’re busy. This should only take three or four days.”

  I reach the door, anxious to leave but not wanting to appear suspicious. “You understand it’s going to be a stretch to get the alterations done on time. And anyone who knows fashion will have something to say about my wearing such a common dress.”

  “I’ll send for the designers and have them bring their samples here this weekend,” he concedes, sounding tired. “They’ll all be so anxious for you to wear one of their gowns, I probably won’t even have to pay for their travel. They’ll jump at the chance, and you and I both know they will move heaven and earth to ensure you don’t look like you’re wearing a common bedsheet. Now let me get back to work.”

  I take a deep breath, feeling my one tenuous link to information slipping away.

  “No.” I turn to face him in defiance. “I’m going to go dress shopping in Moscow.”

  “Excuse me?” He stands, his face turning red. “You don’t even care about this wedding. So drop the argument. I will send for the designers.”

  I take another breath and hope that I’ve learned enough to play his game effectively.

  “Papa!” I plead. “This is my wedding day! I have agreed to your groom, your timeline, your guests, your venue, your menu, your everything. I want one thing that’s mine, the perfect dress!”

  “And I will bring the perfect dress to you.” He smiles calculatingly at me.

  “No!” I stop before I lose control and take a breath, hands on my hips as I pace to calm myself.

  I’m losing. If I ask to go to Moscow again, my father will know I’m plotting something. But I’m doing everything my mother once did. I’m pretending to go along with his plans while steering them in my favor. Why isn’t it working?

  I lift my hand to touch her pearls, a nervous tic. As I feel their smooth surface, now warmed by my body heat, the answer is clear. She was his weakness.

  “Mama didn’t get a wedding dress or a proper wedding. And we always planned to go shopping for my gown in Moscow together. I have to do it for her.”

  My father looks between Dimitri and me and pinches the bridge of his nose. When he married my mother, neither of them had families. My father said it was a waste to spend money on a fancy wedding, feeding people they barely knew and barely liked. So they went to the courthouse with only a groomsman as witness. My mother had wanted a big wedding but was a poor student and couldn’t pay for it. So she put on her best dress, and he wore slacks. I was always fascinated by the photograph, because they both looked happy.

  “Dima, please.” I turn to him and rub my hands together, giving him our silly old sign that meant I wished we were together. Then I go for the jugular. “I know it’s a silly little girl’s dream, but I really want it.”

  “You’re right,” Dimitri says, holding out his hand. Is he really standing up to my father? Or is this a trap? I tentatively place my hand in his, and he covers it with his free hand.

  “But Verkhovney Gosudar is also right. This PR opportunity shouldn’t be wasted.” He looks at my father. “Let’s turn this trip into an advantage for everyone. Yulia shopping for her dress will solicit media attention and increase the hype about the wedding. I’ll put a call in to some of the top media outlets. We’ll make some PR appearances together and dominate the news cycle. Meanwhile, I can conduct some face-to-face diplomacy in the neutral territory of the Skytram. This could be exactly what we need.”

  I cringe at the mention of taking the Skytram. My father sits back down, and I can tell he likes the idea. “Fine, but Yulia will also use the journey to run damage control.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Your popularity rating has gone down this week after the investors heard about the orphanage. They’re displeased that they won’t get a return on their investment. Don’t just slink off to a private room and ignore everyone. Be social. Engage. Give them something to be excited about.”

  He wants me to smile and offer small talk with wealthy men who would rather be selling children. That will never happen.

  “Yes, Papa,” I say and kiss him on the cheek.

  “Now go.” He dismisses us.

  How is it that every victory with him still feels like a loss? I’m going to Moscow. But so is Dimitri. And the months I thought I had to find a way out of this wedding have turned into weeks.

  Dimitri jogs to catch up with me, slips his hand in mine, and looks toward the blinking light. I allow it because I have to. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. It’s nice to see you,” he says conversationally. But I understand the meaning. I was careless. I haven’t seen my fiancé in a few days, and I should have given him a better greeting.

  “Well, isn’t it fortunate then that we’ll be seeing so much of each other this weekend?” I smile at him and stop walking so I can reach up to kiss him on the cheek. “Now, I’d better get packing, and you better get back to work.”

  He wraps his arms around my waist, and I tense. “I can spare fifteen minutes. I’ll walk you to your room.” He smiles seductively.

  “That sounds perfect,” I say, my jaw clenching to hold the smile that keeps me from scowling.

  Dimitri gets friendlier as we walk down the hall, stopping before the door to nibble my neck. We look perfect as lovers until the door closes. Then he unceremoniously drops the act and walks to sit on my sofa, stretching himself out. He has no business looking so comfortable in the same space where he humiliated me. Or, if I’m being truthful, where I humiliated myself.

  “Did you know about our expedited wedding?” I ask him. “No one told me four to eight weeks.” The bitterness seeps through now that no one is watching.

  “I knew he wanted us married before the annual meeting in September.” He talks about our wedding like it’s a pit stop on a road trip. “He’s been forcing things on both of us for years. This is just the next assignment. And it’s far from the worst one I’ve gotten.”

  “Well, I hope we can squeeze it in between my historical society luncheon and the art society banquet,” I snap at him.

  “Before we start fighting again, I’ve been thinking.” He gives me a half smile.

  “About what?” I retort.

  “About me being an idiot the other night.” He smiles apologetically and pats the couch, inviting me to join him.

  “Just the other night then?” I sit next to him and fold my arms.

  He reaches for my hand, and I debate for a moment before taking it. I don’t have to. I’m fully justified in refusing him. He deserves to be rejected, but he’s easier to manage when we’re getting along. Maybe he will view it as a sign of solidarity in the face of trials.

  I give him my hand and am rewarded. He says, “I don’t know everything about the Myatezhniki. They were around long before the war, and they placed top-ranking officials close to your father from the very beginning.” He strokes my hand with
his thumb. “When your mother died, it was a huge blow. Many of the Myatezhniki were rooted out and killed. The rest went into hiding. Your father kills anyone with suspected ties. He doesn’t wait for proof. Your curiosity about them worries me. I wish you would stop looking for information.”

  “If they can help, don’t I owe it to my country to find out as much as I can?”

  “They aren’t going to come in like heroes and save us all. Please hear me, Yulia. The Myatezhniki are useless these days. No spy is infiltrating your father’s inner circle. The best chance for change is from within, right here. We just have to wait for the right time.” He brushes my hair back and places his hand on my cheek.

  I don’t think he’s telling me this information just out of a guilty conscience. He is confirming my suspicion about the note. I suspect the Myatezhniki aren’t as useless as he says. I suspect they’re trying to get in touch. And he’s worried about it.

  “There’s a cost to your patience,” I say carefully. “How many more people will be hurt before change happens?”

  He folds his arms in his lap. “That’s the wrong question. Instead, ask, ‘How many people can I help before change happens?’ Focus on that as we hack away at your father’s injustices and you’ll find a little happiness.” He looks down and clears his throat. “I’m a fool for not telling you this when you asked the other night. I want you to be happy. We should take every happy minute and every free minute because everything will change after the wedding. I fear it will get worse.”

  “Because my father needs me now, while he didn’t before?”

  Dimitri nods. He places his arms around me and draws me closer to him. Part of me wants to push him away. Instead, I nestle against his chest. “There’s never been more instability in the government than there is right now.”

  “He’s a fool if he thinks I can defuse the people’s anger for much longer,” I say.

  “And he’s a fool if he thinks he can keep playing czar without consequences,” Dimitri adds.

  He traces his thumb across the back of my hand. “We’ll navigate this together. But I need you to be more careful.” He lifts my chin, looking deep into my eyes. “Don’t run into his office making demands again. It could end badly. Tell me what you want, and I’ll make it happen.”

  “All right.” I lie, already mentally working on my plan to contact the Myatezhniki.

  “I need to get back soon.” Dimitri looks at me, not with his usual careful control but with an unexpected vulnerability. “I thought about you the whole night and every night since.” His gaze rests on my mouth. “The next time your lips want mine, they won’t be refused. And the next time you want something from me, I’ll give it.”

  I can feel the pull between us. “Is there anything else you want me to do for you?” His voice is low. If he’s offering, I’m taking.

  “Yes,” I whisper and scoot closer “Let me enjoy shopping for the dress. I want to stop for lunch with Zhenya and behave like any normal bride. Let me pretend that you asked to marry me instead of being told.”

  He leans back, reclining into the side of the sofa, and holds my hand. I lean against his chest, sensing I’m moments away from a rare victory with him.

  “Security isn’t optional.” He runs his strong hands up and down my back. “But I can ask them not to interfere unless your safety is in danger.”

  I give him my best smile and kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you, Dima.”

  He looks thoughtful for a moment then says, “So those babies you used to think about . . . how many were there?”

  “Three.” I blush. “Two girls, because every girl should get a sister. And one boy so you would have a little friend.” I’m highly uncomfortable with this conversation, but instead of pulling away, I lean into it. Just as I watched my mother do so many times.

  “Did you ever think about things like that?” I ask.

  He smiles wickedly. “I constantly thought about the making babies part.”

  “You should probably go.” I disguise my words as flirtation. But the reality is that he should go before we get too close to crossing a dangerous line. I guide us back to safer waters. “I can’t wait to find the perfect dress. And you,” I give him a stern look, “need to stay as far away as possible. I want you to at least look surprised when you come to pay the ransom.”

  “Are we doing that?” he asks with a strange look on his face.

  It was a lifetime ago that we laughed and planned this day. Dima would arrive to take me to the church. Mama would demand a ransom. And Sasha would probably come out under a veil to kiss him, demanding a larger ransom before handing me over. The ransom is a silly tradition. But it’s also something that wouldn’t be for the cameras. He knows I’m suggesting something just for us. And I’m testing him to see how he’ll respond.

  “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” I add, observing him. “I know it’s undignified.”

  “We should do it. It’s fun.” He looks down at his feet. “There’s not a lot of fun things for us.” He gazes at me intently, and I can see he wants to say more, but he clears his throat, shifting back to business. “I’ll help you have a good trip. I won’t see the dress until I come to take you to the church. And whatever you choose, you’ll take my breath away.”

  My smile is genuine. If Dima will stay away while I shop, and our security team is instructed to remain hands-off, I shouldn’t have any trouble visiting a market only a few minutes from my destination. I don’t know what I’ll find, but there’s something important. I can feel it.

  Chapter 17

  “Small crowds.” Dimitri surveys the gathering of people waiting for us as we pull into the station.

  “The SkyTram is for snobs.” I pause as I hold my mirror and carefully apply a coat of red lipstick as the car eases into the station, “It’s hardly surprising they don’t want to line up and cheer for us. I’m sure they have better things to do.”

  He scowls at the window.

  “Visiting the nenoozhny always draws bigger crowds.” I try to soothe his frustration.

  “Yes, but that’s not the support we need.” He sighs. “Of course they come with open palms to see what you’ll give them. This group is a better litmus test of public approval.”

  “These people don’t care about anything other than their social calendars.” I roll my eyes.

  “It’s your job to make them care.” He turns back to us. “So today you need to engage with all of your subjects. You can’t be a great leader while ignoring half of your population.”

  I clench my jaw, and he continues. “Here are our individual itineraries.” He ignores my glare and hands me my schedule.

  Dinner with Dimitri in the Crystal Room, a community sauna, a massage, and then a private suite with Dimitri. At least I get a massage. It will help me make it through the endless small talk. I despise meaningless conversation.

  The Skytram is the premier means of travel for the upper class. The high-speed tram is elevated above the cities and cuts down travel time between St. Petersburg and Moscow from ten-and-a-half hours to four. While the rest of the country travels in old, dilapidated trains that are cold in the winter and stifling in the summer, the wealthy pay a premium to create any experience they desire. Gambling, endless alcohol, dancing, drugs, and even prostitution can be acquired privately or publicly.

  The builders wanted everyone to see into the tram and envy the experience. So the entire tram appears to be made out of glass. For the people inside, it gives a sense of exhibition to have their reckless behavior visible at such a high speed that it’s only a blur to onlookers. With the money we’ll spend today, I could feed the entire orphanage for months. The government should not be wasting these funds on my travel. I despise the Skytram and avoid it whenever possible.

  “All right, we’re here. Yulia, get ready to be charmingly in love. Zhenya, make sure the bags get brought to our rooms.”

  Dimitri steps out and waves to the crowd. They applaud, and
then he holds his hand to help me out of the car. He wraps his arms around me, and I turn toward the crowd.

  “Don’t I get a kiss?” His tone is teasing.

  “It’s not on my itinerary,” I say under my breath as I smile and wave.

  “You’re frustrated with me.” He slides his arms around my waist and draws me closer.

  “I wouldn’t dare be frustrated with you, especially not without asking your permission first.” I smile sweetly at him. And then I kiss him on the lips.

  “Oops. It looks like I got some lipstick on you.” I rub my thumb across his bottom lip. “Sorry, I hope that doesn’t disrupt the schedule. I might miss out on a conversation of national importance, like summer shoe trends.”

  “Have I mentioned that red lipstick is incredibly sexy on you?” He leans in and gives me a kiss so passionate it leaves me breathless in moments. He rubs his thumb across his bottom lip. “It was worth it.” He smirks at me.

  I turn and walk toward the station, ignoring the photographers who are asking for more shots, and ignoring the longing for more of Dimitri’s kisses.

  I’m small-talked to death and ready to seek solace in my privacy suite. But when I reach the spa lobby, my agent and I are met by one of Dimitri’s security officers. “I’ve been asked to invite you to the casino. The meeting is running late.”

  My makeup has all been sweated off, my hair is wet and pulled up, and I’m not dressed for an appearance. The thought of putting real clothes back on is entirely unappealing. “Tell him he can stay as long as he needs. I’ll head back to the room.”

  “I need to take you to the casino,” the security officer says again.

  “Fine, I’ll get dressed,” I say, but he shakes his head.

  “I have been asked to hurry you there.” He’s impossible to read. I wonder if it’s part of their training to have as much emotion as a rock.

  “Is Dimitri all right?” I ask.

  “He’s physically well,” the officer answers.