Sights on the SEAL: A Secret Baby Romance

by Alexis Abbott

  “No,” Arnold Meadows, Cassie’s father, interjects. “He and Cassie met over business, actually. Andrei’s father is an entrepreneur, you know, very well-traveled man, self-made. Never able to stay put anywhere, so the poor man couldn’t make it, but Andrei’s been handling the business on his behalf here in the States, and well,” Arnold pats me on the back as if I were a nephew or something, “he just fit right into the family!”

  The old man seems satisfied, and he and Arnold chat a while as I peer around at the rest of the room, only half paying attention. The lies that roll off her father’s tongue are easy and practiced, like someone who has been lying his entire life. He very likely has, to get to the point where he’s willing to sell off his own child to a stranger at that auction.

  I hear the family chattering about who knows who from where, what “denomination” this part of the family has defected to, who’s acted wrongly against whom in the family, and so on. It all sounds remarkably like the kinds of things the Bratva discusses at big, informal meetings, I realize. This whole ceremony has felt a lot like that, with just as many falsehoods being spun.

  There was nothing like this back home in Siberia. As a boy growing up in an orphanage, I remember very little interaction with the Orthodox Church, and I rarely heard anything about it. It was simply outside my sphere of life, and as I grew into a man who had to do what he had to to get by, it was almost out of my mind entirely.

  Being surrounded by a group of people whose entire life is clearly oriented around this institution is strange, but not incomprehensible. This is all clearly about relations, and as a man nearly bound to the Bratva, it isn’t too unfamiliar.

  But this isn’t even like the Churches I know of here in the States. There’s an air of secrecy and deception thick in the air, not just from her father, but from the others as well. They all ask questions expecting a coded lie, and respond in kind.

  I turn to my bride, and I find her picking at her food uncomfortably.

  “Do you like it?” I ask, and she jumps a little, enraptured in her own world.

  “Oh, yes, it’s...it’s good. I think one of my aunts made most of the food.”

  An awkward pause lingers between us. I can only imagine the fear that’s binding her, but just as Oskar had promised, she seems intent on pleasing me and all the people around us. I clear my throat before swiftly changing the subject. “So, you know most of these people well, yes?”

  Cassie shifts in her seat and looks around, pursing her lips. “Kind of.”

  I wait for her to say more, but nothing else comes. She only looks at me for a moment as if she too were waiting for me to say more, but she averts her eyes and takes a drink after half a moment. She’s still shaken up. I can’t blame her, after everything she’s been through in the past few days.

  Arnold’s voice catches my ear again, and I glance over at him, catching part of his conversation.

  “Oh no doubt,” he’s saying to another man about his age, “a young girl her age can’t be going out to dances like that so late, that’s a ticket to trouble. I’ll bring it up at the next PTA meeting, and I’ll be praying for her in the meantime, brother.”

  “You know, I said the same thing to her youth pastor, but these young people just can’t keep their hands off each other, even with chaperones,” the other man says, and I tune out of the conversation, figuring it’s going to go on like this for a while.

  I realize I have a level of growing contempt for Cassie’s father. Arnold reminds me of Sergei in too many ways. He’s all smiles around other men who hold the same power as he, but when it comes to handling himself in private, I can smell the brute of a man he really is.

  Every now and then, Cassie’s mother Jan tries to get a word in edgewise in the conversation, but Arnold is quick to interrupt her. After some time, I notice her resignation and how she keeps her eyes on her food.

  I wonder how monstrously he must treat his wife and daughter at home. A man who would be willing to sell his daughter into debt must be twisted beyond comprehension to be able to sleep at night.

  As the two men drone on in their conversation, I hear Arnold repeating a point Jan had made almost verbatim. Feeling exhausted just by being in the proximity, I speak up.

  “Jan said that a moment ago.”

  The two men stop at my sudden interjection, and Arnold raises an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

  “What you just said about your church’s youth program providing women’s social groups — Jan brought that up a few minutes ago before you interrupted her.”

  Arnold starts to go red, while the middle-aged man speaking to him clears his throat. “R-right, must have missed that. Anyhow, I’ll see you around, Arnie. Enjoy the food.”

  He and Arnold exchange a nod, and before he turns back to his food, Arnold glares daggers at me while Jan pretends she hasn’t heard any part of the exchange, her cheeks bright. I can’t help but smile a little at the man’s embarrassment, and I dig back into my food with a little more vigor.

  Cassie is paralyzed by the subtle exchange. I imagine that challenges to her father’s authority must not be common in the household.

  I know already that Arnold won’t like me. Even if I wanted to be cozy with that govnosos, I’m an outsider here in every respect. I can feel it in the way everyone here regards me. This is a tight-knit community already, but as a Russian who knows nobody, this cold, cordial kindness is the best they’ll be willing to muster.

  The rest of the dinner goes uneventfully, and after dinner, the time comes for me to drive my bride back to my home in Brighton Beach.

  The family gives us both stiff goodbyes, and I exchange names with and receive business cards from a staggering amount of people I have no intention of seeing ever again. I can tell they hope the same, even as they keep up appearances.

  There’s a certain finality to the goodbyes Cassie exchanges with her closer relatives, a few cousins who she might have known better than others. I’m reminded of what a foreigner I am to these people, and I realize that this ceremony is cutting Cassie off from these people altogether. She seems most upset about her brother, who’d fallen asleep earlier in the evening, but whom she went to kiss goodbye anyways, after asking my permission.

  She’s being given to me, and in this community, the husband dictates how the new family will be run — where we go, what we do, and how we behave. In marrying Cassie off to someone like me, she’s getting sent away for good, and many of the family sense it, but none dare question it.

  I can’t decide if it’s for better or for worse for her.

  But then I see her father embracing her, hugging her tight to him, but there’s no love in the embrace. His eyes meet mine for a moment as he hugs her, and I realize this man is little better than a jealous ape giving away what he sees as one of his possessions. Cassie’s tearful embrace with her mother is the only one of the night that seems to have some emotion to it.

  Finally, we’re walking out the doors for the last time, her hand in mine as I guide her to my car, a sleek black corvette I keep for special occasions. I didn’t let anyone decorate it for the event.

  Rice is thrown at us as we make our way down, and a few times, I feel Cassie’s legs start to wobble as she loses her balance.

  We finally reach my car, and I hold the door open for her, helping her into the sleek leather seats, tucking all of her long white gown in before shutting the door.

  A moment later, I get in on the driver’s side, and we pull away, leaving those strange people behind us as we drive south.

  Once we’re a ways down the road from the church, I feel like I should say something, to try to make small talk about the big night, how she must feel in all the rush, or something along those lines, but I can’t bring myself to see such words as anything more than cruel and unnecessary. So we sit in silence.

  I glance over at Cassie as we get onto the highway. She’s looking out the window, her expression unreadable, but now that she’s far away from the claws of her
family, her beauty seems to jump out at me all the more.

  Against the cold black color of the car’s interior, Cassie couldn’t contrast more. Her white wedding dress, blonde hair, pale skin, and blue eyes that sparkle in the setting sun make her look like a diamond beside me.

  A feeling of satisfaction rises in my chest as I look back to the road. Cassie is the most pristine woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I’m taking her away from a group of people unworthy of her. The world is cruel to women like her, and she’s been dealt an even more oppressive hand.

  The least I can do is protect her from everything else she’ll have to face, living with a man like me.

  As we drive the three-hour trip to Brighton Beach, I notice Cassie nodding off to sleep in the silence. I personally enjoy the quiet the trip affords, being used to the city noise and the thrum of clubs as I do my work, and I hope Cassie can take some solace in gathering her thoughts in relative privacy.

  But the thought of what will happen when we reach my apartment keeps coming back to me. Cassie has curled up into the seat, sleeping gracefully with her arms wrapped around herself as she dozes.

  I can’t deny that I desire her. Even as my impulse was to protect her, I desire her. But I know she expects me to take her as my property, to use her however I please the moment we step into the bedroom. With such an upbringing, it’s doubtful she was even told that she has the ability to say ‘no’ to such things.

  So what will she think when we reach my home — our home? I think for a wild moment that I could just give her some money and send her on her own way, to be independent, but I realize that would only send her back home. She doesn’t know how to take care of herself out there.

  I will have to be her protector, no matter what she desires.

  Somehow, I feel a hint of warmth at the idea in my heart. I don’t know what her desires will be when we cross our marriage threshold, but that doesn’t change the fact that this lovely young woman is my responsibility, regardless of how I’d like to claim her as mine with all the hot-blooded passion she’s been able to stir up in my heart in such a short time.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  Cassie

  The moon is high in the velvety black sky when I am gently prodded awake. At first, I am confused and disoriented, thinking that I must still be in my bed at home. Is it really six o’clock already? I have to hurry downstairs to start making eggs and sausage for Daddy and Isaiah, my mother must be annoyed with me for oversleeping...

  I sit up with a jolt when it dawns on me where I actually am: the passenger seat of my new husband’s luxurious Corvette. I blink my bleary eyes rapidly, taking in my chrome and leather surroundings, my puffy white dress, my hair starting to fray loose from my French braid. There’s a hand on my shoulder, and for once it isn’t my father’s. It’s lighter, gentler, yet it still feels commanding. Maybe even more so, since it won’t leave a harsh bruise beneath my pale skin.

  My eyes follow the hand up the arm to the broad shoulder of Andrei Petrov, the man I am now married to, forevermore, for better or for worse. I bite my lip and avert my gaze demurely, suddenly ashamed. I can’t believe I fell asleep in the car. On my wedding night. My father would be furious with me for being so rude.

  “Sorry to wake you,” he says gruffly, a faint Russian accent sneaking through.

  I shake my head and offer a weak smile, trying to remember that I must be a perfect wife and partner. I must be docile and sweet and pretty. No matter how frightened I am, it is of the utmost importance that I maintain my willing, humble service to my husband.

  It’s what God intends for me.

  “No, no, I am sorry for falling asleep. Couldn’t have been great conversation on the ride here, with me unconscious,” I reply, tucking my hair behind my ear.

  “I’m glad you were able to get some rest. You may need it.”

  My heart skips at his words. I suddenly feel very warm and tingly, a strange sensation tickling between my thighs. Curiosity tinged with fear works its way through my body. I don’t quite know exactly what he means, but I have an inkling that it might not be very wholesome.

  Andrei gets out of the car and rushes to open my door before I even get the chance to reach for the lever. He offers a big, calloused hand and after a second’s hesitation, I gingerly place my tiny hand in his. The rough texture of his fingers wrapped around my smooth, pale hand sends a tremble down my back. He gently pulls me up out of the Corvette and guides me to the sidewalk. Looking around, it hits me that we are in the city.

  Staring up at the massive brick building in front of us, I stammer, “Is th-this really where you live?” I can hear distant sirens and horns honking, even though it’s the middle of the night. Back home, everything is silent at night. In fact, even during the day I rarely ever heard anything but chirping birds and the sounds of children playing outside.

  “Yes. I imagine it will be an adjustment for you,” Andrei replies simply.

  I turn to look at him, more than a little fearful. “I’ve never been to the city before.”

  He raises both eyebrows in genuine surprise as he holds open the lobby door for me and I walk through into a beautifully furnished lobby, with dark wood paneling and sleek black chairs and couches. “You’ve really never seen the city before?”

  I shake my head, feeling a blush creep into my cheeks. “I have never left my hometown. Except… that one time of course,” I say, feeling the embarrassment grow. He of course knows what time I mean.

  “Not even for a day?”

  Is it really so hard to believe? I’m beginning to feel a little attacked. After all, there was never really any good reason to leave town. My city is small and insular, of course, but it’s always had everything we needed. I wonder if my new husband is some kind of jet-setter.

  “Not once,” I answer.

  “How sad,” Andrei says, leading me to the elevator.

  I dare not tell him that I’ve never been in an elevator before; I only know what they are from what I’ve seen in books. When the metal doors shut together, the two of us are left standing in a tiny, cramped chamber with mirrored walls. I can’t avoid looking at our reflections. We are surrounded by them. When it moves, my legs quiver, and he holds me a little tighter against his hard body, keeping me standing.

  It strikes me now just how drastically different we are in every way. Andrei is frighteningly tall and muscular, and everything about him is cold and dark. He towers over my diminutive frame, and his dark eyes and black hair contrast sharply with my pale blonde hair and light blue eyes. We are night and day, the two of us.

  I wonder to myself what will happen now that we are joined together.

  What happens when the night meets the day? When the moon touches the sun?

  An eclipse?

  We ride the elevator all the way up to the ninth floor, and I cannot believe I’m even inside a building with so many floors, much less going to live in one. We step out into a hallway with hardwood floors and walk down a ways to a door labeled 905.

  “Is this one yours?” I ask, looking up at Andrei.

  Without missing a beat, he answers, “It is ours.”

  My stomach does a flip flop and I gulp hard as the tall, powerful man beside me unlocks the door to my new home. My mouth falls open the second I step inside.

  It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever been, with high ceilings and massive, wide windows along the stark white walls. The foyer opens directly into a huge, airy living room area, with the shiny, high-tech kitchen to the left and two doors leading to what I assume are a bathroom and bedroom on the right. The floors are made of a glossy, nearly black wood, and the furnishings are all variations of black and white. A small spiral staircase in the corner of the room leads up to what appears to be a sort of loft area. Crossing the room to stand in front of the windows, I draw back the heavy black curtains and gasp at the sight of the New York City skyline, an array of sparkling lights speckled in the pitch-black night like constellation
s.

  Suddenly, I tremble at the touch of a hand falling at my waist. I swivel around to face my new husband, who is looking down at me with a tight-jawed expression. There’s something vaguely predatory flickering in his deep, dark eyes, and I inhale sharply as he raises my hand to kiss it with his full lips. Apart from my father, I have never felt a man’s lips on my skin before. In my dazed state at the wedding, I hardly perceived our first sanctioned kiss as husband and wife. My head was so fuzzy and filled with racing thoughts that it had simply passed me by. But now, alone in this apartment with the city teeming with nocturnal life, the sensation is startlingly pleasant, and I almost want to recoil from it. After all, pleasure is forbidden, and especially when it’s this kind of pleasure.

  “Do you like it?” Andrei asks, and at first I think he’s talking about the kiss. Then I realize that he wants to know if I like the apartment. And I do, very much.

  “Y-yes,” I reply, perhaps a little too quickly. “It’s beautiful.”

  “I know the furnishings may be a little too simple to suit a feminine taste,” he admits, and he is partially correct. The apartment is utterly gorgeous, but it is a very minimalistic kind of beauty. The few items he does have are obviously of a very high quality, but he doesn’t have much more than the essentials. There is one black couch and one white chair. One massive flat-screen television mounted on the wall. Everything is monochrome and cold, very cold.

  It’s the sort of aesthetic that reminds me of snow-capped mountains: breathtaking to behold but not particularly hospitable in practice.

  “If you’d like, perhaps you could lend some of your warmth to the place,” Andrei added, brushing the hair back from my face and peering into my eyes as though searching for... something.

  I instinctively flinch from his touch, and I see a shadow of regret cross his features. I immediately feel awful, as though I must do something to make amends.

  I must be a perfect wife. It is my purpose in life to serve.