“I … I am sorry, Yulia. I’m Haleigh,” I murmur, afraid to say much else. I feel like my mother is standing in front of me and I hate that.
“I know who you are. Mr. Maxim has told me of your nuptials. Don’t get too comfortable in the master’s bedroom, honey,” she sneers and walks away.
Yulia’s cryptic words worry me, but I don’t have time to dwell on them. Minutes later, the phone rings and Catia informs me, rather briskly, that she will arrive in one hour’s time to take me shopping for proper attire.
I hurry through my shower and put on a cream-colored sundress for the day, sliding flat sandals on my feet. I can’t help but feel extremely nervous about meeting Catia, especially after my initial run-in with Yulia.
Walking downstairs and into the kitchen, I see Yulia placing some food onto a plate. Turning around with the plate in her hand, she thrusts it into my stomach, almost knocking the air out of me.
“Here. Eat. Maxim tells me you are too skinny,” she practically yells in my face.
I look down to the food on the plate, a bagel with cream cheese and sliced strawberries. I don’t particularly care for bagels or cream cheese, but I am too afraid of Yulia to tell her any differently. I sit down in the breakfast room and try my hardest to eat the bagel, but I can only manage a few measly bites. I decide to eat the strawberries instead and pray that Yulia isn’t upset I can’t eat the dense carbohydrates.
A few moments later, I hear high heels clicking on the travertine floor and look up to see a stunning dark-haired woman coming my way. She is tall and built like a woman, large breasts, small waist, and flared hips. Her dark hair is pulled up into a bun, high on top of her head, and her makeup is flawless.
She is wearing a beautiful pencil skirt, a teal silk blouse that shows off her ample cleavage, and heels so high, I definitely would fall flat on my ass wearing them. I smile at her, and she just scowls. Then, when I stand, her eyes roam over my body and she smirks.
“You are Maxim’s wife?” she says with her lips tipped in a smile. It makes me feel extremely self-conscious.
“Catia?” I ask softly. She nods once.
“Let us go. Honestly, you will never be what Maxim wants, but I can try to make you decent,” she says with a wave of her hand.
I step back from her angry, hostile voice and hurtful words. It isn’t as if she has physically hurt me, but I refuse to let it show that her words have wounded. I have spent my entire life surrounded by people who don’t like or want me around. I can do it again for another afternoon.
Catia drives into the city and takes me to Barney’s department store. I know I should be thrilled that Maxim wants to purchase an entire wardrobe for me, but I am anxious and nervous.
I don’t want to spend the day with Catia.
Disappointing Maxim, however, would be so much worse. I gather my inner strength and follow her into the store. My cell phone rings and without looking, I answer it.
“You are with Catia, no?” Maxim barks into my ear.
“Yes, Maxim, we have just arrived at Barney’s,” I explain. He hums in my ear.
“I will not be home until late this evening, do not wait up for me. Sonia will be at the house at nine o’clock tomorrow morning to go over décor with you.”
Without another word, he hangs up the phone. No good-byes exchanged. He is so different from the man I saw the day before, so cold. I will myself not to cry and look over to see Catia smiling at me. It isn’t a nice or kind smile, but an evil one. It makes me wonder why on earth Maxim would send her to me.
“Go into that dressing room and I will bring you some items. You are a size zero, no?” Her eyes are gleaming, and it is seriously disturbing.
I nod and tell her that, yes, I am a size zero; though, I am sure that I won’t be for long, now that I have stopped dancing every day. I make my way into the dressing room and sit down. Taking a deep breath, I just relax for a moment. Twenty minutes or so goes by and I can hear Catia talking, but it isn’t to me. It seems as though she is on the phone.
“Max, I cannot believe you married this girl. She is but a child. How can she take care of your needs?” She giggles like a schoolgirl, and it sounds weird. “Oh, I miss you so much, Max. Come to me tonight. Take me. Fuck me,” she groans. I feel like a voyeur listening in on her conversation, but she is being so terribly loud and the dressing rooms seem to make her voice echo.
“She doesn’t know you like I do. She cannot possibly take care of you the way I can. Maxim, the girl has no breasts. I mean, honestly, it must be like fucking a boy. I need you inside of me, and I know you don’t love her. Hell, you fucked me the day of your wedding, if I recall correctly. Come to me tonight and let me make you feel good,” she purrs.
I stay still, seated, and I gulp down air, trying to bring oxygen into my body.
Catia is talking about me, and she is talking to my husband—about having sex with him. Why on earth would he send her to help me? Why would he marry me if he is obviously having relations with her?
I am hurt and confused. All those tender moments we shared over the weekend—our vows—they were nothing, and they meant nothing to him. I am so confused and upset, I don’t know what to say or do. I feel like the world’s biggest fool, and I am so completely embarrassed.
“All right, Max. I will see you tonight. Use your key.”
I hear her heels clicking on the floor coming toward me. I school my features as best as I can. I cannot let her know that I heard her. She is not a nice person, and she will no doubt laugh in my face if I seem upset.
“I have brought you several daytime dresses, skirt suits, cocktail dresses, and a few evening gowns,” she announces, shoving some clothes at me. Catia is all business, but her cheeks are now flushed, and I know it is because she has made plans with my husband for the evening.
“Thank you,” I say softly as I take the items, organizing them on the hanging posts in the room.
“Is everything all right, Haleigh?” she asks, her voice condescending and her smile wicked.
“Yes, it is. I will just hurry up and try these on. I am sure you are busy,” I say, wishing I could fast-forward through this whole awkward experience. Catia hums in the back of her throat and walks out of the room.
I make quick work of trying on all of the clothes. Catia may be a royal bitch, but she does have a great eye for clothing and style. I decide to go ahead and take everything she has picked and then we go to a different department to purchase shoes and handbags. I can’t help but think that this should be fun. I should be having fun—purchasing whatever my heart desires—but it isn’t fun, it is torture.
My heart doesn’t desire things; my heart it desires to be loved.
Although, I don’t love Maxim, and he cannot possibly love me yet, I had hoped that our relationship would someday turn into love. It doesn’t appear as though this will ever happen. I am to be the wife he fucks while he is home; the wife who attends parties at his side. In the end, he will have his whores, and I am to say nothing. I hate that this is what my life has become.
My hope for love is completely gone, shattered, as I watch a woman, who is so beautiful it makes my heart hurt, pick out clothing for me. I know that I will never compare. Maxim should be with her. They fit together. She is tall and curvy, a real woman.
Catia was right; I do look like a boy and I am fooling myself to think that Maxim has any feelings toward me at all, whatsoever. I am in his home and at his side merely for show, as I have always been for my parents. I now know there is a reason, other than Maxim just desiring me to be his wife, for why I am at his side. This has my parents written all over it.
Later that night, after Yulia has practically thrown a sandwich at me and left for the evening, I go upstairs and into the master bedroom. I decide to put all of my new clothes, shoes, and handbags away. I need something to take my mind off my husband and the reason he isn’t home. I spend hours color coordinating every purchase — perfecting the space.
Catia spared no expense ou
tfitting me with everything I would need. Silk stockings, garters, lingerie, expensive clothes, thousands of dollars in shoes and handbags. She also informed me that she made a spa appointment for tomorrow afternoon—so they can fix the disaster I call my hair. Her words were meant to hurt, and they do, but it is for a reason she doesn’t know.
I am not a vain person, so her telling me that my hair is disgusting and untamed means nothing. Maxim told me he loved my hair down and that it was beautiful—the reminder was what hurt.
I shower the day away, crying while I am alone and wet, the only time I allow my tears to fall. I haven’t heard from either of my parents since my sham of a wedding and Maxim is, at this very moment, making love to another woman. I have been abandoned—completely and totally abandoned.
I cannot even dance to take my mind off everything. My stomach growls, protesting the fact that I did not eat the sandwich Yulia hoisted in my direction. Food does not appeal to me; it didn’t appeal when I came home, and hours later, it still does not. Not when my life itself seems so worthless and lonely.
I plug in my cell phone and check to see if I have missed any calls. I haven’t, of course. It is now midnight and I take two sleeping pills, placing the bottle next to me on my nightstand.
I started taking sleeping pills when I was a child. My body would hurt so badly from dancing for hours on end that I couldn’t sleep, so the doctor prescribed them to me to help. The only time I haven’t needed them was the past two days, days spent with Maxim when I thought he cared for me, even if it was just a tiny bit.
“HALEIGH.”
I feel my body being shaken, but my eyes are so heavy they won’t open. Finally, a light slap to my face forces my eyes wide. I see Maxim leaning over me. He is shirtless, his blonde hair is dark, dripping with water, and there is a towel wrapped around his waist. He has just come from the shower and the clock on the nightstand next to me shows that it is after two in the morning. I suck in a ragged breath at what that means.
He has obviously showered the smell of Catia from his body before coming into our bed. Maybe I should be grateful for that? I don’t know.
“Maxim, what is it?” My voice sounds groggy and far away.
“What the fuck are these? How many did you take?” He is shaking the pill bottle at me. His face is red with rage, his jaw clenched, and he looks beautiful.
“My sleeping pills? They’re prescribed, Maxim. I have been taking them since I was a child,” I admit, my voice slurred. Maxim’s nostrils flare, and I can see a vein in his neck throbbing.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t sleep well,” I mutter as my eyes begin to roll back in my head again.
It is a completely logical answer, and I cannot understand why Maxim is so angry with me.
“You did not take them Saturday or Sunday nights,” he questions, his gaze speculative and assessing.
“Those were the only nights in at least fifteen years that I didn’t need them. Maxim, I am tired, I had a bad day and tomorrow doesn’t look much better. I need sleep,” I say.
I can feel my eyelids growing heavy again. Two strong hands wrap around my shoulders, and Maxim shakes me awake. My head feels like one of those bobble figurines.
“Why did you have bad day? Was Catia not nice to you?” His eyes are searching mine and he looks … guilty. I look away from him.
“No, Maxim, your girlfriend was very nice to me,” I whisper.
Maxim releases me and I roll over to face the wall, staring at the blank space while somewhere in the distance I can hear Maxim’s voice. I don’t know what he is saying because he is speaking in Russian. I don’t even know if he is talking to himself or somebody on the phone. I can’t look at him, all I can see when I do look at him is an image of him and Catia standing next to each other, looking … perfect.
“Golubushka, please don’t be angry,” Maxim whispers from behind me.
I feel his hand running over my hair, the same hair his girlfriend said was disgusting. His arm wraps around my waist, firmly, and hauls me back into his hard chest.
“Don’t be angry, my Haleigh. Please,” he begs, sounding upset.
He has offered no excuses for his actions, no explanations. He just doesn’t want me to be angry with him, and I think that hurts more than anything.
“I am not angry, Maxim,” I finally sigh as I let the drugs take over my body, yet again. I don’t lie. I’m not angry with him, just so fucking sad at how I have allowed my life to turn out.
The next morning, I am woken by Yulia, who throws the covers off my body then opens the windows and screams for my ‘lazy ass’ to ‘get the fuck up.’ It seems as the days go by, she is intent on becoming more and more abusive and bitter toward me. This is only day two. I offhandedly wonder what day three will bring. Physical abuse, perhaps?
I almost care—but not quite. Sonia will be at the house in just a few hours, and it is time for me to prepare myself to meet yet another woman my husband possibly shares a bed with.
My delusions of a happy life are now over. Yesterday was just the wake-up call I needed.
I dress in a deep plum asymmetrical neckline dress that is shorter than I would normally wear, hitting me at mid-thigh. It is tight at the waist and then flares into a flowy A-line. I pair it with my new gold wedge sandals and keep my makeup minimal. I am sure the spa will show me how to apply makeup properly and fix my hair to Maxim’s liking. After all, Catia would know what he likes and she made the appointment.
“Hello, dear girl,” a woman says from the entryway.
I know it must be Sonia. She is in her early forties, blond hair styled in a sleek bob, and she is wearing a fitted white pantsuit paired with a bright red silk blouse under her blazer. She is beautiful and she looks kind. I pray that she is.
“Hello, I am Haleigh. You must be Sonia,” I say softly, holding out my hand for her to shake. Instead, she pulls me in for a hug.
“Maxim works for my husband. He is like a son to us, therefore that makes you a daughter.” She smiles widely, showing perfect white teeth. I want to cry at how genuine she seems. The first person to truly show me kindness in a long time, possibly ever.
“It is very nice to meet a friend of Maxim’s,” I say.
Something in my voice or face must give away my utter sadness because Sonia turns and looks at me. Her eyes assess my face and she nods before placing her hand on mine and giving me a gentle squeeze.
“He will come around, sweet girl, never you worry.” She smiles sadly as if she knows exactly how I feel. Perhaps, she does.
I nod stiffly, and we begin diving into the home, discussing where to begin. Sonia originally decorated the space, so she is familiar with Maxim’s taste.
“Let’s start with the master, yes?”
“I don’t want to change too much. Maxim obviously enjoys dark colors, and I don’t want to make the space feminine. I was thinking of just adding some accent color, maybe a cream or a dove gray, just to soften the room a bit,” I suggest. Sonia nods as her eyes flutter around the space.
“Cream would be lovely, no? How about we find a tufted cream chair and ottoman. Then we can paint the walls cream? It will brighten the room up without adding anything too feminine like more throw pillows. Plus, it would be a nice little space for you to read or relax in,” she offers.
I smile, loving the idea. We spend the rest of the day in the same fashion. Sonia is wonderful and so very likable. I do hope that I will see more of her. Maybe she can take me shopping from now on.
“What will you do the rest of today then, dear girl?” Sonia asks as we finish discussing the living room sofas.
“Catia has made an appointment at the spa for a makeover, for me. She said my hair wasn’t presentable.” I phrase things much kinder because to repeat her words would make me cry. I have already had my allotted single cry session, for today, in the shower this morning.
“Catia is a mean little bitch. I go with you. I love the spa. We get to know each other bet
ter. I want to hear about your ballets and why on earth you will not be performing any longer. I so loved to watch you dance,” she offers.
I am immediately taken aback. She has seen me dance? It shouldn’t surprise me that a woman as polished as Sonia would spend time at the ballet, but that she knows me from there—recognizes me—that certainly shocks me.
“Come, darling,” she calls. I walk behind her, sliding into the passenger seat of her luxury car.
“You have seen me dance?” I ask unable to hide my curiosity.
“I have, yes. So has Maks. He came with Pasha and me several times, boasting about his beautiful new bride on the stage before us. Maks can be very sweet and very kind, Haleigh. You will see, in time.” She takes a breath before continuing, “His childhood was not an easy one in Moscow. You must give him time, dear girl.”
I nod, appreciating the small glimpse into my husband’s head, but I don’t know what else to say. Thankfully, I don’t have to say anything because Sonia talks and talks and talks all the way into the city. She tells me about her husband, Pasha, and her two children, one boy and one girl.
The girl, she says, is a little spoiled princess, but the boy is her biggest worry because all he wants to do is fight and fuck. She is worried he will get some whore pregnant. I try not to giggle at her words, but she is so frank, so matter-of-fact about her children’s faults. At the same time, her voice is filled with love. It makes me happy to see that not all parents are like mine.
When we arrive at the spa, I am not surprised that everybody there knows who Sonia is. She introduces me as Mrs. Maxim Lasovska. I watch as the receptionist’s face slightly pales before she flashes a fake smile and takes us back to change into robes.
Sonia and I spend the next few hours being massaged, waxed, plucked, dyed, groomed, and painted. I truly fall in love with Sonia Vetrov and her beautiful personality by the end of the day. The spa rushes out to gather us lunch, and I eat heartily for the first time in days.
The stylist won’t let me see my hair in the mirror, so when she spins me around, I gasp at the sight. My once solid light blonde hair now has streaks of deep reds and light browns mixed throughout. She trimmed it to mid-bicep with a few long layers added for body and volume.
Owned by the Badman (Russian Bratva #1) Page 5