Arranged By The Bravta King

15

Maria

I wake up, and it takes me a while before I realize I'm staring up at the ceiling.

My hands feel something soft underneath me, and I wonder if everything was a dream. A few seconds pass, and I take a deep breath. It doesn't smell like my room. Blinking against the darkness above, I reach over to the curtains, draw them back, and see the glittering lights of New York sprawled out before me as the dying embers of a sunset paint the western horizon with a splash of pink and gold.

Memories of the roaring wind whipping around me rush back to the forefront of my mind. I try to sit up, and pain greets me like an old friend.

Not a dream, definitely real.

Wincing, I lie back down, body aching but miraculously intact. I try to figure out just what the hell happened. How am I still alive and not splattered across the pavement?

Despite the pain, I can't help but reflect on the irony. I ran away from my controlling father, desperate for a chance to live my own life. And where did I end up? Kidnapped by a maniac before I even had a full twenty-four hours to myself.

It's a cruel twist of fate that would have my face covered with tears if it didn't hurt to cry.

It takes me a moment to realize that I'm not alone. An older woman is sitting in a chair near my bed. I quickly scoot back despite the pain throbbing in my body and look at her warily.

Her lips are in a tight line, and her eyes betray no sympathy for anybody, not even herself, if I had to guess. Her dark blonde hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail. She wears a crisp white dress, and I wonder if she's a nurse.

The moment she notices me, she stands up and glares down.

"Mikhail Ivanov saved you," she explains before I can even ask. "Or rather, his safety nets did. Have you ever seen a body hit the ground from this height?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "It's gruesome. Don't try it again, koshka."

Try it again? I gawk at her. Does she even know that it was Mikhail who dropped me after he forced me to tell him that I'd rather die? But before I can retort, she curls her lips and walks away through the door.

I wait to hear the lock click, but the sound never comes.

Not that it matters.

I'm too sore to move. I curl up beneath the plush blanket, hugging it tightly around me as I try to stifle my crying. The harrowing events of yesterday rush through my head again and I shudder at the realization that I almost died.

And the worst part of it all? These people don't even care. They don't care that I'm being forced to marry Mikhail against my will.

I can't think about Dad. But I do, and it makes me sob harder, knowing that he was right all along. Gasping from pain, I force myself to stop crying. There will be time for tears later. But right now, I need to find a way out.

God knows what other twisted ordeals Mikhail has in store for me.

This isn't over, and I'll need every ounce of strength to survive his twisted game. I'll find a way to escape him and this accursed marriage. But next time, I'll be smarter and more cunning.

I won't make a mistake.

And he won't catch me.

I'm grateful to be alive, but also haunted by the memory of dangling over the edge, seconds away from death.

And as sleep overtakes me, an unsettling question snakes its way into my heart: would it have been better for me to fall?

-----

Mikhail

The next morning, I quietly push open the door to the room, and I'm immediately struck by the sight of her sitting up in bed, her hazel eyes wide open. The curtains are drawn back, and soft morning light filters through the room, casting a warm glow over her auburn hair like a halo.

"What do you want?" she asks coldly.

The familiar ferocity of her boldness makes me smile.

"To make sure you are all right," I reply.

Her gaze flickers down to the bruises on her arms and legs. A bandage is wrapped around her wrist and knee. But when she looks back at me, there's a quiet determination in her expression.

"What happens?" she asks.

"Safety nets," I said. "Put in place after a previous ... incident." My words trail off, unwilling to delve further into the painful past.

"No," she replies harshly. "Your housekeeper already told me about those. I said what happens, not what happened. What next? Do you already have a wedding date picked out? Is that it?"

I stand at the foot of her bed and fold my arms across my chest. "You won't cause trouble again," I reply simply.

"Is that an order?" she asks bitterly.

"Call it a strong suggestion," I reply stoically. "Your courage is impressive, Maria, but your lying needs improvement."

"I don't know what's going on here." She narrows her eyes. "But when my father finds me, you are going to jail."

For a long moment, I stare at her, speechless at her naivety. And then I begin laughing until my eyes water.

"Jail?" I shake my head. "Have you forgotten who brought you back to me?"

I quickly sidestep the pillow that goes sailing past my head.

Without another word, I leave the room, my footsteps echoing down the hallway. Behind me, I hear the door softly open and turn around to see Maria peering at me before she quickly steps back.

"Breakfast will be served shortly in the dining room," I call to her. "If you're hungry, I suggest you come down and eat."

Her head reappears, and Maria watches me briefly before slamming the door shut.

My steps are light as I bounce down the stairs. I haven't felt this way in years. I look around at my surroundings and my gaze comes to rest on the Nevelson dividing the room in half. The geometric sculpture is breathtaking. A metallic grid of open squares and rectangles in gold and black from the ceiling to the floor. It's beautiful to my eyes, and I reach out my finger and touch the hard, cold metal as I think of Maria.

A simple surface, concealing boundless depths underneath.

Frowning, I turn one final gaze up the spiral staircase and wonder what she will try next.