Page 84 of Pageant

Dad leaps to his feet and his chair hits the wall. “Like hell you are! Put your body on sale? Parade around with nothing on while everyone calls you a cheap little whore?”

“That’s not what modeling is, Dad.” Tears of rage glitter on my lashes and blur him in my vision. I wish I could wash him away with my tears, but when I blink, he’s still there. “Besides, what’s wrong with being a whore or a stripper? At least that way I’d be in control of my own destiny.”

Dad pounds around the table and grabs hold of my upper arm in a brutal grip.Babulyascreams and scrabbles in her pocket for her phone. “I am calling the police!”

Dad points a finger at her and roars, “Put that fucking phone down or I’ll kill you, old woman. I swear I will.”

Babulyaslowly lowers her phone, her hand shaking and her face pale with terror.

Dad is breathing hard and he’s red in the face. “Lilia and I are going into the garden for a private chat, and then I’m leaving. No one has to lose their fucking heads, all right? Fucking women,” he growls, stalking toward the back door and dragging me with him.

I writhe and struggle every step of the way, finally breaking free when we’re standing by the birdbath. I rub my upper arm, which I’m sure is going to bruise from his cruel fingers.

“In three days’ time,” Dad says through clenched teeth, “you are going to meet with Ivan Kalashnik. You are going to smile at him and act like a polite, humble, and obedient daughter. In three weeks, I will walk you down the aisle and you are going to marry him. This is non-negotiable, Lilia. Ivan and I have a deal.”

I stop rubbing my arm and lift my chin. “You are deluded. Screw your deal.”

Dad gazes around the garden and then over at the house. “It would be a shame if yourbabulyawas thrown out of this house and had no money and nowhere to go. Diabetes is a cruel disease and her medication is expensive. I pay for that shit. Maybe I’ll just…stop.”

There’s a loud buzzing in my ears and I can’t feel the tips of my fingers. “You monster.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t love her grandmother.” Dad is smiling now, the cruel, twisted smile of a boy pulling wings from butterflies.

“I have a job. I’ll make my own money. I’ll make sureBabulyahas everything she needs.”

Dad pretends to muse on this. “Even if you could, terrible accidents can happen to old women left all on their own. Slips. Falls. Such a pity you won’t be around to take care of her.”

The world slides out of focus as I imagine one of Dad’s thugs coming intoBabulya’shouse and breaking her legs the moment I board the plane to Miami. “Even you wouldn’t stoop to that.”

Dad’s eyes glitter with malice and triumph. “I can, Lilia. And I would. I’ve already promised you to Ivan Kalashnik, and I will lose face if I go back on my word. I never break my word.” He pushes his face close to mine and snarls, “But I will break your fucking bones if you don’t do as I say. See how many catwalks you can prance down then.”

He turns on his heel and marches back into the house. A moment later, I hear the front door slam.

I sink down onto the grass, gripping the birdbath with all my strength to keep from fainting. Just minutes ago, I was the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. Out of nowhere, iron bars have slammed down around me, caging me in. I’m still sitting on the ground when I feel gentle hands on my shoulders, helping me to my feet.Babulyahas tears running down her face.

“Did he hurt you,kroshka?”

I stare around her beautiful garden, at the flowers and fluttering birds that were my comfort in the days after I first came to live here. I thought this place was my punishment, but it’s been my sanctuary away from a cruel and unfeeling world. Am I really going to be forced back into that world, this time as a mafia bride instead of a mafia daughter?

“What am I going to do?”

“I don’t know,kroshka. But whatever happens, you are not going to marry anyone of your father’s choosing. Come inside, and I will make tea and we will find a way out of this.”

I follow her back to the kitchen, but each of my steps are leaden with dread.

Three days later, an expensive black car pulls up in front of the house. I watch through the curtains as Dad gets out of the back seat holding a carrier bag and smooths his tie down his chest.

The doorbell rings andBabulyaclutches my arm, shaking her head at me.

“We are not here,” she whispers urgently. “Do not answer that door.”

He’s not going to just go away. I tug myself free and open it, dread turning the blood in my veins to ice.

Dad shoves the carrier bag at me. “You have one hour, and one chance. If you do not do what I say…” He trails off meaningfully and glances into the house. Then he turns and goes back to his car.

I glare at his back, hating the very sight of him. Fear and anger compete for which emotion can claim my heart. I want to scream and throw things, and I want to cower under my bed in fright.

I’ve thought of nothing else but my arranged marriage for the last three days. I have no friend I can turn to for help. No powerful person who can make Dad back down. There’s only me andBabulya, and we have nothing but the threadbare clothes we stand up in. The police will not protect us from mere threats, especially when they hear who is making them.

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