2

Nina

I put my bag on the recliner and turn around in the living room. It’s been months since I’ve been here, but it looks like nothing has changed. The same white curtains and carpet, white and beige furniture, empty white walls. So much white—it looks sterile. I always despised it. No wonder that the first significant amount of money I earned, I used it to rent an apartment and get away from this bleakness.

“I’m home!” I shout.

A few seconds later there is a sound of clicking heels coming my way. My mom exits the kitchen and rushes toward me, her hands on her hips. Zara Grey is the complete opposite of me—tall and blonde, with full makeup on, and in a perfectly pressed dress. A white silky one. I want to groan.

“You are three hours late, I told you—” she stops in mid-sentence. “Dear God, what have you done with yourself?”

“Can you be more specific?”

“The metal thing on your nose.”

“It is called a piercing, Mom.”

“People get diseases through those, Nina. When your father sees you, he’ll have a heart attack.”

“I’m twenty-four. I can do whatever I please with my body. And I’ve had it for years, I just remove it when I come here to avoid you pestering me. I forgot today.”

“And why are you wearing all black? Did someone die?”

A few of my brain cells, for sure.

“I’m in a dark phase this month.” I shrug.

My mom loves the clichés. I think they make her feel more comfortable, especially around me. She still finds my choice of a career hard to process. Maybe it would be easier for her if I drew flower arrangements or baby deer. I wonder what she’d have to say about my latest piece. It’s still a work in progress, but there are no flowers or deer planned.

“Why do you have to be so strange all the time?”

“Works great with guys.” I grin. “Men love strange women.”

“I’m not so sure about that, honey.”

God, she can’t even get my sarcasm.

“When Dad called, he said it was urgent. Where is he?”

“In the study. He’s been acting out of character the last few days. I think it has something to do with work, but he won’t tell me anything. It seems . . . like he’s scared of something.”

My father is in a real-estate business. Not many things to be scared of. I enter the hallway on the left and knock on the door of my father’s study, without having even the faintest idea what a drastic change my life is going to take when I get inside.

* * *

Half an hour later, I’m sitting in a recliner occupying the corner of the office and staring at my father, open-mouthed. “Is this a joke?”

“It’s not a joke.” He slumps his shoulders and passes a hand through his greying hair.

“Okay, let me get this straight. You stole money from the Russians and lost it, so now you’re asking me to marry a Russian mob boss.”

“I didn’t steal anything, Nina.” He throws his arms in the air, stands up, and starts pacing behind his desk. “I just borrowed it for a few days because I needed the funds for this deal. I never thought the guy was a fraud or that he’d take the money and vanish.”

“You took the money, and you can’t pay them back. How the fuck did you get involved with Russian mafia? What the hell were you thinking, Dad?”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” He points an accusatory finger at me. “I’m your father!”

“You are asking me to marry a criminal to save your butt, for God’s sake. I think I can talk to you any way I want, all things considered.”

“Nina . . .”

“They expect me to marry their boss? Like, for real?”

“It’s just temporarily.” He waves his hand in the air like it’s not a big deal.

“But, why? Isn’t there a line of mafia daughters somewhere wanting to marry the guy? It would be a dream come true for any of them, right? Why me?”

“They didn’t say. These people don’t explain themselves. They tell you what to do, and if you don’t do it, you’re dead.”

“You really think they’ll kill you?”

“Yes. I’m surprised they haven’t already.” He pauses his pacing and turns to face me. “If you don’t do what they ask, I’m dead.”

I take a deep breath and bury my hands in my hair, squeezing my head like it’s going to help find a solution to this fuckup. Because I am not marrying anyone, fake marriage or not. “Okay, let’s think. There must be some way to correct this. I have some savings, maybe fifty grand. I have my next exhibition in a month, and I should be able to get another twenty if I can manage to finish all fifteen pieces and they all sell. How much money can you get for the house?”

“Maybe eighty grand. Or ninety, if we sell the furniture as well. I can get ten more for the car.”

“Good. That places us at somewhere around one hundred and seventy thousand. Will that be enough? How much do you owe them?”

“Three million.”

I must have had a minor stroke because there is no way he said the words I just heard him say. “Can you please repeat that?”

“I owe them three million dollars.”

I stare at him with my mouth wide open. “Dear God, Dad.”

I bend down and place my forehead on my knees, trying to control my breathing. I’m not marriage material, no one in their right mind would offer three million dollars in exchange for six months of marriage. There must be a catch.

“He’s ninety, isn’t he?” I mumble into my knees.

“I don’t know how old their pakhan is, but I don’t think he’s ninety.”

“Eighty then. I’m so relieved.” I’m going to be sick.

“They said it’ll be a marriage in name only. You won’t have to . . . you know.”

“Sleep with him? Well, if he’s eighty, then he probably can’t have sex. That’s good. Eighty is good.”

“Nina, I-I am so sorry. If you don’t want to go through with this, that’s okay. I’ll figure something out.”

I straighten up and look at my father who is now sitting slumped in his chair, his hair in disarray and his eyes bloodshot. He looks so old and frail all of a sudden.

“Unless you plan to go to the police, there is nothing else to be done, is there?” I ask.

“You know I can’t go tattle on the Russian mafia to the police. They would kill us all.”

Of course they would kill us. I close my eyes and sigh. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

My father watches me for a few seconds, then places his hands over his face and starts crying. I want to cry as well, but there is no point.

“I suppose they will set up a meeting, or something, where we’ll discuss the details.”

“They already did. We are meeting the Pakhan in an hour.”

I look at my father and bury my hands in my hair. “Perfect. I’m just going to the bathroom to puke up my lunch, and I’ll meet you at the front door in five.”