Page 38 of The Marriage

Roman filled in the blanks for her, saying, “We got married six days ago. Now she’s officially mine. Dima can’t claim any right over a married woman.”

Claire covered her mouth with both hands, her gaze widening. He couldn’t tell if she was still horrified, or overjoyed.

“But he can kill her for it,” Demyan murmured, drawing his son’s gaze to his.

Roman didn’t reply.

“Well, son, I suppose now you need to do whatever you have to do to keep your woman safe,” his father advised.

He was trying.

Wasn’t he?

*

Roman called Twin Rivers—again—as he took the stairs down to the entry of his parents’ home. The woman who answered the call said she would try and get a hold of Sylvia, who was Karine’s primary counsellor, and there he stood on the stairs, waiting like an idiot on hold with no promise of anything.

He’d been calling the facility almost hourly. They knew him well by now, expecting his calls to the point where a couple ladies actually greeted him by his first name, and they probably also knew he wouldn’t give up until he’d spoken to his wife.

His meeting with his parents hadn’t gone according to plan, either. There was no chance to discuss anything work-related with his father while his mother remained in the room. They hadn’t made any plans.

The only thing on everyone’s mind seemed to be Karine, and the decision Roman had taken on her behalf. Like it wasn’t already done—it was.

It was clear he wasn’t the only one putting the weight of blame on his shoulders.

Marky was the only one who didn’t want to burn him at the stake for the choice, apparently.

“Hello, Mr. Avdonin,” a familiar voice said through the phone. “Sylvia here. I just went in to check on your wife, and she doesn’t want to talk.”

Right.

The same answer he’d been getting.

“To me, you mean?” he growled into the phone.

“To anyone. She’s been quite hostile towards us pretty much since you left the facility.”

“So, she’s refusing treatment?”

“We haven’t even broached that subject yet, Mr. Avdonin,” Sylvia replied with a sigh.

Roman flattened a palm to his face, seeing white dots floating in front of his eyes as the anger bubbled beneath his surface.

Maybe this was how Karine felt, too. Like she wasn’t in control of anything. If she wanted to give him a taste of what she experienced on a daily basis, then she had succeeded.

“I just want to speak to my wife, okay? Can you get her to do that? Fuck the treatment. Fuck the program. I just need to hear her voice.”

It took the woman on the other end of the call a minute to respond, and when she did, it wasn’t at all what Roman wanted to hear. “I can’t make any promises. This entire thing has been traumatic for her in a way I’m not sure you’ve truly realized ... It’s on her, now. Some people need a lot of time, and let’s hope she is just one of them. Hopefully, she’ll come around.”

He also heard what she didn’t say.

Or didn’t want to say, rather.

You made your bed—lie in it.

Roman ended the call.

He didn’t want to listen to any more.