Sweet Death Of Holy Matrimony

Svetlana Yulia  Kozlovsky

I’ve been staring at the grey, golden and white walls and the so-called classy furniture consecutively with maddening intensity like felons had the prison cell printed in their minds, I’d this Goddamn Mansion. My skin was burning and my lungs were suffering burning from lack of oxygen. This textured ceiling of the repulsing pink room with stars and the whole screwed universe model was going to be a lasting nightmare once I get out of here, I reckon.

There was always something to be done, something to crave, something to ruin but in this dreadful vortex of whatever hell, life was frozen. Lack of human contact, thrill, chase, and purpose was weighing on my spirit. I wanted to break free and get loose.

Like Rubik’s cube, several scenarios had run through my mind of my possible escapades, all with less than 20% survival chances. It wasn’t my soil, I was a stranger here. I knew no one and my lack of resources, contacts, and allies incapacitated any possibilities.

I was bored out of my mind of the suffocating sophisticated environment. This everyday routine, like a horror classic on repeat, was beating down my sanity.

I had been wrapped in this hell-hole for a whole week now and a heart-swooning thing I learned is, nobody seem bothered enough to give a f*ck about me. Lucky me! I indulged in late breakfasts alone on the terrace and lunches were spent in their designated workplaces or outdoors while I had to eat in again.

Life on repeat.

The Astors’ did dinner together but I often did early dinner to avoid the interaction. They just assumed that I was in a phase where I was engulfed in recoiling trauma that prevailed in my head despite that the calamity had passed. Seth Astor even suggested a therapy which I refused then they went back to being blindfolded on my case.

Not that I minded, I like being treated like air, really, if it means I am not being suffocated by the lack of it, It was great for survival although it was slowly poisoning my mind to real crazy stuff.

I had come to this conclusion. The less interaction I have with them, the fewer chances I have of getting caught.

I wasn’t going to get caught anyway. How many of lots ever doubted a person they saw on a daily basis to be an imposter because their dispositions shifted? They’re more likely to think they’re doing drugs. I wouldn’t blame them though.

It was creepy, how she was a carbon copy of me. Almost like she had plastic surgery to resemble me because I’m sure I’d none.

My whole day was spent doing yoga and some workout, following an eccentric keto diet plan the girl was on, reading, and attending several home spa treatments. Life was too mundane right now but anything was better than hanging upside down and getting skinned alive which will be the situation if I am being deported back to Russia now.

The Kozlovsky Clan price for my head was the only thing keeping my feet on the ground. There’ll have no mercy for a traitor. I was a loose end, no matter how fancy, I needed to be discarded.

I long to breathe in the minty air in my lungs, miss the passionate rhythm of my mother tongue, the food, vodka, the snow-filled roads, my nest I’d built for me, and even some people. It enrages me that I’ve to flee my land just to live.

They think I’m planning a takeover or rebellion. Killing Igor was an act oddly satisfying, I could’ve injured or handicapped him but the rush of his blood was such a sweet revenge.

I hate being in this situation, every torturing second of this longing for my land but I didn’t regret a thing. He deserved to rot away in some swamp. Igor is what you called a sick bastard. Too sick to have humane senses.

The worst thing about all of this was no alcohol because the diet forbade it and the girl had been too much of a wimp pussy to ever drink. I was thirsting too much for a sip that I had impulsively stolen a century-old wine bottle from Mr. Astor’s collection which didn’t end well at all.

Everyone went on and on about it, and eventually pinned the blame on Asher- grounded him, confiscated his car, forced etiquettes and morals lessons on him, and cut off half of his allowance. He bristled, yelled, and pleaded for mercy; shouting he didn’t do it. All the while I munched on Burritos on the sofa with a subtle smirk.

After drinking I had hidden the bottle under his bed- call me devilish but the boy was too cocky for his credits and needed to be brought down some notches. I just felt generous and did it for them. Besides, if the bottle was found in my room... I shuddered at the thought.

Laying upside-down with my legs on the headboard of the bed, I was scratching ins and outs through the phone of the real Serena.

Damn! She was such a whipped floozy creature! She had social media accounts that had her fans going nuts and she wouldn’t even show her face there. Even when she didn’t vandalize her face, she exploited a great worth there. It was either some candid shots from daily life or some paintings and sketches, process.

I had discovered the girl was a big-shot artist that sold out in big galleries. And I can’t paint the basic shapes. But none the less I spend some time in her studio going through her complete and halfway-through masterpieces to keep up the front that I am drawing something.

She was the only daughter of the Astor family which was one of the ten most influential and wealthiest families of the continent, but she had never been exposed to the public eye because of supposed security protocol, in addition, the girl was someone who stayed in her shell.

But considering all this, if it wasn’t just pretense in play and she was timid and awkward, it was out of my understanding how could she be bold enough to have an affair and then the audacity to elope! It just gives me the vibes that the girl was a wild buck pretending to be a graceful swan but all through my search I didn’t find a hidden stash, sneaked in beers, or locked compartment with A-grade heroin or cocaine packages

But then I shrug it, not my concern!

Though no wonder. I didn’t know I had a doppelganger; She was just so well wrapped in linen, silk, cotton, and chiffon with a metal armor on second thought. Their whole house had tight security around every corner.

I checked the news on Elena, my only cracked-up friend, and saw that she was called to a talk show yesterday, which means she was safe. And if she was safe it means Steve would be safe too.

Elena Stone was a model- one who started young and kept her fame to the heights all through her years, uncommon yet exhilarating. Steve Lewis was a tech genius. They were my only family but being with them would be using them as body shields. They were like siblings, I never had.

From the last week, I hadn’t seen anyone in the house because her supposed family wasn’t home. Mr. Astor, her ‘father’ was on official work.

Asher was on some military camp Mr. Astor forced him to go, while Aston didn’t live in the Astor family Mansion but in his penthouse. He only came here on special occasions and the ‘step-mother’ outright avoided me which I am pretty sure was her way of showing me that she didn’t give a f*ck.

Today Mr. Astor was returning from his official trip and everyone was supposed to be at the table because they were going to witness Serena’s ‘marriage edict’ which was going to be passed today.

Apparently, the girl’s last stunt had caused quite an uproar and therefore they were reconsidering the conventional arranged marriage. I didn’t even know who the cuckold fiancé was.

Hearing a knock on the door, I went to the Breakfast table as instructed. Everyone except Seth Astor was present at the table, presumably, Asher returned early from his trip. Today, I was seated beside Aston, as Asher was beside his mother.

As Seth Astor entered the room and sat on the head of the table, the room filled with a heavy stale atmosphere.

Nobody touched the food. Everyone was eager to know what was going to be said except me. But taking a deep sigh for the show of vulnerability, I made a brave face and forced a smile for totally different reasons than they presumed.

Staring at my face in close inspection, they looked away. Seth Astor, not looking at anyone particularly stated in a stern voice as if passing a decree, “The marriage between The Astor’s and The Giannini’s was arranged thirteen years back.” He paused for theatrics I assume, then sighed resignedly, “It can’t be dissolved in a day or two. It will reflect badly for both families.”

My eyes widened then dropped to the tray of decorative fruits as his deafening sentence registered. The girl was engaged to a Giannini! Fucker Giannini! I had the urge to bash the tray against his head. Nobody told me, it was the Cosa Nostra they were playing house with? They were my last resort, it’s like burning all the bridges. They ran the other half of Europe, where was I supposed to go when I’ll have a bone to pick with them too!

I knew it! I fucking knew the life was sounding too good to be true!

They were the actual government and law in the States and their trading parts of Europe. They ruled, they conquered, barbarically and brutally. Either you are their puppet or you are old news. They were the villains in plain sight portrayed as the ideal dreams on top of the world.

They had everything in their fisted hands: First they raided their way in States through Mafia taking every decorum and powerhouse off their axis. They were snakes, centuries later they still operated in black and White trade but discretely with government officials on their payrolls.

I would have to live under a rock not to know them. Those bitchy wankers were going to grill me alive if I landed in their hands, especially if I was going to f*ck with one of their heirs and then dump them.

Mr. Astor must have seen my façade slipping to a scowl which was my fear coping mechanism. He sighed yet again and gingerly stroked his trimmed blonde beard, “I don’t want to force you into this marriage but you will give a chance to this. If you still feel you don’t want to be with your fiancé. I will let you walk out of it and arrange another marriage for you.”

‘Arrange another marriage’ meaning the marriage will be in any way of his own consent. Either way, it was not my concern, I would leave before the marriage. What was in my favor was less drama. So I shrugged and grumbled, “Okay.”

Now I just have to make sure that I am despised by the supposed betrothed. If he already hates me then when I disappear he will sing ‘Hallelujah!’ and go on his merry way.

But somehow my casual answer didn’t seem casual to the people on the table as silence descended in the dining room and the tension heightened. They were looking at me with caution as if I was going to burst any moment now. Like they expected me to cry, get emotional or curse them with voodoo dolls. Blinking my eyes, I thought it through: was my answer too mundane? Should I fake a sob or leak a tear?

I opened my mouth to add to it, “Well… I don’t see if I have an option here,” I let out a tired sigh and dropped my eyes to my lap, “So... I think I will just go along.” Like a martyr, I had resigned to my fate, when in fact I’m scared shitless.

Looking at me as I seemed too apathetic to the subject, Seth pursed his lips and his voice mellowed down some notches, “Serena, just give it a try once. If you feel the same, I will marry you to anybody you say.”

Seeing as my reactions were turning to normal, he added hurriedly, “The Giannini’s elder and I have discussed this matter. As your fiancé stays too busy to traditionally date. So you will start working in his office by the beginning of the next month. You can know him better. Though you are still grounded.”

Saying that he picked his fork and knife. ending the subject. Not that I had anything to add: I was content at the moment to be off the hook and not in their basement for being an imposter. Anyway, it wasn’t my fiancé or marriage that I should be concerned about.

I needed to be concerned about living.