Cheers To Being Miserable Together

"This is my wing of the house. My father stays on the other side."

That statement gives me some relief. Thank God. I will never have to see the face of Sergio Sakharov ever again.

Karlen carries me past several rooms, including one with shelves of books and a music room. He pauses in the middle of the corridor then says. "That one is my room, the large one at the end. And this one is yours."

The room is bigger than I expected it to be. It has a massive queen bed with an ornate headboard. On the other side is an antique chaise lounge and a vintage dressing table. It is feminine, yet classic. I can't help but admire it.

As much as one admires a prison.

Karlen walks through the room to a small bathroom. The size of the room makes my pulse pick up again, so I take a deep breath as he settles me on the tile countertop. I'm out of that dungeon, and I'm never, ever going back again.

He steps away and shoves his hands into his pockets. His messy, dark brown curls fall on his face effortlessly, a look that actors and celebrities probably pay a shit ton of money for. His face is longer than his dad's, but he probably has his eyes and jaws. Sergio is brutally handsome, while Karlen is refined and gorgeous. His frame is rangy and thin, not filled and muscled like that of his father. He has a few tattoos on his forearms. Dasha was right. Karlen is handsome.

"So, you're a model or what?" I ask, casually joking. I need to do something, anything to lighten the mood. I need to convince myself that I'm not actually here, or even if I am, that it could be at least habitable for me before I figure out a new escape plan. Besides, much as I don't know Karlen, he seems like a genuinely good person. He is the only person that has been good to me ever since I stepped in this hellhole. So, what could be so wrong if I spoke to him nicely?

The side of his lips twitch. "I could ask the same, Ivanna Sidorova. After all, being a model is in your blood. I hear that you look a lot like your mother."

"I did try once." I shrug. "I sent a couple of my photos to the modeling agency but they told me that my boobs were too big."

Karlen smiles, keeping his eyes on my face instead of my chest unlike most guys would. I know that because I've experienced it firsthand. Men tend to get so excited about such prospects, and now that I mentioned it, part of me thought that Karen would also get excited and glance down. Instead, he says, "That's their loss." He shifts on his feet, looking increasingly uneasy. "I should probably let you take a shower. You must be tired." He spins on his heel to take his leave.

This can't be. There is a lot that I have to discuss with him. Like how I don't want to marry him. "Karlen, wait!" he pauses and I say, "Are you okay with this arrangement? With us getting married? I mean, wouldn't you rather choose your own bride instead of being forced to marry somebody that you barely know?"

I note that his eyes are flat and resigned and hardly have the excitement that of a man that is about to get married. He doesn't look as interested as I had expected him to be, which kind of unsettles me. I hope to God that he is uninterested, because that will be an advantage to me"What I wish doesn't matter. His wishes are all that matter."

"That can't be it. You're his only son. We can help each other, tell him that we don't suit each other. You could say that you don't want me, or that you don't find me attractive, or I'm too stubborn and bitchy. Something. Anything."

"He won't believe me. And what's worse is that he won't care. Once he decides on something, he never changes his mind."

Much as I know that Sergio Sakharov is a mean, barbaric man, I hadn't thought that he would extend the meanness to his son. His only son. I thought that maybe he would give him a listening ear, that maybe he would hear his complaints and reconsider. But Karlen himself just confirmed to me that he won't. His own son has already lost any hopes of convincing him to change his mind. So, who am I? That means that my chances of changing his mind are a long shot. Probably impossible. Even so, I will still try.

Once again, the walls feel like they are closing in on me, and my palms begin to sweat. Even so, I have to try again. "Please, Karlen. I don't want any part of this. I want to go back home to Krasnoyarsk. I have to join college in a few weeks."

"I'm so sorry, Ivanna."

I want to scream with frustration, but my throat is already sore from all that screaming in the dungeon. "Ivie?" I whisper, needing someone to call me with a name that feels like home. The name that my sisters call me. One that I have heard all my life. I need something to remind me of home."

"W…what?"

"Everyone back home calls me Ivie."

"Ivie," he says quietly, looking at me as though he pities me. "Cheer up. At least we will be miserable together." He says and after that cryptic statement, he walks away, leaving me alone in the bathroom.