This time Sam made a pre-emptive move to protect her left eardrum, holding the phone as far away as she could. But that still didn’t mute Josie’s, “WHAT!?!?”
Sam explained to her best friend the way she’d been explaining it to herself over the past week, using phrases like “best thing for the baby” and “best thing for Pavel.” She even threw Back Up into the sales pitch, explaining how happy she’d been having acres and acres of backyard to run around—and perhaps, more importantly, another person to give her belly rubs.
Despite her marketing efforts, Josie still didn’t sound convinced when she was done. “This all sounds great for Pavel, Back Up, and the baby. But what about you?” Josie asked. “How about what’s best for you?”
“I’m getting Pavel and a baby,” Sam answered. “I couldn’t be happier about that. Josie wait ‘til you meet Pavel! He’s so wonderful. You’ll understand why I’d do anything to stay with him.”
“Anything, including marrying a guy you don’t love?”
“Not everyone can have what you and Beau have. You and Beau barely managed to have what you have,” Sam reminded her friend, referring to their tumultuous courtship with dark tones.
“Yeah, but…” Josie let out a sad sigh. “You’re so great, Sam. And you’re always putting others before yourself. I just want to make sure this isn’t you sacrificing what’s good for you for what’s good for everyone else.”
“Trust me, I’m not sacrificing myself,” Sam said. “Considering the circumstances, this seriously is the best solution I could hope for.”
“If you say so,” Josie answered, not bothering to hide her skepticism. “I just want to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’m great, Josie,” Sam assured her. “Better than I have ever been. I promise.”
Which was true, she told herself. She had Pavel and a baby on the way, and even if that meant marrying a detached, uncommunicative Russian, it was still more of a family than she’d ever been blessed with before Nikolai Rustanov barged into her life.
It was enough, she told herself, just as she’d been telling herself for the past week.
It had to be.
“Okay, then, I’m going to choose to believe you,” Josie said. “I’m happy for you, Sam. I truly am.”
“Thanks, Josie,” Sam said softly. She didn’t realize how much she’d needed her best friend to accept the situation until a tide of relief rolled over her. Her shoulders relaxed, and she finally allowed herself to breathe easy again.
But then Josie asked, “So when’s the wedding? I’m too far along to fly to Indiana, but maybe Mac can drive Beau and me up there for the big day.”
A huge wave of guilt rolled over Sam, and she found herself wincing again as she glanced down at the white petal shift dress she was wearing.
LESS THAN AN HOUR after her phone call with Josie, and two Sundays after receiving the least romantic proposal ever, Sam married Nikolai Rustanov.
She walked into Nikolai’s office, Pavel on one side of her and Back Up on the other. She repeated the necessary words to the justice of the peace Isaac had found to officiate their wedding. She signed the license afterwards, along with Nikolai, the JOP, and Isaac, who—as far as she could tell—had only been invited because he’d arranged everything, including the dinner the five of them shared afterwards.
And what a jovial affair that was. Sam in a state of shock, hardly able to believe she’d gone through with this. Pavel watching her with solemn eyes, as if he suspected she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Back Up whimpering at Nikolai’s knee, having decided to choose the absolute worst person in perhaps the entire world to beg from for scraps of dinner.
Read the room, Back Up, she thought at her clueless bullie. Read the room.
Nikolai regarded Back Up with hard eyes and pointed to a corner at the far side of the room. With one last sad whine, Back Up left, her disappointed head hanging before she flopped dejectedly in the corner.
Pavel started to get up and go to Back Up with a bite of his uneaten steak, but his uncle stopped him with, “You will not feed dog, Pavel. She will eat food Anna put in kitchen for her.”
Pavel opened his mouth to argue.
But Nikolai gave him a look, much the same as the one he’d given Back Up, and Pavel wasn’t a fool. He kept his mouth closed and slumped down in his chair.
And then there were two disappointed beings in the room as both Pavel and Back Up sulked under separate dark clouds.
Sam didn’t blame the judge for suddenly remembering an appointment and excusing himself from the awkward gathering twenty minutes into the meal. Isaac was the next to go, claiming he had just begun training for the Indianapolis marathon and wanted to get up early the next morning for a long run. Sam had to admit she was jealous as she watched Nikolai’s assistant go. She wished she could run away from the dinner, too. The dining room was an intimidating mix of crimson damask, oriental carpets, heavy dark furniture, paintings that took up entire walls, and gold-plated everything else. She missed the relative coziness of the state-of-art kitchen and felt uncomfortable in such ostentatious surroundings.
But at least Pavel and Back Up stayed loyal. Unlike the judge and Isaac, neither of them left the dining room until dinner was over and Sam insisted a yawning Pavel go to bed.
And then came a heartwarming moment when Pavel hugged her and said, “We’re a real family now. I’m glad you can be with me forever, Mama.”
“Me too,” Sam said, hugging him back. Totally worth it, she thought in that moment.
After they finished hugging, Pavel turned to Nikolai. “Congratulations, Uncle,” he said with a stiff nod.
“Thank you,” Nikolai answered, just as stiffly. He glanced at Pavel and then quickly looked away as if the sight of the boy hurt him somehow.
Perhaps picking up on that, Pavel didn’t linger. He called to Back Up and they were gone a few seconds later.
Sam hadn’t had the energy or the heart to keep up the pretense after that, saying, “Well, I’m super tired. I think I’ll be retiring now.”
He gave her a short nod in that dismissive way of his which grated on her. And she left the room. It was one thing to get dismissed like that when she was basically a squatter, living under his roof for Pavel’s sake, but she was his wife now.
His fake wife, she reminded herself as she climbed up the stairs to the sanctuary of her room. Their marriage license was only a piece of paper meant to seal a deal. There was no reason to expect him to change his ways just because they’d undergone a Facebook status update. She thought of the talk she gave women who weren’t married to their abusive boyfriends. Her “marriage-won’t-change-him-he’ll-basically-always-be-an-abuser-unless-he-gets-serious-help” talk.