1| An Another Story
Livia Romanov
“I am not getting married!” I exclaim, struggling to keep my balance as my head throbs with a dull ache.
Dad turns a deaf ear to my disagreement. I turn to mom, desperate, “Mom, I am not getting married anyone.” I tell her.
“It’s not up for debate, Livia.” She replies, seriously. “We need this alliance. If not, we will go bankrupt. And, it is all because of you. Had you not turned into this disaster, we wouldn’t be standing here.” She accuses, her eyes heavy with disgust as she spares me a forced glance.
I take a step forward and almost trip on my own steps but she is quick to reach forward and stabilize me. A small smile curls at the corner of my lips as I latch onto her arms, seeking her warmth. Like a starved child.
“You can’t do this to me.” I murmur, softly, looking down at where she holds me, out of concern. “I am your daughter.” My feet aches to kill the distance between us and hug her.
But I would be crossing a boundary I never realized I was helping her set through out these years.
“Daughter?” Dad snaps. His eyes brims with anger directed at the shell of woman he used to regard as daughter. “Look at yourself!” His voice booms between the walls of the mansion. “You can barely stand on your own feet. For heaven’s sake, Livia stop ruining our life along with yours.” I flinch at the loudness of his tone.
Moisture gathers at the corner of my eyes. I don’t cry. For some reasons the saddest things don’t make me cry but the moment they stand against me, my entire self shrinks into nothing.
Biting my lower lip, I look down at the floor. Hoping the ground would swallow me or the grief would drown me. But unfortunately, no such thing happens.
“I’ve talked to Mr. Arthur Duvane for your marriage with his grandson.” He announces, leaving no room for discussion.
Yet, I let my mother go and tighten my hold around the neck of the alcohol bottle as I take a unsteady step forward, closer to my father. I am sure he can smell the alcohol off me from so close. The slight scrunch of his nose as he turns his head to other side proves my assumptions.
“If I get married to him,” I pause and observe my dad’s interest equip. “Will it make you happy?” I slur, my eyes feel heavy but I resist the urge to surrender to a peaceful slumber.
Turning towards mom, I let my lips curl into a smile, “Hmm? Will you finally feel something other disappointment for me?”
She heaves out a defeated sigh. I wonder what goes through her head when she dismisses me with a sigh so heavy, like this one. I wonder if she feels exhausted of the daughter she gave birth to. I wonder if like the entire world, she also wishes that she only had one daughter. I am sure Dad does.
“Come on, guys, answer me,” I insist, running my fingers through my messy hair. I don’t remember the last time I ran a comb through this mess. “It’s a simple question.” I add.
My eyes flickers between my mom and dad as I slump down on the couch, failing the strength to hold my body up anymore.
Dad looks at mom, right past me, like I don’t exist. Like he is oblivious to my existence. Like he wishes I wasn’t here at this moment. The thought alone presses into my flesh like a pointed needle.
Growing bored of the silence, I bring the mouth of the bottle closer to my lips to take another sip when dad’s answer echoes between the four walls of the mansion which once rang with the music of laughter.
“Yes,”
I pause. Lowering the bottle to the couch, I look up at him, scoffing, “Huh?”
“It will make us happy.” He clarifies, “if you get married to Kellan Duvane.”
Kellan Duvane. The man I loathe from the very core of my existence. The man who looks down at me like I’m just the dirt beneath his shoes. My dislike towards him has always been obvious and loud. If someone doesn’t know about the obvious animosity between me and Kellan Duvane, they are living under the rock.
My parents know it too. Yet, I have pushed them to the point where they are even willing to marry me off to the man I despise even sharing air with. Because they are desperate. So desperate to get rid of their infamous and outrageous daughter.
Abandoning the alcohol bottle on the couch, indifferent whether the bottle stands tall or ruins the couch with its content, I rise to my feet. Keeping my eyes focused on dad, I reach him in seven steps. My balance wavers but I don’t dare reach out for his help to balance myself.
“Okay.” I smile.
My smile widens at the thoughts running through my head right now. “I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll marry whoever you say.” I confirm with a slight slur to my voice. My voice creaks with the weight of emotions, “Tell me it will make you happy.”
Looking at mom over his shoulder, I plea, “Tell me, will you kiss my forehead when you would send me off to his place?”
Fresh tears brim at the corner of her eyes like I’m hurting her and she looks away to hide the obvious evidence of what I’ve turned their life into.
I look back at dad, “Would you walk me down the aisle with the same affectionate look you adored Sienna with?”
His jaw twitches and his eyes finally meet mine, revulsion blaring in them, “I will walk you down the aisle.” He confirms and I almost let a genuine smile pull onto my lips until he adds, “But the affectionate look can’t be promised.”
My brows furrow.
“Want to know why?” He asks.
I nod.
“Pavel shut up!” Mom shouts from somewhere. “She is drunk.”
Without looking at mom, he comments, “Such a shame she won’t remember it tomorrow.”
“Tell me,” I murmur, softly.
He pins me with a look of pity. I don’t need him to say it. I feel it in the way his eyes doesn’t soften with affection anymore. It’s very subtle but lately he’d been looking at me with pity, only now, do I realize that it has changed into something much more intense, something more hurtful- Disgrace.
And with the speed I am ruining things I am sure the day isn’t far when he would hate me. When both of them would hate me. And, I don’t think I will be able to survive the day.
Maybe that would be my mercy.
Maybe that would be my redemption.
Looking at him feels like looking at my mirror image of opposite gender, just better. I’d always heard how I look so much like him. And, he’d always taken pride in it. Until now.
His chest heaves up and down like he has been carrying the weight of the truth on his chest all this while and is finally ready to let it go. Transfer it over to me.
Only, I don’t think I am ready to carry the weight of it either.
“Because I was actually proud of Sienna. You, however, have turned into an another story.”
