I take another sip of wine and slide deeper into the water until the bubbles reach my chin, soaking in what's left of the heat in this bath before I'm forced to get out. The house is quiet. My father is downstairs in his study and Uncle Filipp left just before I came up here to draw my bath, so when my bathroom door opens, I sit up so fast that water sloshes over the edge.
My hand goes to my chest as the wine glass slides off the side of the bath, falling into the water.
Maksim stands in the doorway, looking down at me with a haze over his eyes I've never seen him look at me with. It's not nearly as alluring as the way Stepan looks at me, though it does make my heart flutter a little.
He leans against the doorjamb without apology, and I'm thankful for the bubbles that still cloud the water and hide my body from his prying eyes. Somehow, it feels dirty and wrong.
"Your father said you were upstairs reading," he says. "I thought I'd come say hello."
"I'm in the bath, Maksim." I squirm a little, feeling for the wine glass in the bath as my head swirls and I relax back into the water to make sure I'm fully covered. I don't want him seeing me for some reason. It feels like a violation of my personal space. I don't belong to him yet. The wedding is months out.
"I can see that."
I sink lower into the water even though the foam's thick enough to cover me and reach the wine glass up, perching it back on the side where it was. Instead of loosening me up, the wine has made me feel insecure, like I don't have my faculties about me and he could do anything he wants. I am very aware of the towel on the rack across the room and the robe hanging on the hook behindthe door where he's standing. I can't get to them without him seeing me.
"We need to talk about the ceremony," he says. He pulls his phone from his jacket pocket and scrolls through something with one thumb. "I've had my people look at three venues for the fall. The cathedral on Sovetskaya, the estate house in Dobryanka, and the botanical garden on the south end of the city. Your father prefers the cathedral, but I wanted your input before we finalize."
"Can we talk about this downstairs?" I clear my throat and collect more bubbles, pulling them over my torso. This is really uncomfortable. I want him to leave, or at least give me privacy to get my robe. Why is he being like this?
"I came over to talk and I'm here now." He doesn't look up from his phone. "The cathedral seats three hundred. The estate is smaller, maybe one-fifty, but the grounds are better for photographs. The garden's the most expensive option, but it's the most impressive and it sends the right message. I think?—"
"Maksim," I say firmly, asserting myself, "I'd really like you to leave so I can finish my bath."
He looks up from the phone and smiles at me, but his smile is completely empty. "Marina, I'm going to see you without your clothes on soon enough. A few bubbles in the way doesn't bother me."
"It bothers me." My voice almost cracks. I feel myself wanting to whimper and call for my father who inevitably will not hear me, anyway. If Maksim wanted to take something from me, he could, and it wouldn't even be frowned on because he's right. I will be seen naked by him soon enough.
Then his eyes drop to the bubbles and I see the darkness overtake them. He's thinking about what to say back to me, and he's probably thinking about things I don't want him thinking about.
"I'd like it to be a surprise," I say, and I force a smile as I say it because the performance is the only tool I have right now. "For our wedding night. You can wait for me in the bedroom and I'll be out in a minute."
Maksim scowls at me but he backs away, leaving the door open as he shrinks backward into my bedroom like a scolded puppy. I feel anger knot in my chest, but it doesn’t touch the embarrassment burning my neck, cheeks, and ears.
I get out of the tub as quickly as I can and grab the towel off the rack and dry off hastily before I wrap the robe around myself and tie it tight. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I see there is no masking the heat in my cheeks. Maybe it's the flush of alcohol, but Maksim won't think that.
When I walk into my bedroom, Maksim is seated at the foot of my bed with one ankle crossed over the opposite knee and his phone still in his hand. He looks up when I come in and his eyes travel from my wet hair to my bare feet and back up again. It's the look of a hungry man, but he is not feasting tonight.
"The garden," I blurt out. I just want him to leave, and picking a venue is the reason he's here. "I think the garden is the right choice."
"Good. I agree." He sets the phone on his knee. "It'll need to be booked within the week. These places fill up fast for late summer and I don't want to lose the date."
"Fine," I mumble, moving toward my dresser to find some clothes. My relaxing evening is over, cut short by this jerk who thinks he can march into my personal space any time he wants. He is not my husband yet, and even my own father has the courtesy to knock first.
"We should go see it together. This weekend, maybe? We can walk the grounds, talk to the event coordinator, get a sense of the layout."
"Sure," I mutter, keeping my answers to short snips. I don't mean to be purposefully snippy, but his presence in my room upsets me. My shoulders are tense and my mind is racing.
"Saturday morning. I'll pick you up at ten."
He says it like I don't get a choice about it, then stands. When I turn to face him, I realize he's much closer than I'd like him to be. Only a few years younger than Stepan, probably, but way more immature, and far less respectful. Maksim towers over me, intimidating in his height and his proximity.
"You look nice," he says, reaching up and taking a few strands of my hair, bringing them from behind my back to over my shoulder. "You should wear your hair down more often." When the outside of his knuckles brushes over my cheek, I shudder and not in a good way. Stepan touched me much the same way the last time we were together and it warmed my heart, but when Maksim does it, I cringe.
"Thank you," I tell him, trying not to encourage any more physical contact with anything I do. My eyes are averted, my body stiff. I want him to leave, and I feel like I may cry.
"I'll see you Saturday," he says, rubbing his thumb over my bottom lip possessively. He pulls it down, then releases it, lettingit bounce back up. For a second I think he may try to kiss me, and I brace myself to slap him, but he backs away and walks toward the door.
"Saturday," I repeat, but I feel hollow and somewhat angry.