Promised to a Petrov

Chapter 19

He's gone all night, or that's what I've come to conclude since I wake up to his side of the bed untouched.

I simply scoff once again, the only reaction I'm able to let out because inside I'm filled with so much. I have to force back the stab at my chest, the clear feeling of rejection in my heart.

Within these weeks, I've pushed aside the voices that ensured me that he is evil and a no good man just for him to reject my touch and push me away. Now I cannot make him the villain, he is already a saint compared to the rest of the Bratva in my head. He truly is good, and that is what sucks.

A song gets more of a reaction out of him then anything else, 'At Last' by California queen and one of the best blues and jazz vocalist, Miss Etta James. At Last was probably her biggest hit, I personally was obsessed with A Sunday Kind of Love, but thats off topic.

Fuck Isiah Petrov, making me feel like the problem.

It's my turn to storm away now and what he doesn't know is that I'm one eccentric bitch.

I stand up with an already mapped out path, a short pit stop to the bathroom and straight to my closet. I don't just get myself ready but I get a bag ready as well. Muttered curse words and complains fly out of my mouth as I pack my suitcase.

My step-mother taught me many things, all bias and all very old fashioned but those lessons have blurred into anger. There was this stupid ideology that i grew up with, where my existence as a woman is just to become a wife and mother and sit around like I must obey a man.

That's what my life is doomed to become, I will sit at home and wait for my husband to finish with his tantrum except his actions hurt my feelings.

I know, pathetic, but only I'm allowed to make myself look or feel pathetic and stupid.

It's not just sad, it's humiliating for your fiancé to walk away from you in front of business partners AND family.

I pack up a small bag of my necessities. Electronics, makeup, ID, passport. Trying to evade as fast as I could because I give what I get. I zip my purse into the duffle bag and start to pull it out of the room, ready to show Isiah that if running away was what we'd do, I'd beat him every time.

How can he preach such good words to me, about communication and shit but it was all just words. I walk downstairs to see Alyona, one of the maids, washing the dogs bowls.

I grab an apple and turn to Alyona, "Is Isiah home?" I ask, the decorations from last night nowhere in sight, completely gone, along with the piano that had been in the living room areas since the day I arrived here.

"No ma'am"

"Okay, can you let Isiah know I'll be back by next week Thursday and that I'll send him the contacts and other information for the wedding so he can go over it" she stops and basically sputters as she tries to finds her words.

"I'm sorry, where are you going Mrs.Petrov?" Her eyes on my suitcase

I know where I'm going but I look at her and shrug "Not sure yet, on a little vacation. Bye Alyona" I smile, I hope Isiah is shitting bricks when she tells him she doesn't know.

I walk to the Ferrari doors and shove my baggage into the passenger seats.

Maybe I was wrong to be petty, it's clear he was a little upset... But fuck him because I refuse to be iced out like that when he keeps sending me mixed signals. Always touching me and staring at me. I frankly don't care if I'm a hypocrite or rude, he's about to learn how his fiancé is quite the reactive and irrational woman.