Claimed Darker by Em Brown

Chapter 2

“Are you nervous about marrying a man you never met?”

Alena Vetrov watched the blond, a young Russian woman not unlike herself, vie for space with half a dozen other women to examine her makeup for the tenth time before one of two mirrors in the room of a hotel in Blagoveshchensk, a city bordering China and located at the confluence of the Amur and Zeya rivers.

“Yes,” Alena replied to Natasha, thinking perhaps she should check her makeup as well, though the only cosmetic she had applied was lip-gloss because that was all she could afford. She did not reveal to the woman she had befriended on the twelve-hour drive to Blagoveshchensk that marrying a stranger was nothing new to her. At the ripe old age of twenty-four, she had been married three times already.

But this would be the fourth and last time, she assured herself as she fiddled with the simple cocktail dress she wore. She hadn’t wanted to go through a sham marriage again just for the money, but there were no jobs to be had in her economically depressed hometown, and she had her mother, Olga, and Babushka to support.

There was still a chance for her to pull out, and she very much wanted to. Not only because she felt dishonest about marrying a man she intended to ditch right after the wedding, but because she had a strange sensation that something was going to go wrong this time. She wasn’t superstitious, but four was considered an unlucky number in Chinese culture because the pronunciation of the number, si, was similar to the pronunciation of the word for death, sǐ. Her third husband had refused to stay on the fourth floor of any building because of it.

“What does your guy look like?” asked Natasha after applying another coat of mascara.

“I don’t know,” Alena answered, then bit her bottom lip. She hadn’t heard from Peter Wong—whom she had gotten to know through the matchmaking agency’s online chat room—in over three days, which was unusual because Peter corresponded daily.

He had been interested in her early on, and his enthusiasm had only grown when she’d shared a photo of herself—Olga had insisted Alena pose for the photo in a cropped shirt and a pair of shorts one size too small.

Peter hadn’t shared one of himself, explaining that he wanted a woman who didn’t judge a man on appearance. To Alena, it didn’t matter if he was old, short, fat, ugly or all of the above. All that mattered was that he had money, and most Chinese men who could afford the agency’s fees did.

Peter’s last message to her had expressed his excitement that they would finally be meeting in person, affirmed his love for her, and assured her that he would have her dowry of two million rubles, in cash, as she had requested. It was the largest sum she had ever sought.

She hadn’t wanted to ask for that much, but after much prodding from Olga, she had lied to Peter, telling him that her mother had been diagnosed with cancer and would need extensive treatment. Peter had responded that he would happily support whatever she and her mother needed, and that she should never hesitate to ask how he might be able to help.

But maybe he had changed his mind? Or maybe he didn’t have the money.

“Mine has a nice smile,” said Natasha. “I only hope he's not too short.”

“Mine has a receding hairline,” remarked another woman, adjusting her strapless dress, “but he says he's the chief engineer at his company. He must make good money. He takes care of his parents and five younger siblings.”

“That’s all I want,” sighed the oldest of the women, at thirty-one years of age, “a man who’s dedicated to his family, who’s responsible and wants children, who doesn’t get drunk on vodka every other night.”

A murmur of agreement swept through the throng of women. Alena felt their pain. Her own father had been known to drink far too often and died early of liver disease.

“I don’t think Chinese men drink a lot of vodka, if at all.”

“My husband, may he rot in peace, wasn’t a drunkard,” piped a raven-haired beauty. “He was just stupid. Got in a fight with another man twice his size because he had to prove his masculinity. He died from a single punch to the throat.”

“Thank God China has more than enough men to compensate for the dearth here.”

China’s previous one-child policy had led to a gender imbalance, as many Chinese families favored boys over girls. The matchmaking agency that Alena had signed up with was just one of many that facilitated relationships between Russian women and Chinese men. The agency even provided Chinese language classes, and Alena felt she had an elementary-grade proficiency in Mandarin. She enjoyed languages and was nearly fluent in English. She had hoped to get a job teaching English, but that would require moving to a larger city.

“And leave me to take care of Babushka on my own?” Olga had argued when they’d had this conversation before. “And what kind of job would pay you enough to cover our rent plus your own? You have no college degree, and your only work experience is waiting tables.”

The two million rubles from Peter, plus the bonus she would receive from the matchmaking agency after they were married, would buy her enough time to hopefully find a situation that could satisfy her mother. All she had to do was marry Peter, whom she would meet as soon as the women were done primping and preening, collect her money and leave. The matchmaking agency claimed that half their matches ended in marriage, some within a day of the initial meeting.

Feeling nervous, Alena scooped up her tabby, George.

“You’re not bringing the cat?” Olga had asked of the skinny feline. “What if your husband-to-be is allergic to the thing?”

“Well, I won’t be with the groom for long, will I?” Alena had replied.

From where she’d sat by the window of the living room with several blankets covering her to keep warm, as the heater was kept low to save money, Babushka had coughed and waved a dismissive hand at Olga. “Let her have the cat. The Chinese consider cats to be lucky.”

Olga had put her hands on her hips. “I thought the Chinese considered them unlucky and that is why there are no cats in their zodiac. Dogs, roosters, and monkeys. No cats.”

“No cats? Are you certain? Then why are there so many of these?” Babushka had picked up her walking cane and pointed toward the three porcelain cats smiling from the windowsill. The figurines were gifts from Alena’s first Chinese husband.

Ignoring her mother, Olga had returned her critical eye to Alena. “The cat makes you look sallow.”

“Leave her be. She is beautiful enough—a little too thin, but at least her breasts are of a decent size.”

Olga had pinched a tendril of light brown hair that had come loose from Alena’s bun. “Maybe we should have dyed your hair blond.”

For once, Alena had agreed with her mother’s suggestion regarding her appearance. A different hair color would help conceal her identity. She worried that she would be recognized, perhaps by one of her own husbands, though she was careful to work with a different matchmaking agency each time.

An older woman from the agency entered the hotel room and clapped her hands. “Time to meet the men.”

She corralled the women outside to the top of the stairs, which wound down to the hotel lobby.

“Remember: enter like a princess at a ball,” the agency woman told them.

Alena looked over the sea of black hair that had congregated at the bottom of the stairs. The men varied in age, with some in their mid-20s and others in their mid-40s. All were dressed formally in suits except for one man, who stood several inches taller than most of the others. He was dressed more casually in a button-down shirt and slacks, but Alena found him the most impressive.

Natasha must have had the same sentiment, murmuring, “O bozhe, I wish mine looked like that one.”

More built than the other men, he looked to be in his late 20s or early 30s. He had a wide brow, strong jawline, and large almond-shaped eyes. She wondered why a man as attractive as him would need to go through a matchmaking agency to find a wife.

Realizing the man was staring back at her, she quickly looked away. Her heartbeat quickened. There was something unnerving about the man. He didn’t look as eager and excited as the other men. Rather, he looked serious…and intense.

She had left George back in the changing room but now wished she had the comfort of the furry bundle. At least that man was unlikely to be Peter, who had come across much more humorous and lighthearted in the chat room.

One by one, the women descended the stairs as their names were called. A man from the group would step up to greet them. After the first few women had been called, Alena glanced back at the imposing man, startled to find him still looking at her.

She flushed. Had he been staring at her the whole time? She was hardly the prettiest. Dubbing the man Solemn One, she decided she would not look at him again no matter how much her gaze was drawn in his direction.

When there were only three men left at the bottom of the stairs and three women at the top, Alena heard her name called.

One of the men, among the youngest in the group, held a bouquet of flowers. Alena hoped that was Peter. Or maybe the older man with sunspots would be less heartbroken when she married, then deserted him. Either one would be better than Solemn One, who continued to frown at her.

Why was he still looking at her?

Discombobulated, Alena nearly tripped on the first step and had to grab the rail to save herself from an embarrassing tumble down the stairs. Straightening, she put on a smile and managed to make her way down to the bottom, though the four-inch heels she was unaccustomed to wearing did not make the descent easy. She made eye contact with the young man with flowers. His smile broadened as he bobbed his head.

But the man who stepped forward was Solemn One.