Escaping my Mafia Husband

　　If I knew this was how it would turn out, I think, staring at Austin like he's a stranger. If I knew this was what spending a thousand dollars to fly from New York to Moscow would get me, I wouldn't have come.

"Is this true?" I ask, my throat so tight it feels like I'm being strangled. "You and Jenna?" I turn to one of my best friends, and she gives me that sad look in her pretty blue eyes, watching me like she feels sorry for me. "Are you fucking my best friend?" I nearly shout.

Gasps ripple around the room. Whispers swell. Eyes snap toward me. I feel them like pebbles hitting my skin. I almost remember where we are, at the reception of a wedding. One of my best friends is marrying a Russian man I didn't even know she was dating. The hall is bright, packed with guests, and here I am, confronting my boyfriend of nine years and my best friend of even longer.

"It's not what you think," Austin says, stepping closer like he's about to touch me.

I hold out a shaky hand and back away. "Tell me the truth," I say. "Are the two of you fucking?"

One of my friends and coworkers rushes over and hisses, "Claire, stop it. Everyone's watching you. Serena's panicking." She pinches my arm. "Are you trying to ruin her wedding?"

I jerk away and smile at Serena who's sitting at the front in her wedding gown. She's glaring while trying to smile and calm her guests. Evil bitch. "I don't care," I tell her. "Let the wedding be ruined. You think I don't know? That all of you stood by and laughed while this bastard cheated on me with Jenna?"

I've never felt like swearing in my life, and now that's all I want to do. My mouth floods with curses, dirty words that feel strange on my lips and make me tingle with vague embarrassment, but I don't care. 

"You knew, didn't you, Freya? All of you knew and kept your mouths shut." I look at Jenna. Her lips tremble. She's about to give me that woe is me performance again, the one I always fall for. The one she pulled when her makeup business collapsed and she begged me to help raise money for a restart. The one she used when she made me pass her business cards around my office and nearly got me fired. She thinks I'm the most gullible fool on the planet.

"Even if you're angry," Freya says, her neck stiff, veins raised, "you shouldn't take it out on all of us. It's not our fault you were too stupid to know your boyfriend's a sleaze. I mean, how many signs do you need?"

"What?" My eyes go wide. I've never heard Freya speak to me like that. We've always been a group of four. I was closer to Serena and Jenna. Freya was the calm one, smart, calculated, the glue that held us together. Now she's spitting fire in my face.

"You heard me. You were foolish. I left you hints for months and you still didn't get it."

"Months?" My breath stops. I look at Austin again, head swimming. I thought it was a one-time thing, that it just started. He shakes his head, looking like a criminal, begging me with his eyes to keep my voice down. His gaze darts around the room, taking in the stares.

"You've been cheating on me for months?" I ask, too shocked to breathe. This is the bastard I've been waiting on to propose. The bastard I couldn't wait to marry. I'm thirty-three, the oldest in our friend group, the one who believed in true love the most. I thought I'd be married soon, any moment now. I waited for Austin. I believed in his promise. And this... this is what I get.

"It isn't like that," Austin says, shaking his head and reaching for me. "Let's go back to the hotel. I'll explain. I promise, I'll explain."

"And you." I turn to Jenna. "When did it start? Were you sleeping with him when you came to live in my apartment for that month? Is that when it started?"

Austin was between jobs. I let him stay with me while he got back on his feet. At the same time, my best friend lost her roommate and needed a place to stay. I let her move in. I gave her my office room to sleep in. I wanted her to be okay. I wanted her to stand again. Was that when it started?

"No, Claire. It wasn't," she says, shaking her head. "I didn't– it was just a mistake."

"A mistake," Freya snorts. "At least own up to it, Jenna. You've been doing it for at least six months."

My throat tightens. Tears well up as I snap my gaze from Jenna to Freya. That's half a year. That's almost a lifetime. How did I miss it?

"It wasn't like that," Jenna says, pressing her palms together, eyes wet with unshed tears. "It happened sporadically. I told myself I'd stop. I really tried to resist. I ended it so many times. It just... it just became too hard."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I shout. "Are you serious right now? I talked to you about how much I wanted to marry him. You laughed. You planned dates. You talked wedding venues with me. You even suggested I propose to him if he wouldn't do it himself. And all that time you were fucking him?"

The words rush out of me. I had nothing but good intentions and good feelings toward Jenna. Meanwhile, she stabbed me in the back and called it love?

"Claire, I swear it wasn't like that. I really meant everything I said." She's crying now. "You don't understand. I wasn't, I didn't want to hurt you. I promise, Claire, believe me. I didn't want to. I told him to stop so many times. You have no idea how many. But he just wouldn't listen."

"Don't blame this on me, Jenna," Austin snaps, glaring at her. "You wanted it just as much as I did."

"No, that's not true. Austin, it was a mistake. I told you to stop."

"You never said a damn word. You were more than happy to spread your legs for me, even while Claire was working in the house."

Gasps ripple through the crowd. I go cold. Silent. Staring at them like I don't know them, like I'm a stranger to all of this.

"Will you two shut up?" Freya says. "You're both assholes. You both screwed up. Stop trying to shift the blame and get out of here before I call security on your asses."

"Claire…" Austin reaches for me.

I pull my hand away, shake my head in disgust, and walk out. I don't even glance at Serena's red, furious face or her husband trying to calm her down.

I'm getting out of this country. I never wanted to come here. Never wanted to set foot in this place. But I came because it was my best friend's wedding. I thought, If I don't show up, who will? Then I hear Freya and Serena laughing in the dressing room, mocking how clueless I am, how I actually brought Austin with me, paid for his damn tickets to be my plus-one. And last night, when he left our hotel room? He went to Jenna's. To sleep with her.

I clench my fists, wishing I'd punched him once, just once, before I left. My chest is too tight to think about the years I spent dating that asshole. How could I have been such a clueless little fool?

I'm outside now. The night air slaps me in the face, cutting through my skin like knives. Moscow in early winter feels like punishment.

I look around for a cab. Nothing. Not one in sight. It's not even that late. My phone says it's just past eight.

I'm still in my bridesmaid dress, red hair yanked into a tight chignon. My heels, the tallest I've ever worn, stab into my feet with every step. I wore them because Freya said I was too short and would ruin the photos. Now they're slicing into my toes, digging into my heels.

I can't take it anymore. I rip them off and walk barefoot, clutching them in one hand while scanning the street for a cab to take me back to the hotel.

I planned to stay a whole week. It was supposed to be a break from work, a rare vacation. I wanted to tour Russia with Austin, make memories. I knew I'd never come back here again. But now? Now I just want to get on the first plane out and never look back.

"Where are all the fucking cabs?" I mutter, frowning. The ground is rough, biting into my feet. I'm physically and emotionally drained. I want to be indoors this minute.

"Hey, pretty thing."

A voice behind me. I turn. Three men are walking toward me. I pretend they're not talking to me. I'm wearing contacts, and my dress shows more skin than I usually allow, but I don't get called pretty thing often, so pretending is easy.

They surround me, blocking my path.

"You don't speak English? I know you're English girl," one of them says roughly.

"I'm in a hurry," I say, trying to sidestep. One grabs my arm, holding me in place.

"Don't walk away when we talk to you, pretty girl." His breath reeks of booze and greasy meat.

"Please let me go," I say, voice small, fear washing over me in a cold wave. "I'm in a hurry."

"Don't worry. Wherever you hurry to, we take you," he laughs.

"Where's your hotel? We drive you there."

"Thank you," I say, looking away from his grotesque, terrifying face. "I'm fine. I don't need help."

These men terrify me. If he doesn't let me go, I'm going to start screaming. Why are Russian men so forceful? So frightening? My heart pounds so fast I can't keep my breathing steady. If I show fear, it'll only excite them.

"Don't be like that, baby. We take care of you." The others laugh, rubbing their hands.

That's how I know it's really bad. I scream.

"Help me! Help me!" I shout at the top of my lungs, trying to yank free, but his grip is too strong. "Let me go!" I fight, twisting against him.

"Stop shouting. You no fun," the man says, like I'm overreacting to their idea of a joke.

I keep screaming, ignoring him completely.

Then someone steps in.

"Let the girl go," he says, voice deep and annoyed. "I'm trying to have some quiet over here."

It's in Russian, so I assume he's just one of them, but then I see him. And the first thing that enters my panicking mind is  'why is he so hot?'