Chapter Text
The cigarette in her fingers is shaking. It doesn’t matter how many deep breaths she sucks in, her nerves refuse to calm down. She can feel her insides churning, threatening sharp pains of anxiety, washing over her features. She manages to keep a calm face, lips turning down ever so slightly at the thought of being property. Despite her arguments of a new revolution, her world is not quite ready for that kind of advancement. Her destiny has been decided for her. She is to meet her soon-to-be husband in a matter of minutes. Lifting the small cancer stick to her lips, Gaby takes a long pull and holds it in until her lungs burn. The smoke slowly crawls from her lips before she manages to exhale, clouding the air in front of her with a soft haze. Her eyes burn but she refuses to let herself get emotional before meeting the man she’s supposed to spend the rest of her youth with.
“This is unfair,” Gaby’s voice is razor sharp as she finishes off the last drag and then stamps out the cigarette in the glass tray in front of her. Smoke lingers between her and her Uncle, who is less than impressed with her constant complaints. He is all she has left in the world and he’s practically selling her out of his life. Her parents were taken away by the war, along with the rest of their fortune. A little of it is to be Gaby’s but only until she is married. The estate and its earnings will never touch her hands until she is tied to another, and her Uncle Rudi has made that decision for her already. He’s marrying her off to a supposed wealthy man. A man with business in his background and experience with an estate that almost mirrors Gaby’s own. Uncle Rudi promises that it will be a smart business match. That she doesn’t have to love him. Marriage isn’t about love, he promises her that. All the ballets and theatre works she’s seen are lies. Love is a business arrangement, he assures her of this as he starts his next drink. Expensive amber liquid swirls around in his crystal glass, keeping her attention rather than his words. It doesn’t matter how many times he repeats himself, Gaby doesn’t want this.
This may make her spoiled and rebellious, but she wants her own decisions. She wants to be her own woman. Her Uncle carries on, over and over with his speech of how it’s an honor to have such high standards for a bloodline. All his words do nothing but build the fire in her belly. She could careless of good breeding. Gaby is two seconds away from ordering a drink to calm herself from lighting another cigarette when the butler makes the announcement. Their guests have arrived and it’s customary to meet them standing. Gaby glances at her Uncle with one last silent plea but he ignores her all together, emptying his glass quickly and standing to button his suit coat. Gaby rises and smooths her hands over her dress to push away the wrinkles before following a few steps behind her Uncle to the main entrance. The house is expensive, filled with the latest technology that German engineering has to offer, including a radio that catches more than just the usual four channels. If Gaby turns it on at the right time, she can catch the soft sounds of blues played from a pirated station. Of course now is not the time for music as the main cherry doors open up, spilling sun across the plush carpets and temporarily blinding the small woman before swinging shut.
She expected more than just one man.
Blinking a few times, she allowed her eyes to readjust to the light as the world around her came into focus once again. There stood a single man in her house and he stood very tall. So tall she worried for a moment she would have to invest in taller heels just to be able to get a better look at him with his perfectly combed hair and crisp suit. It didn’t matter how much of a handsome face he had, she wasn’t going to go easy into the marriage. She would fight until the very end of the aisle, she would scream until the priest made her say the damning words, “I do.”
“Thank you for having me this evening.” His accent is heavy, bleeding his words together and Gaby cuts her sharp gaze to her Uncle. He is marrying her off to a Russian man. Her blood boils and she can feel her cheeks heating up. All her Uncle’s speeches of good breeding are spun lies if he is really marrying her off to the man before her. Gaby doesn’t even move when he extends his hand out to her Uncle.
Uncle Rudi steps forward and clasps the man’s hands like they are old friends. Her Uncle is practically beaming as he shakes his hand and turns towards Gaby with a sweeping gesture, “Illya Kuryakin, this is her. This is my Gabriella.”
Gaby hooks her chin upwards, as if judging him like one would a piece of meat at the market. Her Uncle narrows his gaze to her for just a moment and Gaby decides not to push her luck. Instead of saying what she wants, she steps forward and holds her hand out, wanting him to shake it. Only he doesn’t shake it. He does the gentlemanly action of taking her fingers and pulling them up to his lips. He lets his lips skim over the backs of her knuckles before pressing a soft kiss to the back of her hand. The moment he touches her there’s a rush of warmth to her neck and cheeks and Gaby wonders vaguely if this is more anger at his actions or something much more. He is handsome and very polite but the night is young and he still has to survive dinner.
“Forgive me,” Illya nods his head slowly as he carefully releases her hand in a slow manner, almost like he doesn’t want to let her go just yet. “Your Uncle has told me so much about you, but now about how beautiful you are.”
Gaby almost scoffs at his words. She is too short and plank like to be consider beautiful. She is scrawny in areas where most women are blessed with curves. However she manages not to show any of her anger, swallowing it down long enough to make a quick quip in his direction, twisting her lips up into a malicious smirk, “And you are very tall.”
Instead of taking it as anything less than a statement, Illya laughs. It is soft and breathy and Gaby can see the tension slowly leaving his muscles. She wonders vaguely if he was nervous in coming to meet her or if this is just some sort of business transaction. He nods his head slowly and shrugs his shoulders in a careful gesture to show her he is unharmed by her sharp smile.
“That I am.”
“And you are Russian.” Gaby throws it at him as her Uncle begins to step away. She watches him freeze though and turn to look at her. Uncle Rudi is almost glaring at her, silently commanding her to stop being stubborn.
“I am that as well.” Illya does not look ashamed one bit. In fact he looks proud at her words, “I was born in Moscow and I will tell you more over dinner. Shall we?” He bends his arm for her to take his elbow. Gaby’s anger flares and decides silently to herself that she will rattle his nerves before dessert. She keeps her manners though and when he offers up his arm, she takes it. Her hand fits surprisingly well in the bend of his elbow but she ignores this fact as they pass through the sitting room and into the elegant dining room her mother designed when she was younger. It is a soft yellow with blue flowers climbing the walls and thick plush carpet not to mention expensive wood furniture and real silver accents across the table.
Her Uncle makes an excuse halfway through dinner to make a business deal. He excuses himself from the table, letting the staff take away his plate of baked hen and roasted vegetables, leaving just Gaby and Illya to sit in an uncomfortable silence. Her Uncle had done all the talking over dinner. Gaby had yet to say a word.
She stabs at her roasted potato and tears off a small piece. Her stomach is sour and she doesn’t want to eat, but she rather play with her food than deal with her potential future husband. Illya however, refuses to let the silence settle. Something about him is splitting her nerves. It’s almost as if he wants them to be married. As if he doesn’t mind marrying a complete stranger. Like this is just another business deal in his life, Gaby is just one more conquest.
“Your Uncle tells me you were in the school for Ballet, yes?” He asks over the edge of his wine glass. The chef had done an excellent job on the food, pairing it with a bottle of red from the cellar, Gaby wonders if Illya will fire any of the staff when they are married.
She shakes her head, if they are married. She refuses to stop fighting. After a moment or two of silence, she gives into his question, “I did. I left ballet after my parents died in the war.” She doesn’t elaborate, instead focusing on bland facts, “I do not dance much anymore.”
“That is a shame, Gabriella. I do love to dance.” Illya sounds a bit disappointed at her words, but he carries on. Their conversation is strained. She has yet to find anything that makes him laugh again. Not to mention nothing seems to rattle his nerves.
“Gaby.” She corrects him with a sharp click of her tongue in a very un-lady-like way. “Please, my name is Gaby not Gabriella.”
He nods and they carry on.
She learns little bits and pieces of him. How his parents own several pieces of land in Russia, how his father is a wealthy businessman, but how he wanted to leave to travel. Gaby learns he enjoys photography. How anyone can enjoy pointing a camera places, she’ll never know but she nods regardless. He tells her small things, revealing so much and yet nothing at all. She can’t quite figure out the man across from her yet. Their plates are cleared away and dessert is set down but, Gaby can’t seem to eat. Illya barely touches the food as well. Instead of eating he folds his napkin and holds his hand out to her across the table.
“How about you give me a tour of your grounds. We could use the fresh air,” He gives her what she thinks is a reassuring smile, but Gaby doesn’t return it yet. She doesn’t even take his hand. Instead she pushes her own chair back and stands. It is a good idea to clear the room. She would love to stroll alone, but it’s obvious that Illya will not be shaken so easily.
“Yes, I’ll show you my grounds.” She emphasizes on the possessive tone of her grounds. Illya lets her lead him out of the dining room, through several of the winding halls until they’re back to the front of the sprawling house. A staff member opens the front door for her and the two of them step out. Illya moves to offer his arm for her once again, but Gaby ignores it once again. Instead she picks up the edges of her white dress and steps down out of the house. Her shoes touch down on smooth steps until she’s on soft pebbles that line the walk of the estate.
Illya towers above her but keeps his pace slow so as to keep himself next to her. The silence stretches between them, and Gaby know’s he’s looking at her and not actually ahead to where they’re walking. After another moment or two, he speaks again, “I did not want this.”
Gaby stops in her tracks, tempted to reach for her cigarettes for a social crutch but she resists the urge. Instead she turns her dark head up to his. The sun is dipping dangerously low in the sky, streaks of dark blue are starting to make their appearance, marking the end of their night soon. Gaby waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t seem to have any more words, “You did not want this? Then why are you here?”
The Russian man exhales slowly and reaches up, rubbing at his face as if he can scrub the tension away, “My parents. Both of them were arranged to be married. They insist they are very happy still. It was brought to my attention that I should follow in their footsteps. Arrangements were made. Your Uncle actually approached them.”
Gaby’s rage towards her Uncle only skyrockets at the words leaving Illya’s lips.
“I thought it was silly, but then I come here and meet this German ballerina and she is very beautiful.” Illya’s voice has lowered substantially. Gaby almost has to lean forward to catch his words, “On paper we would be very good together. I could be a good partner for you. Make all the right investments. Russian way is always best.”
She closes her eyes and wants to scream. “I am my own woman! I am not to be sold to any man for my inheritance.” She manages to keep her voice low but the anger is there. She clenches her small hands into fists, like she could fight him if she wanted to. Of course there is a big chance her little fists would be nothing but small hits against his expensive suit. Instead of letting her carry on, he grabs her small clenched hands. His thumbs smooth over the backs of her knuckles in a slow soothing manner.
“You would not be my property,” Illya assures her. “My parents want this, but I think with most certainty, we could be partners. Your money would be your own, your property your own. Please consider my offer.”
He squeezes her small fists for a moment and Gaby is at a loss for words. She wants to go on and on about being a free woman, but he’s right. If she rejects this arrangement, her Uncle will just force another and another until she is being urged by the estate to take a husband. “I don’t want this. Not yet,” Gaby finally speaks up, voice soft and whisper-like against his own.
She hates to admit, but Illya is very handsome in the beginning states of starlight.
“Nyet, not yet.” He assures her and his fingers slip away from her fists, uncurling her own digits for a moment before he lets go of her all together, “Long engagement better. I will write you, every week until you agree to dance with me.” His small smile is back as they circle the rest of the estate property. The tension across her shoulders eases and Gaby falls into a slow pace with him. It is easier to be around the man who is doomed to be her husband. The arrangement is still a bother in the back of her mind, but her thoughts are clouded with Illya. He is surprisingly much better than the nightmares she conjured up in her free time.
He walks her to the door and leaves her inside the front foyer. He keeps his manners, saying goodbye to her Uncle Rudi first, demanding they meet again for drinks and future plans for the estate. Her Uncle is practically smitten with the Russian man and Gaby watches until he turns towards her.
“Thank you, Gaby for the evening. It has been most enlightening.” Illya steps in close and yet far enough to be polite, bending at the waist to her level. He kisses her cheek softly and Gaby can still feel his lips there long after he leaves.