Chapter one.
If I don't get this visa, my life as I know it will end. I'm not being figurative, I mean it. I'm getting married in a couple of months. Most brides would be thinking of the venue, flowers, cake, guest list…me? I have to get to my fiancé first.
My life hangs on the balance and the person who will decide which side of fate I fall on, is a stranger vie never met…will never meet again. I'm not sure this is a fair system but that is how it goes.
I'm seated at the Russian high commission waiting area. A woman rushes out of Interview Room 3, fighting back tears. It's easy to assume things didn't go well for her. I should sympathize but statistically speaking, the more people who get denied visas before me, the better my chances. I'm not innately selfish; I just really really need to get this visa.
"I hope I don't get that room," the girl sitting next to me says. "Interview Room 3 is the worst room anyone can get. People call it 'hells kitchen.'"
"How come?" I ask. I haven't heard this before.
"That man…he is bad news. My cousin got him. She was crying the rest of the night."
I glance in the direction of the room. Against all my logic, fear sets in. "all cases are different." I say with authority a defense mechanism to show I'm not frightened by this process and I'm certainly not afraid of some government worker. He's really just a clerk. Isn't he?
She jerks when a name is called out. Hers I assume. Interview Room 5. She kisses a rosary and thanks God.
She gathers her things and leaves to have her life determined by pieces of paper and an opinion. I'll be fine. My case is solid. This is the mantra I've been reciting for the past month.
"Rose Hathaway."
That's me. That's me. I quickly jump to my feet, start walking, stop, and realize that I don't even know where I'm going.
"Rose Hathaway. Interview room 3."
Shit.
I am composed as I enter the room. That is until I see the man sitting behind the desk. My heart stops. Literally. He can't be a visa office…they are not supposed to look like this. They're meant to have bad skin, bad hair, mean eyes, tight lips… you get the picture. At least that is what I expected. Especially after I was I informed about hell's kitchen. He doesn't look like the devil, unless you're talking about temptation…then maybe. The man is a delicious serving of the most sinful eye candy. It's wrong. People who can potentially ruin other people's lives were not meant to look like gods. All tanned, chiseled, brown shoulder length hair brown eyes of him. Dark green startlingly so.
My number one choice of weapon, my beauty suddenly goes out the window .i am a strong believer that the attack strategy doesn't work if the atackee is more beautiful that thee.
He is a very intimidating man and I find myself cowering under his gaze.
He is speaking to me. I think he says his name is Dimitri. I like it.
"Rose." I say.
"I know." He answers.
Obviously…nice start Rose, he thinks you're an idiot.
Now, at this point, most people would say how I resemble a beautiful rose or something like that. I'm sure this is our ice breaker. Apparently, if you come up with a good one, the rest of the interview goes smoothly. But hell's kitchen is not interested in breaking any ice. He goes straight to business.
"Your bank statements are worrying." He says with that fucking Russian accent.
What?! It shows on my face too.
"Miss Hathaway, Russia is not a cheap country to leave in; even the one of the smallest cities, Baia, where I presume you will move to is very expensive. Three thousand dollars will hardly last you two months, no matter what shoe box you plan on living in."
Right. Interview Room 3 is not a myth. Screw what he looks like.
"I know what it's like in Baia."
"Double Decker buses, pretty parks and vintage buildings with red telephone booths."
He is mocking me. Am I supposed to respond to that? I can't do it without being rude and being rude is not in my best interest, so I shut up.
He stares at me for a bit, almost as if he's expecting a response. For the record, I decide that his eyes are not that mesmerizing anymore. I want to gouge them out with a blunt spoon.
He glances back at his laptop, where I assume my life is displayed. How much research do they do? I wonder. I also wonder if they are pals with the police because if they are…I'm in trouble. No, I'm not a criminal but I have been on the wrong side of the law a few times.
"What are your financial plans?"
"As soon as I get married and my papers come through, I'm going to get a job." I say.
"That's a goal not a plan." He is rapidly making it up the ranks of my shit list. In my mind, I spit on his face. His gorgeous, I-am-better-than-you-because-I'm-asking-the-questions face.
My heart is racing. Mason, Mason, Mason I chant my fiancés name and my breathing reverts to normal.
"What does your fiancé do for a living?"
Silence…
"Did I ask an overly complicated question?"
"Mason is a retail assistant," I grit.
"His bank statements are worse than yours."
"As you said, Baia is not a cheap city."
A small smile lurks in his lips.
"You just made a point for me. We'll be in touch."
"When will I know your decision?" I say
"When I make it."
"Can you make it now?"
"Have a good day miss Hathaway."
A/n
This is my new story , the name and summary give away a lot but that isn't what my story revolves around.
I hope you enjoy. Please reveiw
Disclaimer…
Characters- Richelle mead
Story line- inspired by a friend and a talented writer, thanks Mona (I got the idea from her)
BUT MAJORITY OF THE STORY LINE IS MINE. I hope you like it. Ps there is a word I wasn't able to correct, can someone show me?
