Priest's Office, Monday 9:30 AM
Nika has spent the better part of her life plastering on an adoring face – and willing body – for men who she has been utterly repulsed by.
She can do this – convince this priest that she is in love with 47, this hitman who – without exception – has treated her better than any man she has encountered in her 24 years.
It's not her acting performance that she's nervous about. It's his.
He's been trained in all things combat – disassembling a gun in 22 seconds, entering and exiting a room without any trace, sign, or signal, but convincing a holy man of his love and commitment? She's not so sure about that last one.
"So. Frank. Nika."
The holy man looks both of them in the eye, quite kindly in Nika's opinion.
"How did you two meet?"
Nika stills. They had practiced this one.
"I saw her from across the street," 47 states calmly, just like they rehearsed.
That part was true, at least.
"I saw her, and I couldn't look away."
Also true, mostly because she was the hit he was supposed to complete.
"And I knew that this was the woman who was going to change my life completely."
"That was a quite a look," the holy man interjects, "Nika, did you feel the same way about that first encounter?"
"No, I barely even noticed him."
And if I did, I had no idea he was trying to kill me, Nika thinks but does not say out loud.
The priest (Father Mike, was that his name?) chuckles heartily at Nika's response. He buys it, their story. He should, because it's as close to the truth as they can possibly make it.
This is going to work.
The Vineyard, Sunday Morning
One day ago, he had come to her and said, quite in a matter-of-fact tone, "we should get married."
Nika had laughed. Surely, this must have been 47's first witnessed attempt at a joke.
"Okay, but I was expecting a pretty big ring."
"I understand, but it shouldn't be too big as to not draw attention when we're out in public."
"Oh my god, you are not joking?"
"I will protect this child to the best of my ability, but it would be best to ensure that I have the legality to do so as well. Marrying me will make me the baby's legal father."
She was only two and half months pregnant at the doctor's best guess. That would make the baby Mikhail's most likely, or one of his "friends" that he lent her out to that last week. She has no interest in knowing who the father of her child is, not when the options are all just different forms of the same evil.
"I – you want to be the baby's father?"
Nika had only been at the vineyard for a month when she found out.
She had written to him, at the secure internet address he had provided, with only the words "I need your help" and when he arrived, the next morning, without sending any advanced warning of his arrival, the first thing he had said to her after she explained the situation was "what do you want to do?"
"In the legal sense, yes. It will allow me an advantage in keeping the both of you safe."
Ah, that made sense. He was always thinking about the logistics and strategies involved in what kept a person alive and what made them dead. But still, she had to wonder…
"What about the not legal sense?"
"What do you mean?"
"Being the baby's father, not in the legal sense, would you want that as well?"
"Would you want me to be?"
"I asked you first."
"I don't think I would be the best candidate to be a father. I don't know much – anything – about these types of relationships."
So it was simple, he wanted to protect them, to keep them alive, to make sure they were looked after, but he wanted nothing else to do with this child. That was more than she could ask for, really. Security and protection and knowing that her child would never have to face the cold realities of physical punishment and being an object in a rich man's world because of a parent's poverty. But still, she couldn't help but wonder what 47 would be like trying to raise a child.
She laughed loudly and suddenly, thinking of him playing dress up with a little girl.
"What's so amusing?" he asked, tersely, and she realized he must think that she was laughing at what he had said.
"Nothing, I just don't think that I know the first thing about being a mother either, but I don't think you would be bad at it, being a father that is."
"You don't." he says, slowly and carefully, as if thinking over the implications of her words.
"I think – I think you'd be kind and patient and keep us safe, and that already makes you better than either of my parents."
She said nothing of love.
"If you don't think it would be bad for the child, to have me in it's life – "
Bad for the child? Sometimes Nika doesn't understand him.
" – I don't," she interrupts rather forcefully.
"Regardless, I know with what I do…"
He seems almost nervous right now, not that a stranger would be able to tell the difference with him projecting his usual unflappable demeanor. But she knows him, more deeply than either he or she would care to admit, and he seems nervous, almost bashful.
"It's not who you are, 47."
Her words sit for a few moments as 47 seems to be thinking. He closes his eyes, blinking, although his eyes close for a moment too long for just a blink.
And then he opens them, and he looks straight at her, looking at her intently in a way that nobody has ever taken the time to do without leering or hungrily marking her body.
She talks, breaking the intensity of his stare because it's too much and making her feel too many things and think too many thoughts.
"Look, I'm not asking you to be the father of another man's child. I know it's a lot for you – for anybody – to be a parent, and I would never ask you to do that, you know, but I think if you'd want to be in the baby's life – as little or as much as you want, you know, I think you could, and it would be okay…"
She's rambling, and they both know it.
"I - "
He pauses, and she's nervous all of a sudden.
"- I will be here for you and the child, in whatever capacity you deem appropriate, Nika."
His voice is even and calm, and it holds more promise in its simplicity than all of the falsities and sweet sounding words and grand gestures that have ever been thrown her way.
And then she knows, for better or for worse, she'll have him.
"Okay, let's do it," she says softly, and then firmly, "we'll get married."
Priest's Office, Monday 10:00 AM
"Marriage is hard work, harder than most young people who come here would believe it to be. I've seen many a marriage fall apart simply because the two people entering into the marriage didn't know how hard it was going to be."
Was this some sort of warning for them? Nika shifts in her seat, uncomfortably.
"What makes you two think that you can do it?"
The question is not abrasive nor accusatory nor judgmental, but it is also a clear and demanding of an answer.
Nika opens her mouth quickly to reply to the question with some quick pleasantry about their relationship.
"Frank, why don't we start with you?"
To his credit, 47 takes a moment to stall. He furrows his brow and leans forward, taking a deep breath as if about to release his innermost thoughts (he's convincing, Nika will give him that).
"Well, primarily, I think this marriage will work because Nika and I are partners."
Partners. The first time she's been anyone's partner.
47 continues, with a steadfast calm in his verbal cadence – strong like a heartbeat, Nika thinks.
"She's extraordinarily resilient. And I know that whatever the world throws our way, I'll be able to handle it with Nika."
Father Mike (Mark?) seems pleased with this answer, and he unclasps his hands as if to suggest moving onto Nika, "well, then - "
" – I know I'm not the easiest man to be with."
But apparently 47 is not done, interrupting with what might be the understatement of the century.
"Nika is good with me – good to me. And I know I'm fortunate to have someone like that in my life, like an angel sent to me that I never even knew to ask for."
And then he takes her hand. If her pulse was erratic before from the sincerity of his words, the beating of her heart would set off a EKG at this point.
"I don't think I could ever tell Nika in words how much she means to me," 47 finishes, his words still strong and clear and measured, but slightly softer now in Nika's estimation.
No, he might not tell her in words, but he shows her. Day in and day out, everything he's done – everything he's still doing – that means so much more to her than words, she wants to tell him.
But instead, she smiles at him, with glassy eyes and a grateful heart.
The Vineyard, Sunday Afternoon
"Can we have a church wedding?"
"That would be an option."
"An option?"
The goal is to make this marriage look as legitimate as possible."
"So we would potentially be getting married…not in a church?"
"Justice of the Peace, Courthouse. All viable options."
"But those wouldn't be believably romantic…I guess that would be in line with the marriage proposal, hm?"
"The proposal?"
"That wasn't the proposal every little girl dreams of – to be fair, you didn't even ask."
"What do most little girls want in their proposals?"
"Oh, you know. The man down on one knee, the grand gesture of it all. A little romance, a little creativity. It's silly, really, and pretty fucking naïve, if you ask me."
"I've found a church. There are some documents to take care of, but we can be married on Wednesday."
"Wednesday? In three days?"
"We'll need to do a pre-wedding interview."
"An interview?"
If Nika sounds surprised, it's because she is. In her little-girl imagination of a church wedding, she never pictures boring things like interviews and paperwork. Only the fucking fairytale.
"Yes, to make sure we are in good standing to marry in the church."
"Oh, god. When's the interview?"
"Tomorrow."
"We should start practicing."
"Here."
He stands by where she sits on the balcony chaise, handing her a ring.
She can't help it. She knows this isn't a real moment, but her breath catches. She's about to take it, forcing herself to be practical about the whole thing, when he all of a sudden kneels next to her. Her open copy of Zorba the Greek lays abandoned across her lap.
He's on one fucking knee, she realizes.
"Nika Boronina, I am giving you this ring as a symbol of my commitment to you and this child. Do you accept it?"
She let's out a chortle of surprise.
"Of course I do."
He seems at a loss then.
"Would you put it on for me?"
He almost seems relieved. He slides it on her finger and she takes the time to really look at the ring itself then. It's simple, not gaudy, but not small by any means. It's elegant and unassuming and she loves it, loves it more for the words he's put behind it. The words he's given her.
"Thank you," she says, wrapping her first around the ring to keep the memory within her for as long as she can.
Priest's Office, Monday 10:30 AM
"What about children?"
If the priest knew of Nika's delicate condition, he does not let on and instead continues talking.
"It is important that two people entering into such a commitment be clear about many things, not least of all the role of children in the marriage. Many a happy couple have been blindsided by differing views on not only bringing a child into the world but also in the raising of that child."
Father Mark (she's almost positive that's his name now) pauses for a second, as if expecting Nika and 47 to be absorbing the gravity in his words.
"Have you two discussed the possibility of children?"
Nika glances at the aforementioned father of her future children. 47 glances ahead, staring intently at the good father. They had agreed yesterday not to speak of Nika's condition to the priest, as to keep any information of this child's conception as protected as possible.
After another moment of silence, which feels like an eternity to Nika, 47 speaks.
"We have, father."
"And? Are you in consensus on the matter?"
Nika is worried that the gravity of what he is signing up for will hit 47 as this precise moment and he will change his mind and tell the priest that they are both making an enormous fucking mistake.
"We are."
And then she lets out a breath, causing both 47 and Father Mark to look her way.
"We are, father," Nika says hurriedly to erase any suspicion that she just brought onto herself.
"Nika knows that I have my flaws, but I will try to do my best for her and our children."
"So you and Nika are in agreement about having children?"
Nika hides her smile. If only Father Mark knew that it was a little too late for that question.
"We are," 47 responds while Nika ponders if they are both going to go to hell for this.
Father Mark looks to her for confirmation, and Nika nods, smiling.
"Nika, how do you think you two will be as parents?"
This time, there is no hesitation, and Nika barely lets Father Mark finish his question before she starts answering.
"Well, it's like Frank said earlier, we'll be partners."
And then, for the second time today – the second time ever, really – 47 takes her hand into his and holds onto it tightly.
The Vineyard, Sunday Evening
"I'm grateful, you know."
He doesn't look up from the myriad of documents in front him – from the sheets of paper that he pores over to make sure there's no way the child could be taken away from her by legal means – when she speaks.
"I know you don't have to do this, and I know that you certainly don't want to be married to me, so I want you to know that I understand the sacrifice you're making."
"I don't do things that I don't want to do, Nika."
He continues to keep his gaze focused on the paperwork in front of him.
She doesn't know why she tries – they don't need the normal lovey-dovey fucking couples therapy crap that actual needs because this is a strategic marriage, not a real one.
"Okay, fine. I'm just trying to say that I appreciate it, really, more than I let on, okay?"
And this, of all things, gets him to look up from his papers.
"Okay."
He looks as if he is considering something.
"I know what you must be giving up, marrying me."
What she's giving up? A life alone, constantly looking over her shoulder in fear that her baby will be taken from her?
"What I'm giving up?"
"A chance at a normal life with someone you love."
Someone you love. Those last words ring in Nika's ears a little too loudly for her liking.
"I never thought I'd have that anyway, so there's not much to give up. I wasn't exactly sitting around waiting for some fucking fairy tale to find me," she says, in a measured tone, "besides – normal is overrated"
But how many times had Nika wondered, between the lashes and fists and brutality of her previous life, what a normal life might be like?
"Regardless, I know that marrying me is not ideal. So I appreciate you going along with this plan as well."
And that's when she works up the courage to ask him for something she's been thinking about all day.
"Can I ask a favor?"
"What is the favor?"
"Let me buy your wedding ring."
"Nika."
"I won't get anything too flashy or distinctive or recognizable, I promise."
He looks like he wants to ask why, but he doesn't.
"Okay."
She doesn't know if she's surprised or his nonchalance is exactly what she expected, but she knows where she'll be heading in the morning tomorrow.
The Market, Tuesday
Nika walks, a little unsure of her path, towards the back of the market stalls. She knows the general direction of where she's going, but the exact twists and turns are not as clear, so she makes her way slowly across familiar stalls – the hat seller, the watch fixer, and the myriad of peddlers all selling similar knick knacks.
She pauses, briefly, in front of the neatly lined rows of shoes on display over a linen cloth on the ground. The pair that catches her eye are comically tiny baby shoes, white synthetic with velco straps undone. She has a hard time picturing a pair of feet so small.
The Church, Wednesday
Nika stifles a yawn as the car pulls up to the church parking lot. They had decided to get married in the morning, a practical decision as it would allow them to take care of other matters in the afternoon, such as legal documents and verifications, and be in bed by 10 PM without too much inconvenience. Unfortunately, that knowledge didn't help her sleep the night before when morning sickness (they should've really called it all night sickness)
"Do you have all of the papers?" She doesn't know why she asks, she knows he will have everything they need, everything planned and prepared, everything in place.
That's how he always is, hyper-prepared and meticulously adhering to a plan– except somehow he's still here, with a soon-to-be wife and an unborn child that's not his.
"Yes. Do you have everything you need?"
Nika opens her purse, which holds everything she'll need for the wedding today. She rummages through it, making sure all the items are indeed accounted for.
The Market, Tuesday
As Nika makes her way further back into the market stalls, the reality of the situation begins to hit her. She is getting married tomorrow. She will be someone's wife. She will have a husband.
"Mademoiselle?"
"Hello. Yes, I need a wedding ring."
"You can have engraving also, yes?"
An engraving. It would be on the inside of the band, so 47 wouldn't be able to chide her for any identifiable markers (he most likely still would, though).
"What do others usually have engraved on their rings?"
She imagines it must be a slew of lovey-dovey promises and fucking love poems. She doesn't want that for his wedding ring.
"Eh, something to remind them when they are not looking, you know?"
And Nika knows, in that second, what she wants etched on the inside of her husband's wedding ring.
"Can you engrave an image?"
The Church, Wednesday
"Frank Samuels and Nika Boronina?"
They use her real name for legality's sake, despite the added risk of doing so. He's never had a real name, so whatever they use today will become his reality.
"Present."
47 guides Nika to the altar with a hand on the small of her back, and it all feels so fucking serious, so fucking real.
"Ah, Frank, Nika. Long time no see, hm?"
Nika smiles, nervously but genuinely, as Father Mike takes her hand in greeting.
The Market, Tuesday
Something to remind him when he's not looking.
A reason.
Barcode on one side and a dragon on the other. She hopes he likes it, or at least puts up with it enough to wear it.
The Church, Wednesday
It's over sooner than she expected. She doesn't know how long she expected a wedding to take, but more or less everything is done in 20 minutes.
The whole thing is quite uneventful, if you ask her.
But there is this moment, when he takes her hand, and slides the simple gold band next to her engagement ring. She ruins the moment, jumping ahead of the vows, and takes his ring from the fabric compartment next to her heart, eager to give him the same commitment. The priest chuckles, and her soon-to-be husband smiles – an actual smile – and she tells him, "I give you this ring as a sign of my commitment to our life together."
And she means it.