Episode 5

Point of View: Luka

I was roused by the faint sound of a door being nudged open, dexterously I reached for my firearm sequestered within the bedside drawer and took aim, yet restrained my trigger finger upon discerning a familiar knock on the opposing panel.

"Sir, it's Vladimir," came my comrade's voice from beyond the divide.

"Damn fool, come in," I mutter, exhaling relief and re-concealing the weapon.

"Luka, is the lady...presentable?" He inquired, lingering behind the closed door.

"Lady?" I echoed, baffled, clueless about his inference.

Upon entry, Vladimir's gaze darted about, seemingly in search for something—or someone—before his perplexed eyes met mine.

"Where's the lady? Has she left?" He surveyed, as I remained ensnared in puzzlement.

"What lady?" I questioned, only for his brow to knit deeper in confusion.

"Do you not remember?" He pressed, astounded.

"What's there to remember? What are you talking about?" I inquired, rising from the bed and realizing my nudity.

"You wed last night and brought your wife here to commemorate, to celebrate your honeymoon."

"Married?" I questioned, incredulous of my friend and right-hand man's assertion. "Why on earth didn't you stop me?"

"You said you were quite certain of your decision despite my protestations; after much argument, you enlisted me as your best man and witness. Seemed quite in your senses," he answered.

"It can't be, I'd never marry just anyone—I must've been drunk, you should've intervened," I fumed, "This must be some jest of yours."

"I did try to dissuade you but to no avail, and seeing your disbelief, I have evidence," he remarked, producing a marriage certificate from his coat followed by, "and here's the wedding video," he announced, showing both items.

"This can't be real. How can I be married and not recall it?" I lamented, clutching my head in dismay.

Before the wedding, I had words with the bartender who served you; he told me despite excessive drinking, you both looked sober," he stated.

"You're telling me I was intoxicated during my marriage and you didn't notice?" I exclaimed in shock.

"Precisely."

"I need you to find this woman and obtain her signature for an annulment immediately—who is she?" My fury was palpable.

"Her marriage license names her Gianna but contains not a single additional detail," he revealed, flipping through the red booklet.

"How can that be all?" I demanded, stunned.

"The chapel simply required your names."

"Find her and get that annulment!" I cried. "I refuse to be married!"

"Of course, sir," he consented, pivoting to leave before halting, "By the way, your return flight to Russia departs in an hour as scheduled."

My phone in hand, I verified the time—it was ten in the morning, and I couldn't fathom my restful, profound sleep.

"By the way, Luka," Vladimir added, capturing my attention.

"What is it?" I queried, still bewildered.

"You might want to look in the mirror," he teased with a mocking grin, then hastened away.

"What's he on about?" I pondered in confusion.

Once pants were clad, I advanced to the bathroom to observe my reflection, discovering the cause of Vladimir's mirth—my skin was adorned with kiss marks in bold red lipstick, streaking across the neck, cheek, lips, and forehead.

The lipstick hue summoned memory fragments of a woman accompanied by whiskey from the night before.

I dove into the shower to eradicate the stubborn, waterproof cosmetic. After thirty minutes of effort, I succeeded, dressed in a black suit from my suitcase, and noticed the ring upon my left hand—I stared, grappling with recollection, to no avail.

Dressed and ready, I departed for my awaiting plane, wishing to avert suspicion and ensure a smooth trip home. Aboard, Vladimir settled across from me.

"Luka, won't you take off the ring?" he inquired, gaze fixated.

"This could prove useful," I mused, eyeing the band.

"How so?" His puzzlement was evident.

"Alina Petrova desires a wedding with me, so I'll claim I am betrothed, my fiancee too shy to reveal herself."

"And your mother? When she finds out?"

"No, to her I'll confess the truth. Find that woman quickly, so I can be unburdened from this folly—how could I have been so foolish?"

"Don't torment yourself, what's done is done, it cannot be altered. You're married, but once we find her and that will be swiftly achieved, an annulment will follow, leaving you unattached once more."

As the aircraft took off, I left the city behind hastening back to my homeland, intent on wiping the slate of my actions clean and continuing my life as if nothing had occurred. Yet, intrigue about the identity of my temporary bride flickered within me.

"Vlad, what does she look like?" I questioned, and he glanced up from his phone with a smug smirk.

"Your wife, you mean?" he provoked.

"Yes," I replied, earnestly.

"Well, credit where it's due, you might have been inebriated but you were not blind—she is remarkably beautiful."

"Describe her," I insisted.

"You could watch your wedding footage, or I could tell you... she is a jeune fille with hair as dark as night, long wavy tresses trailing to her waist, deep blue eyes, and a model's physique."

"Is she enhanced?" I probed.

"I mean to say she has an exquisite, all-natural figure."

"How can you be certain?"

"She emanates a beauty that is no mere commonplace."

"I cannot believe this," I said, having heeded his description.

"If you're skeptical, watch the video," he goaded with a grin.

"Not in your wildest dreams," I retorted.

Twelve hours later, we landed in Baulin. Upon disembarking, I went straight to the waiting van for us. Thirty minutes passed before I arrived at my mansion. I stepped out of the vehicle and marched into the residence, instantly greeted by my mother positioned in the living area.

"Hello, Mother," I greeted with a forced smile.

"Hello, Son. Good to have you back safely. Were you successful with them?"

"Yes, all turned out well, though not entirely."

"What do you mean 'not entirely'?" She exclaimed.

"Mother, there's something significant I need to explain. I'm far too wearied from the journey right now; let me rest and tomorrow, I'll tell you all," I petitioned.

"We'll talk now," she insisted, her mood clearly irate. "What happened on your trip?"

Vladimir by my side, I turned again to my mother, took a seat before her.

"I got married," I came out with it, showcasing the ring on my finger.

"That's wonderful, finally settling down," she beamed. "Where is she?" Her gaze swept the room.

"Mother, it was an accident—I was drunk. Married a stranger," I confess.

"You're telling me you were inebriated and wed someone you don't even know?" her tone laced with shock and bewilderment.

"That's right, but don't worry, I shall find her and seek an annulment at the earliest opportunity."

"Why didn't you annul upon waking?" she inquired, her temper rising.

"I had no recollection of the wedding. Vladimir woke me and brought it to light, by then the woman had vanished from the room," I calmly informed her. "Now, with your permission, I'll retire to rest; I am utterly exhausted," I announced, rising to leave.

Ascending the stairs, I eventually entered my bedroom, shed my attire, flung myself onto the bed, sighed deeply, and quickly succumbed to sleep. My thoughts, however, were preoccupied with the mysterious woman I inadvertently made my bride.

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