1
ALINA
The DJ plays another sappy love song, and I’m forced to keep this stupid smile on my face as I wonder where the hell my fiancé’s gotten to. It’s such a beautiful party, so elegant and dripping in wealth. The complete opposite of my tastes, but it was important to Kostya’s family.
I notice the expensive crystal and can probably tell you the exact price of each shrimp within two cents. I’m much more comfortable on the other side of events like this. It feels wrong to be in the middle of it; to be the center of attention at a party thrown in my honor.
I’ve worked enough events to know when a party is trying to impress people. The rental fee on this ballroom alone costs more than my rent for a year. The chandeliers are crystal, not glass. The linens are heavy, real linen, pressed so sharply they feel stiff beneath my fingers when I brush past the tables. The flowers aren’t just pretty; they’re expensive and indulgent, grown out of season and arranged by one of the finest florists in New York City.
Every detail of this party has been chosen to make people feel luxurious and important. Yet, here I am, the bride-to-be, and I’ve never felt less important in my life.
Yet people continue to approach me.
“You look beautiful, Alina.”
“You must be so happy.”
“You’re glowing.”
I smile when they say it. I thank them. I let them kiss my cheeks and squeeze my hands. I nod when they tell me how proud my mother would be if she were here.
She would’ve been involved in the details. She would have made sure that this party felt more like me, and that I didn’t just sit through the arrangements nodding and smiling while secretly cringing inside.
The planning was more fun than the event is turning out to be. When I was sitting with Kostya’s mother, picking out the details, I imagined I’d feel like a princess in the middle of a ball. We went shopping for the most beautiful dress, a champagne-colored, knee-length party dress that’s fitted through the waist, with subtle sequins that catch the light when I move. She even let me borrow an old family tiara and some family jewels.
Now, though, I feel like Cinderella at 12:01. The dress doesn’t seem to fit exactly right, and the jewelry feels too heavy, and nothing about the party feels like something I actually want. I find myself watching the waiters with envy, wishing I could slip back into my uniform and become invisible to the people here.
Instead, I smooth my hands over my dress and wonder where the hell my fiancé is.
He’s supposed to be right beside me. He stayed through all the pictures. He greeted the guests. He put his hand at the small of my back and leaned in to whisper sweet things in my ear when he could tell I was feeling nervous and overwhelmed.
Then he disappeared.
At first, I don’t think much of it. Kostya knows everyone, or at the very least, he knows how to act like he knows everyone. He likes to circulate, to feel important. He’s good at it in a way that makes people feel singled out when he focuses on them. They feel drawn to him.
I’ve always told myself that’s part of his charm, but now I realize that it’s a huge inconvenience. Is this what marriage to him will be like? Will I always be standing in the middle of a ballroom feeling awkward and wanting to disappear?
It’s been over an hour, and I scan the room again, my eyes moving automatically now. I search near the bar where his friends are all gathered telling raucous stories that have them all cackling. My eyes sweep near the band, where he was earlier, joking with the musicians. They land on my father, who is deep in conversation with two men I recognize from his work at the docks.
Kostya isn’t anywhere.
Someone presses a champagne flute into my hand. The glass is cold against my fingers.
“Your fiancé stepped out for a moment,” one of Kostya’s many cousins tells me casually. “He’ll be back.”
I nod, because that’s what I’m supposed to do. I take a sip of champagne. It tastes sharper than I expect, the bubbles stinging the back of my throat.
My father catches my eye from across the room. He smiles at me proudly, and his eyes water a little. I’m his only child, his baby girl. We’re as close as we can possibly be, considering how much he works. He’s been a dock worker my whole life, and he had to put in a lot more hours after my mom died. He became a single parent responsible for a two-person income, and a little girl who didn’t know why her mom had to leave her.
He’s the one who introduced me to Kostya. He said he wanted to see me married and settled so that he wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore, and when he met his boss’s cousin, he was just sure we’d click.
I believed him at the time. Kostya was handsome and charming. He was older than me, but not so much that it felt inappropriate. He’s been good to me in the six months we’ve been together, but there’s so much I don’t know about him. There are secrets he keeps, and he often expects me to just grin and bear it.
Now chatting with his dock buddies, my dad looks uncomfortable in his suit but happy, adjusting the knot of his tie like he isn’t used to wearing one. He raises his glass toward me and I smile back and lift my glass slightly in response.
I don’t want to disappoint him. Kostya’s parents paid for all of this, so the least I can do is be grateful and let my dad feel proud of me. It would just be a lot easier if my future husband were also reveling in pride next to me.
I pull my phone from my clutch and glance at the screen. He hasn’t sent me any messages. I dial his number and lift thephone to my ear, pressing a finger against my other ear to block out the music.
