No one snapped their fingers.
No one looked at me as if my body were something the room could buy.
I stood in a pale champagne dress that skimmed my knees and softened over the small curve low on my stomach. The fabric was silk, because Galina considered anything less “unkind to a pregnant woman’s skin,” and because my husband had never met a practical expense he couldn’t turn into a declaration. My wedding ring flashed whenever I moved my hand, enormous enough to support Tamar’s preferred description: a small, emotionally unstable chandelier mounted on my finger.
She wasn’t wrong.
Across the room, Tamar stood beside the dessert table in a soft rose dress and pearl earrings, adjusting the wide satin ribbon tied around the base of the tiered cake stand while Oksana inspected the bow from two steps away. Tamar’s dark braid fell over one shoulder, and her expression had the same determined focus she used to have when table six ordered five drinks, three appetizers, and my patience.
“This bow is straight,” Tamar said.
Oksana’s mouth pursed. “It is nearly straight.”
“Nearly straight is straight if everyone in this family stops staring at it like it owes money.”
I pressed my lips together.
Galina turned from the long dining table with one brow lifted. She wore dove gray silk, her silver-dark hair swept into a low twist, her pearls cool against her throat. Widowhood had sharpened her, but it hadn’t made her smaller. Nothing could make Galina smaller.
“Tamar,” she said, “in this family, if something owes money, we find out before dessert.”
Tamar pointed one finger at her. “See, this is why I like you.”
“You like me because I moved you out of that apartment with the radiator that screamed at midnight.”
“That also helped.”
Oksana reached out and adjusted the bow by less than the width of my smallest fingernail.
Tamar looked at me. “Tell her it was already straight.”
“It was beautiful,” I said.
“That isn’t the same answer.”
“I’m married to Vadim now. I’ve learned diplomacy.”
Galina’s mouth softened at the corner. That small almost-smile still felt like winning a prize no one else knew had been offered.
The penthouse had changed since the night Vadim carried me through it half-conscious and shaking. Back then, every polished surface and guarded door had looked like a richer version of captivity. Now ivory flowers climbed the mantel in heavy arrangements. Pale ribbons framed the windows. Tiny porcelain bears with gold bows sat between trays of honey cakes, fruit, blini with caviar, little sandwiches trimmed into perfect squares, and crystal bowls full of sugared almonds.
The decor stayed neutral because Galina had made the rule absolute: ivory, champagne, white, pale gold. No pink. No blue. She enforced it with the expression of a woman who could have negotiated a ceasefire and still found time to insult the table linens.
Only Oksana knew.
My obstetrician had sealed the result in an envelope after yesterday’s appointment, and Galina had sent Oksana to take it directly to the baker. Oksana had returned with the solemn face of a woman carrying state secrets, then refused to answer when Tamar offered increasingly ridiculous bribes involving pastries, jewelry, and one former cocktail waitress’s undying loyalty.
Vadim didn’t know.
That part still made me smile.
The man controlled half the city, had men with guns in the lobby, and could make rooms full of criminals lower their voices by walking in. Today, one sealed envelope and one cake had beaten him.
I pressed my palm low against my stomach.
The curve was still small, more secret than announcement, but I felt different in my own skin. Softer in some places. Sensitive in others. Tired at strange hours. Hungry at stranger ones. Vadim responded to every change as if my body had become a holy document written for him alone. He checked what I ate. He woke if I shifted in bed. He crossed entire rooms if I put one hand to my back.
At first, I laughed.
