The girl who knew how to sit at lunch, show the ring, smile at the right time, and make everyone believe she had won.
“She always wanted a Volkov name,” another woman says. “She just switched brothers when the first one failed.”
Heat rushes to my face.
I should walk away. Or walk in. Or say something clever and cutting that makes them regret every word.
Instead, I stand there, frozen behind flowers like the same stupid girl who stood outside the sitting room door and listened to Dmitri betray her.
Then Lena speaks again, softer this time. “Katya shouldn’t have done what she did.”
A pause.
Then Irina sighs. “No, she shouldn’t have. But Anya is not innocent either. She loved being envied. She loved being chosen. Maybe this is what happens when you build your whole life around being wanted.”
My chest hurts. My hand trembles slightly. Champagne ripples in the glass. I look down at it and breathe once. Slowly.
No crying. Not here. Not for them.
I step around the flowers.
All four women turn. I smile. It’s not my old smile. Not soft. Not practiced. Not pretty for anyone’s comfort.
“Please,” I say, looking at them one by one. “Don’t stop on my account.”
They go silent.
Irina’s face loses color first. Lena looks like she wants the floor to open and take her with it. The other two glance away, suddenly fascinated by their champagne glasses.
For a second, nobody speaks.
Good.
I let the silence sit.
It’s amazing how different they look now that I’m standing in front of them. A moment ago, their voices were hurtful and certain. Now they look like girls caught stealing lipstick from a dressing table.
Irina recovers first. “Anya,” she says, too brightly. “We didn’t see you there.”
“I know.”
Her smile falters.
Lena takes a small step toward me. “We didn’t mean…”
“What?” I ask. “For me to hear?”
That shuts her up.
I look at Irina. “You were saying something about me switching brothers.”
Her mouth opens, then closes. “I wasn’t serious,” she says.
“Right,” I say.
I turn to Lena. She looks genuinely miserable. Maybe she is. Maybe she really did feel bad for me for five minutes before letting the gossip continue because it was easier than stopping it.
“I thought you were my friends,” I say.
