“Good. Then you are not completely foolish.”
I stare at her.
She smooths the edge of my veil near my shoulder. “Dmitri is easily distracted. He has always been that way. You will learn not to embarrass him with jealousy.”
Something cold slips through my chest. “What does that mean?”
Galina’s eyes meet mine in the mirror. “It means men like Dmitri do not belong in cages.”
I almost laugh.
Not because it’s funny. Because it is so cruelly casual.
“I’m not trying to cage him,” I say.
“No. You are trying to marry him. That is different, but only slightly.”
My fingers curl into the silk of my skirt. She notices.
“You wanted this life,” she says. “Now you will have it. The name, the house, the protection, the respect. Do not pretend you came here empty of ambition.”
The words hit because they are not entirely false.
That makes me hate her more.
“I care about Dmitri,” I say.
Galina looks almost bored. “Then be useful to him.”
The room goes quiet.
Outside, faint music starts in the garden. Guests are arriving. Somewhere below us, people are smiling, kissing cheeks, admiring flowers, pretending this is a normal wedding instead of an alliance wrapped in silk.
Galina steps back and studies me again. “Your hair should have been higher,” she says.
I breathe in slowly.
Of course.
She turns toward the door, then pauses. “And Anya?”
“Yes?”
“Do not cry today. Your makeup is expensive.”
Then she leaves.
I stand there alone for a moment, staring at myself. The bride in the mirror stares back.
My phone sits on the vanity. I pick it up and check it again. No message from Dmitri. Not even today.
I tell myself he’s busy. I tell myself he’s nervous. I tell myself a lot of things.
The bridesmaids arrive ten minutes later in pale champagne dresses, all of them smiling too brightly.
Irina cries the second she sees me.
Lena presses both hands to her mouth and whispers, “Anya, you look unreal.”
