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Before I can answer, Mariya appears behind her mother in the doorway. “The only thing Luna needs is a visit from me and my stack of bridal magazines.”
“Actual paper magazines?” I ask, sitting up to try and get a better view.
Mariya fans the magazines out on the bed. “All of your favorite movies existed before the internet. I took a leap and figured you’d like this over a Pinterest board.”
I could kiss Mariya. Honestly. Being back in the mansion has been amazing, but I need something to pass the time and keep me from starting a fight with Yakov’s mom. There’s enough family feuding going on without me starting one on home turf.
But before I can even reach for a magazine, Ofeliya appears between us and swipes them into a stack. “Luna has more important things to do than flip through silly magazines with you, Mariya. She’s growing the future of this family.”
I hold a finger to stop her. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind?—”
“Besides, we don’t need any of these for wedding plans.” She tucks them under her arm. “Marrying into a family like ours comes with a lot of traditions. One of those is that the outgoing matriarch handles the planning. It’s my gift to you, Luna.”
I blink at her, too gobsmacked to come up with anything to say.
Mariya doesn’t say a word, but she doesn’t have to. The tilt of her head and the arch of her brow say more than enough. I told you so.
Ofeliya pulls the comforter up around my waist and turns for the door. “I’ll take care of everything, Luna. You just sit back and relax.”
I watch her disappear into the hallway while Mariya’s stifled laughter turns into full-on cackles. “I told you. I freaking told you. One day in and you hate her, don’t you?”
“I don’t—” I kick Mariya’s leg from under the blankets and lower my voice. “I don’t hate her. I never said that. She’s… she’s trying to help.”
“She’s driving you crazy and trying to take over your life. Admit it.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “You brought those magazines in on purpose. You knew she’d do that.”
“I had a hunch,” she admits with a giggle. “I tried to tell you what she was like, but you didn’t want to listen. I thought you deserved to know what you’re in for.”
I groan. “What does a Kulikov wedding even entail? Maybe I can just suck it up and let her do things the way she wants. I mean, it can’t be that?—”
“The dress she wants you to wear on your big day has a lace headband and shoulder pads up to your ears.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes,” she cackles. “And if you don’t kill that cursed dress now, it will live on and haunt me at my wedding one day. For self-preservation purposes, if nothing else, I’m firmly on your team.”
I sag back against the headboard. “This is too much stress. Maybe Yakov and I can elope. We’ll just go to the courthouse and?—”
“‘Bring shame and humiliation upon the entire Kulikov family. What would Yakov’s father say if he were here to see this?’” Mariya’s voice is two octaves higher than normal, her face creased in mock disappointment. “‘I knew you weren’t the right woman to continue the honorable lineage of this noble family. To the dungeons with you!’”
“That got a little farfetched at the end. Your mom wouldn’t banish me to the dungeons. But I see your point.”
“You say that now, but give it another day,” Mariya says. “You’ll realize there is nothing Ofeliya Kulikov won’t do to stick her nose all up in your business. Why do you think I fled the country?”
“It’s not like you were on the run. Your mom put you on a plane.”
“Exactly! I’m her own flesh and blood and she put me on a plane to live in another country, all because I wouldn’t do what she wanted. You really think the dungeon is out of the question for you?” She shakes her head. “Nuh-uh. I don’t think so.”
I know Yakov won’t let that happen, but my hopes for a healthy relationship with his mother feel like they’re slipping away.
“You have a big decision to make, Luna, but if you want my opinion, I say you push back and start your own traditions. It’s time for this family to update. Which is ironic, since you’re flipping through magazines for wedding ideas as if the internet doesn’t exist.” Mariya reaches under the bed and pulls out another stack of bridal magazines. Slapping her hand on the top, she plops it in my lap. “You might want to keep this batch hidden or they’ll end up in the trash, too.”
I’m still flipping through the stack of magazines Mariya left for me hours later, but I can’t process any of the information. The pictures of updos and tulle-covered archways wash over me while my mind whirls.
How am I going to tell Ofeliya I hate her wedding dress? I mean, technically, I haven’t seen it, so I don’t know for sure that I hate it. But a lace headband and shoulder pads don’t sound promising.
Maybe I can pick my own dress and then let her plan the rest of it.
