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“He also said I’ll be free when it’s over with.” I keep my voice casual. “What if getting rid of him takes a long time? Months or even years.”
Ulyana’s smile is surprisingly tender. “One must do unthinkable things for survival, child.”
My molars crack the candy in two; I chew it loudly. “I’m not a child.”
“No,” she agrees, looking out at the dresses. “You’re a woman who must choose what she’ll wear to her wedding. That’s not a task for the weak-hearted.”
“What if I am weak?” I whisper. The second I admit my fear, hot tears well upward. Scrunching my face to hold them back is pointless. They spill over, and my palms try to wipe them away with futility. On and on they come, like all the stress of my situation is hitting at once. “Why is this happening to me?” I sob.
Ulyana says nothing. She doesn’t reach for me. Her hands remain in her lap, clenched on top of each other. It’s good that she doesn’t try to comfort me. I don’t want that; I just want to be miserable for a minute. Wallowing in self-pity isn’t my first choice, but holding it at bay is a fool’s errand.
I think of Arsen … how cruel he was to kidnap me. How he bullied my mother into selling our studio to him. Oh God! Mom! It was torture when she called me earlier. I doubt Arsen told her about his plan to marry me. Will she even understand? Or will she barrage me with questions until I buckle and tell her the root of this mess … that a man named Yevgeniy is watching us from the shadows—a man who I don’t even know is real? Will that be enough for her to quietly accept my sacrifice?
She doesn’t have to accept it. It’s my responsibility to handle this.
I have to keep her safe.
Sucking in some gulps of air, I hold the last one in my chest. It exits my nose in a gentle puff. My body stops shaking. I’m able to wipe away the last of the tears without summoning more. Drawing myself up, I force a cheerful smile onto my face.
“You’re right, Ulyana. We have to do what we have to do in order to survive.”
Ulyana watches me like an owl. She has no response, just a quiet air to her that vibrates with bleakness. I wonder if she feels sad for me.
Approaching the gowns with purpose, I scan them from left to right. They’re clones of each other if you don’t look closely. But with my head now somewhat clear, I can finally focus enough to see every small detail on their hems, their straps, their beading. They’re not the same. Not a single one of them is.
Wrapping my fingers gently around a hanger, I slide the dress out from the rest. It’s floor length, the skirt large and full. The pleats are lined with tiny gems that wrap around the middle, enhancing the small waist before spreading over the thin straps and neckline. If you lay it across a frozen lake, it will blend right in.
“That is a good dress,” Ulyana says.
“It reminds me of a dress I once saw at the ballet,” I say. “My favorite dancer, Astana Bukharova, performed that night.”
She twirled beautifully across the stage, like a snowflake in the breeze. That’s not why the memory makes my heart pound though, or why my knuckles go as white as the dress.
Ulyana rises to stand beside me. She looks closely at my face, reading my expression. “That show must have meant a lot to you.”
“Yes.” I let the dress’s hem fall from my fingers. Without shutting my eyes, I relive that evening.
“Look, Daddy! Do you see the curtain moving? It’s about to start!”
“Yes, malyshka, but you must be quiet.” He smiled kindly at me, swelling with pride. I rocked in my seat with the exuberance reserved for a fourteen-year-old. My attention was fixed on the stage. I was honed into every sight, every sound, even every smell. The rough texture of the stiff tulle dress my mother had stuffed me into didn’t bother me. Nothing could ruin this night.
The music began—I knew it by heart. I’d played the soundtrack on repeat for weeks, unable to control myself once my dad announced my birthday surprise. A night at the ballet and being able to witness an ethereal creature like Astana Bukharova. I couldn’t imagine anything grander would ever happen in my lifetime.
I cried quietly in the final tremulous note of the first act. Looking over amid the thunderous applause, I was stunned to see my father’s cheeks gleamed wetly in the dim theater lights as well. He looked down at me, and with a tender smile, linked his hand with mine. That was how we remained until the end of the show. Our fingers locked together tight until we had to separate for the applause.
It was the last show I attended with my father. We never went to the ballet again, though I didn’t know why. I’m struck by the reality that he’ll never walk me down the aisle. Real or fake, Dad won’t attend any wedding of mine. Losing him was a tragedy I had no say in.
This time, though, I can clutch the strings of fate and hope that someday … when I marry the man I actually love … My mother will be at my side.
Pivoting on my heel, I flare my chest as I face off with Ulyana. The dress gives me strength, and I drape it over my body.
It’s soft as silk. But to me, it’s become my armor.
“Tell Arsen I’m ready.”
12
ARSEN
