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7 Years and 2 Months Earlier, Moscow
My eighteenth birthday.
I feel sick to my stomach just thinking about it. My parents are throwing a huge party tonight, one that will be attended by everybody who’s anybody in Moscow. My mom has been in planning mode for months, wanting it to betheevent of the summer. The celebration will take place in a huge ballroom at the newest luxury hotel, and the worst part is that I overheard my parents arguing over whether to announce my engagement to Alexei there.
“—haven’t even dated yet,” Mama was saying in a shrill tone when I walked past the library a few days ago. “What if they don’t like each other? What if he refuses at the last moment? He hasn’t so much as spoken to her in years!”
“Because she was a fucking child,” Papa retorted sharply. “He said he wouldn’t come near her until she was older, and he hasn’t. But she’s eighteen now. What the fuck is there to wait for? Boris is on board.”
“What about our daughter, you selfish monster? You don’t thinksheshould be on board as well?”
“What the fuck does she know about what she wants? She got into Columbia, and what does she want to study there? Fucking computer bullshit. Like we need another social retard in the family.”
“Don’t you talk about Kostya that way!”
“He’s my fucking son, and I’ll talk about him whichever fucking way I want!”
A crash accompanied the words—a chair flying, most likely—and I couldn’t stand to listen any longer. I escaped to my room, where I retreated into a video game for hours. But it wasn’t enough to keep my stomach from roiling and my head from feeling like little hammers were pounding my brain. The headaches I used to fake have become all too real over the past year, assaulting me at random times. Or maybe not so random—they come whenever I think about my parents and the future that awaits me with Alexei.
A future that holds a marriage that I’m increasingly convinced will be as big of a disaster as my parents’.
Last week, I saw a bruise on Mama’s arm. A big, ugly one. She said she’d bumped into a kitchen cabinet, but I have my doubts. Papa has been drinking extra heavily this summer, and I feel like he’s not in control of himself half the time. I told Konstantin, and he said he’s been trying to convince Mama to leave, to finally divorce Papa. She assured Konstantin that she’s thinking about it, but I have my doubts on that front also.
Even now, as their mutual loathing poisons the very air around them, my parents seem pulled to each other, chained together by some unholy force that supersedes simple labels like love or hate. They’re toxic together, but they seem unable to be apart.
A throbbing pain assaults my temples anew, adding to the queasiness in my stomach. It makes me want to crawl into my bed and draw the covers over my head, to shut out the world completely. But I can’t. I have to get ready for the party.
Swallowing against the nausea, I open a bottle of Excedrin and down two pills with a glass of water. The pills rarely help, but they’re better than nothing. I have an appointment with my parents’ doctor next week. Hopefully, he’ll prescribe me something stronger. In the meantime, maybe I’ll score some pot at the party. It’s not a cure-all, but it helps more than Excedrin.
A knock on my door catches my attention. It’s followed by a tentative, “Alina? Pavel would like to know if you’re hungry.”
Ugh, great. It’s Lyudmila, Natasha’s former housekeeper. She’s been working for us ever since she and Pavel got married, and she is not my favorite person. Nikolai and Valery think it’s because I have some kind of weird daddy crush on Pavel, but they’re wrong.
It’s because I haven’t forgiven her for her role in my parents finding out about Dan’s ring and Alexei’s note.
Maybe it’s unfair to blame her for the betrothal, but I can’t help thinking that if my father hadn’t learned about Alexei’s involvement in my tutor’s disappearance, he wouldn’t have come up with the idea to unite our families in this barbaric manner. Without Lyudmila ratting me out, he wouldn’t have known that Alexei had any interest in me, and the whole thing might not have come to pass.
“I’m not hungry,” I call out, unable to hide the irritation in my voice. The raging headache isn’t helping my mood. “I’m getting ready for the party.”
“Of course,” Lyudmila replies quickly. “I’ll let him know.”
Her footsteps fade away, and I feel a pang of guilt. Blabbermouth or not, Lyudmila doesn’t deserve my attitude. I should try to be nicer, if only for Pavel’s sake. I know he loves her, and she seems to love him. And unlike my parents’ toxic marriage, theirs seems to be a simple, straightforward union, even though Pavel shares my father’s ruthlessness and propensity for violence.
It almost makes me believe it’s possible to find happiness with a dangerous man—“almost” being the operative word.
Lost in these ruminations, I dress, arrange my hair into a sleek updo, and apply makeup on autopilot. By the time I’m done, the headache has let up slightly, and it’s time to drive over to the hotel. Mama is already there, overseeing the catering and everything else, and Papa is heading there straight from a business meeting, so I’m going with my brothers.
Konstantin and Valery are waiting in the living room when I come downstairs, and Nikolai is due to arrive any second. I don’t know why Mama decided I need all three of them to escort me—or anyone other than our bodyguards, really—but I don’t mind. I rarely get to see my brothers, especially all together like this. We each attended—or currently attend—different boarding schools and universities abroad, and all three of my brothers have served in the army at various points in recent years. Valery is still not done with his service, in fact; he’s just here for my birthday celebration.
I smile as he stands up from the couch to greet me. “How’s the army life treating you?”
He bends down to kiss my cheek as befits a good brother, but when he steps back, his answering smile doesn’t reach his cool amber-green eyes. “As well as can be expected.” He runs his gaze over me. “You look nice. Parents will be pleased.”
Yes, they will be. I wonder why he said that, though. If he were anyone else, I’d dismiss it as an innocent compliment, but you can’t do that with Valery. He doesn’t say or do anything without some hidden agenda. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember.
Though he’s the closest to me in age, being only twenty, Valery is the brother I know and understand the least. Even Nikolai, who shares way too many of our father’s traits, is more comprehensible to me. With Valery, it’s all about nuances and layers, hidden meanings and covert agendas.
It’s exhausting, frankly.
