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I ask too many questions.
Olena smiles at me, pulling out a pink coil of measuring tape and letting it roll out to the floor. “Time for measurements!” she says with a heavy Russian accent.
I smile, putting the book down and walking to the center of the room. I pull my hair back into a ponytail, standing with my arms limp by my sides, but she’s not satisfied.
She shakes her head and waves her long French tips at my shirt. “The clothes must come off. Don’t be shy.”
I slip out of my jeans and shirt, folding them into a loose pile on my bed. The air is cold, but Olena’s hands are warm as she holds my waist and adjusts me to her liking.
My shoulders relax as I realize I’m not being judged. I always feel like people are looking at me in a judgmental way, like they’re assessing my value by my appearances. I guess Jacob and the other guys I dated always did that. Not to mention the girls who pretended to be my friend but always picked at me for what I wore.
Those people are so far away now that I have trouble even picturing their faces in my head anymore. It’s weird, but nothing about my previous life seems important when I’m in Danya’s care.
Olena wraps the measuring tape around my waist, moving to my hips and thighs. She measures me in dozens of places, far more than I thought she would need to, all the while humming to herself happily.
Her perfume is strong and floral, filling the room as she takes control. She has this energy to her, like she is always in charge. Danya is the same way. I wonder if it’s a cultural thing.
A few more measurements, a few more hums under her breath.
Finally, she puts the tape away and begins to examine me with just her eyes, putting her hands on her hips and tilting her head slightly. “You have a very lovely figure.”
“Oh, thank you,” I reply, a bit taken aback that she would complement me on my body.
I’ve always thought my legs were too big, especially compared to the women I’ve seen running around Danya’s house cleaning and cooking. I feel like I lack the feminine charm and grace they all seem to have.
“Danya tells me you’re settling in nicely,” Olena says, leaning forward a bit and lowering her voice. “You are very lucky to be chosen by him. Most women, including myself, believed he wouldnevertake a wife.”
“I’m sure he could have anyone he wants,” I say with a laugh.
It’s the truth. I can’t imagine any woman being able to turn down a rich man with shoulders that broad and a voice that deep.
“But he chose you, which means you’re special,” she says with a warm smile.
“I don’t feel very special, to be honest.”
“Don’t ever say that,” she says, slapping my arm lightly. “You are a beautiful young woman, and when you will be wed to Danya, you will become one of the most powerful women in the country. Accept your blessings with pride.”
It’s hard to see how any of this is a blessing, but it could be worse. I could actually be out on the street like my father warned, and then I’d be begging for a chance to marry Danya.
Yes, I am lucky, just not in the way that Olena thinks I am.
“Okay,” she says, clapping her hands together. “I know what we will do for the dress, but you’re going to have to do a little work before the wedding. I have some contacts for that.”
“What work?” I ask, immediately thinking she’s going to have me go on a diet. I’m not at all chubby, but who knows how they judge a woman’s figure here. Olena is as thin as a wire.
Her eyes flicker down to my panties, and she smiles politely. “You will need to be clean.”
“Clean?” I ask, looking down for fear I’ve started my period. There’s nothing between my legs besides what’s always been there.
“The hair must go,” she says, continuing to smile through the awkwardness. “You will be waxed for your husband’s pleasure.”
“Um, that sounds a little drastic. I could shave,” I reply, feeling my cheeks flush in embarrassment. I never thought to do anything but trim my hair because I’ve never had a man look at me naked before. The closest I ever got was a bikini, and I’m notthathairy.
Olena shakes her head. “That simply won’t do. You will be smooth and fresh on your wedding night. How else will you convince him to give you children?”
I nearly choke on my spit. “What?!”
She laughs. “Don’t tell me you want to wait until you’re old and dried up to have kids.”
