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“Sonia is related to the Barinovs,” Larissa answers. “She’s Andrei Barinov’s half sister.”
“Are the Barinovs here?” I ask.
“They’re out of town.” Larissa’s forehead wrinkles slightly.
Larissa enters the ballroom and quickly moves toward a guest. I’m left standing alone under the archway decorated with gold and silver balloons.
The entire room is loaded with white and gold accents in every corner. Round tables are draped in gold tablecloths and topped with white rose centerpieces. The air is filled with a mixture of expensive perfumes and, surprisingly, the earthy scent of freshly cut grass floating in from the open French doors. A chandelier hangs above, casting a kaleidoscope of tiny rainbows onto theceiling. I tap a gold balloon floating along the wall, and it bounces across the white tile floor.
I look around for Nikolai, but he’s talking to several men in the hall. They stand in a circle. Tall, broad-shouldered, clean-cut, and every one of them Russian. I don’t have the nerve to interrupt.
My gaze catches on one of the men who came to the penthouse to ask me questions. The men Nikolai calls his brigadiers. I’m surprised to see them here at our shower. The way they acted, I assumed they wouldn’t approve of our wedding. When the stocky bulldog-looking one named Gunsyn winks at me, I look away quickly.
He laughs loudly so that I can hear.
The guests all seem to know one another. They pretend to ignore me, but they stare as I walk further into the room.
Dressed in designer gowns and dripping in diamonds, the women possess confidence and sophistication that makes me feel out of place despite the fact that it’smyparty. I tug at the sleeves of my dress, suddenly aware of how childish I must look.
All I need is a pair of black Mary Janes and white ankle socks to complete the look.
I force myself to lift my gaze and scan the crowd for a friendly face among the judgmental eyes.
“Eden!” Larissa calls out from across the room. Her voice is like a lifeline in this hostile place. She waves me over to where she stands with one other woman. As I walk toward them, an old woman in too much makeup tries to hand me her empty wineglass.
I show her my hand. “I’m not staff.”
She sneers at me as if I should be and walks off with an attitude.
It’s difficult to ignore the dirty looks aimed at me. I take a deep breath and plaster a phony smile on my face.I don’t belong here. I’m an intruder in their tight-knit world of privilege and sin.
A woman with perfect hair whispers to her friend, “Darling, someone really should have found her a more appropriate dress.” Her voice lifts a little in case I didn’t hear. “It’s not a child’s birthday party.”
“Must be one of Nikolai’s charity cases,” another woman murmurs, her eyes raking over me. “The Starukhins support a lot of charitable causes.” The laughter that follows feels like a punch in the gut.
Through the obstacle course of nastiness, I reach Larissa without incident in one piece, some wounded pride notwithstanding.
“Eden,” Larissa smiles at me and then at the beautiful woman standing next to her. “This is Sonia. Our gracious host.”
Sonia Karamazov has a reassuring smile that eases some of my anxiety. She wears a simple navy dress with a single diamond bracelet and matching earrings. She doesn’t need much else with that gorgeous mane of long blonde hair.
“Thank you for inviting me,” I reply, forcing a smile onto my lips. “Your home is beautiful.”
“Invite you?” Sonia laughs. “Thank you for allowing me to hostyourparty. I’ve been out of the loop after enough bad romances.” Sonia nudges Larissa’s shoulder. “But I’m ready to socialize again.”
“Isn’t this just lovely?” Larissa asks, gesturing to the room. “Sonia really went all out, Eden. An ice sculpture in the summer?”
A huge koi is carved from a block of ice. Below it are pounds of shaved ice and all sorts of seafood. What a shame that I hate seafood.
“Eden?” Larissa says softly, gently pulling me back from my thoughts. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lie, forcing another smile. Deep down, everything is far from fine. I let this go too far. But how can I even stop it? I grab a champagne glass off a passing tray. I don’t like the sweet smell of it, but it’s a prop to keep my hands from shaking.
What I feel is part nerves and a touch of fury.
“So, this is the one your brother picked.”
“My name is Darya Kuznetsov.” A tall, bleached blonde in a tight gold gown looks me over. “Dima’s wife.”
