21. Daphne
21
“Look at you.” Mel stands behind me and smooths out the skirt of my gown. “Just… oh, Daphne. Look at you!”
I am. I’m looking.
I just wish I recognized the woman in the mirror.
This is supposed to be the best day of my life. I’m about to marry the man of my dreams. I’m wearing the most stunning gown I’ve ever laid eyes on, and it fits me like a glove. Everything is perfect.
So why am I feeling so out of place?
“Here, we don’t want to forget this.” Hazel steps up behind me on the other side and drapes a gold necklace over my collarbone. “Because if we do, it might get stolen. By me.”
It really is stunning. My whole bridal set of jewelry is. Pasha took my choice of engagement ring and had everything else customized to fit the theme. White gold vines weave together to form the bands and chains of the set, balanced with delicate, yellow gold leaves and tiny diamonds. My earrings wrap around the shell of each ear with the vines, and the necklace dips just above my cleavage with a pendant shaped like a blooming rose.
It’s beautiful.
And yet I feel nothing.
“Look who’s here!” Mama enters the dressing room with Tatyanna in her arms, and for the first time since I woke up this morning, my heart actually melts.
My baby girl is all satin and fluffy tulle, her skirt and bodice beaded with the same floral motif as my gown. Tiny satin slippers cover her feet, and her headband was crafted to resemble a tiara.
Every woman in the room melts into coos and sighs. I take her into my arms, doing my best not to ruin my makeup with tears.
I will not cry.
I need to be happy.
For her.
“So beautiful, just like her mama.” Sofi smiles at both of us and gestures for the photographer to take a few photos of us together. “Now, let’s hope she stays this peaceful through the ceremony!”
I’m too enamored with my daughter to hear the chatter around me. She’s why we’re all here, in this moment, preparing for a huge step in a direction none of us ever anticipated.
A life her father never wanted.
I take a deep breath. Focus. I need to focus on Taty. On doing this for her.
The shutter of the camera clicks and whirrs over and over, but I don’t bother posing. If we’re going to look back in the photo albums to revisit these memories, I want them to be genuine.
I’ve had enough beautiful lies to last a lifetime.
“Hey. Daphne… Are you okay?”
Leave it to my sister to notice that I am, in fact, not okay. I try to muster a smile, something to convince her that I’m fine, I can do this.
But all I can manage to do is blink back tears.
Sofi guides the photographer out of the room and requests different shots of the luxurious hotel, floral arrangements, et cetera. She hurries back in and locks the door behind her, worry etched on her face.
When I turn to look at myself in the mirror, all I see is sadness on mine.
None of this is right.
Nothing feels right.
“We’re right here, Daph.” Melanie takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “For you. If this is what you want, you know I’m right behind you every step. But…” She leans in closer and lowers her voice to a near whisper. “If this isn’t what you want, just say the word. Jameson’s car is out back. You know he won’t ask questions.”
“No.” Sofi’s worry shifts into panic. “You can’t—what the hell, Melanie? She can’t leave! She’s not leaving!” She looks at me, eyes wide. “Right? You’re not… you’re not thinking about leaving us. Are you?”
I wasn’t.
I really wasn’t.
But now… I don’t know.
I think she sees the uncertainty in my eyes, because she doubles down in her panic. “Daphne, please. Don’t do this. Don’t run out on him. I know he’s bull-headed and a pain in the ass sometimes, but he loves you. And… and we love you.”
I’m too scared to blink. That might send tears through my mascara. I can’t help it, though; my eyes are too damn dry.
Hazel is the one who catches the droplets with a tissue before they have a chance to fall. “It’s okay, Daphne. Feel what you feel. Just be honest with yourself.”
Fuck. I’m trembling. “I can’t… I mean, I… I won’t…”
Sofi sucks in a sharp breath. Melanie shoots her an equally sharp, silent warning. Hazel just rubs my arm, but I know she’s waiting for me to take up the getaway car offer.
Asya’s the one who steps in to give me air. “Ladies, would you mind stepping out for a moment?” She’s kind and gentle when she asks, but she’s not really asking. No one argues with her. No one dares.
Once we’re alone, Asya guides me to a comfortable chair and helps me sit down. She pulls up one of the other chairs to sit facing me, and for a while, we just sit there together. Not saying anything.
Finally, after I feel myself calming down, she smiles. “Anything we say in here, malyshka, it’s just between you and me. No judgment. No limits. Nothing you say can ever make me think or feel less of you. Da?”
I nod. “Yeah. Okay.”
She leans back in her chair and sighs. But the smile never wavers. “Do you want to marry my son?”
“Yes.” The word flies out without a single flicker of hesitation. Because I do, very much. “I love him.”
“But you’re having doubts about this wedding.”
“I’m having doubts…” I glance around the room. “I don’t want to force Pasha into this.”
Shit. I need to stop talking. I’m going to cry and Hazel isn’t here to save my makeup from my tears.
Mama furrows her brow. “I am confused. Who is forcing Pasha?”
“Me? Our baby?” I sniffle and shrug. “He made it pretty clear this is not what he wanted.”
When she lets out a soft laugh, I almost feel insulted. I’m having a very serious, heartbreaking moment of admission, and she… laughs?
But she dismisses her own slip with a wave of her hand and apologizes. “I am sorry, malyshka. I’m not laughing at you. Well… maybe a little.” She leans closer. “Listen: no one, and I mean no one, makes Pasha Chekhov do something he does not want to do. I used to threaten him with Baba Yaga, with dangling him by his toes from the balcony! But that boy would not eat his vegetables, not even under threat of torture. So, please forgive me, but I do find this a little funny.”
I try to envision Pasha as a stubborn little boy throwing a tantrum over carrots. Somehow, it’s not that hard to imagine.
“But I think, Daphne, that there is more to this than just that.” She peers at me. “You say you’re worried he does not want this marriage. I think you’re afraid he does not want you.”
My hiccup turns into a sob, and all I can do is nod. She grabs a tissue to dab away my tears, hushing and clicking her tongue as she does.
You know, like mothers are supposed to. It’s strange to me.
God, I am such a fucked-up mess.
“Let me tell you something about love, yeah?” Mama takes my hand and holds it between hers. “I know a thing or two about marrying someone who does not love. Who didn’t know how to love.”
“You’re talking about…”
“Kostya. My husband.” She nods once. “I remember walking down that aisle and just seeing this look on his face. I kept praying for someone to swoop in and save me before we both made a terrible mistake. But you see, the worst part? We’d already made the terrible mistake.”
I’m so confused. “I don’t—I’m sorry. I’m not following you.”
Asya gives me a sad, tired smile. “I had a chance to run. Same as you. Arlo and I, we had a moment of opportunity to run away together and never look back. But he needed to think about it. He wanted to be strategic. And we just didn’t have enough time.”
“Before you were married? To Kostya?”
Again, she nods. “The next thing I knew, I was in a gown and walking down the aisle to marry a man I barely knew. A man who definitely did not care either way if he was married to me. It was all politics to him. A means to an end.”
My stomach twists. “That’s what this is. Isn’t it? A means to an end?”
“Not in the way you think.”
She stands up and moves over to the table where all the jewelry and accessories for our bridal party is. In the reflection of the mirror, I can see her pick up the hairpiece and veil.
Even more, I can see the way her eyes mist over as she runs her fingers along the sheer organza. When she walks back to me, I expect her to pin it to my head.
But she pauses instead.
“My son worries constantly that he is going to become just like his father. I’ve always told him he didn’t need to worry about that at all, but he never listens. So I’m telling you, malyshka. And I am promising you, right now, that no matter what you decide, you will always be my daughter.”
Damn you, Asya! I am trying not to cry!
“I love him.” It’s the only thing I feel certain about. “I love him so much, and I do want to spend the rest of my life with him. I just… I don’t want him waking up tomorrow regretting what he did today.” I swallow back the growing lump so I can still talk. Even so, my voice still comes out in a raspy whisper. “I don’t think I could survive that.”
She smiles and begins to work the pearl hairpins into my low chignon. “Love is patient, malyshka. So be patient with him. Already, he’s done things his father never did. Starting with marrying the woman he truly loves. Without hesitation.”
She doesn’t say anything more. It’s simply a moment between us, mother and daughter-in-law, and I am grateful for her presence. Her advice.
Even more, I’m grateful for the window she opened to let me slip out if I really want to.
I don’t. I’m closing that window right now. I’m buckling down to do this.
There’s a knock at the door. Mama kisses the top of my head, then glides across the room to answer it.
Jameson leans in halfway and smiles. “Are you ready?”
I know what he’s asking. I can practically hear his car keys jingling in his pocket.
But I know, despite everything, I need to do this.
“Tell them to start the music. I’m ready to walk.”