Chapter Ten
In which Oksana meets the Morozov cousins, who bring chaos, champagne, and companionship.
Oksana…
We're on Day Five of the Turgenev Wedding Death March.
I have rarely felt so useless.
Vadim hasn't been back, although I feel like I've dreamt of him almost every night.
He wasn't terrifying in the dreams, unlike the way he seems to be in real life, when people shudder and avoid his eyes.
Maks said he had seen Vadim coming out of his father's mansion the day before, and that a group of people walking down the sidewalk actually scampered across the street to avoid him while he was still on the front steps.
The wedding coordinator Mother hired is a sharp, unkind man named Mr. Maurice.
He's French, speaks Russian with an atrocious accent and French with an even worse one, which perplexes me.
His dark hair is fiercely slicked back, and he wears his suits cut so sharply that I'm surprised his trouser pleats don't slice into the upholstery.
Mr. Maurice is taking my mother and me down to The Royal Couturier Shop today.
This family has created wedding gowns, magnificent suits and even royal robes all over Europe for the obscenely wealthy and powerful for over two hundred years.
The shop is coated in blood red silk wallpaper with gold-gilded furniture and heavy tapestries across the windows.
It's elegant and subdued and would make a great funeral parlor.
Standing in the dressing room with my mother, I'm feeling terribly lonely, dismally eyeing a long rack of at least twenty dresses.
"That's a lot of dresses," I tell Mr. Maurice.
"That is the first rack," he says, checking his phone. "The other three will be here soon."
Rubbing the back of my neck, I stare at the relentless line of taffeta, silk, chiffon and- are those diamonds on one skirt? "I'm certain I can find something in this first rack," I say hopefully.
"You find?" Mr. Maurice looks up from his phone to frown at me.
Oh.
I give a side eye to Mother, who looks distinctly apologetic while avoiding my gaze. "I'm not picking my own dress, then."
"Grand Dieu, non!" He looks shocked. “There is a theme, Miss Vasiliev. A vision. And I will create it around you. Now go strip down to your underwear in the dressing room. The manager will bring you the first dress."
It is then that I reconsider the possibility of having my own charity help me disappear.
"There she is!"
That voice, I know it. "Iris Morozova? Is it really you?" I turn around, and there she is, with a huge smile and her arms swept out to hug me.
"I brought reinforcements," she whispers into my ear. "I had a feeling the minute I heard who was involved -" she casts a glance at an affronted Mr. Maurice, "that this was not going to be a pleasant experience."
"I wasn't sure if any of you could come," I say. "It was only a week's notice."
"You are family now," she says simply, as if that is reason enough.
"You're going to be a Turgenev; we're going to be your cousins.
" She turns around, flinging a hand out to the amused group of girls eyeing the wedding gowns.
"You remember Caroline, of course, Nikandr Morozov's wife.
" Caroline gives me a warm smile and a wave.
"This is my twin sister, Rose." There is no question of that. She's identical to Iris. Same amber eyes, with the same mischievous glint.
"It's so nice to meet you, Rose," I say.
"And this is Dasha. My Andrey's little sister." Dasha has burgundy-red hair, and clearly, a temperament to match.
"Of course, we'd be here," Dasha says happily. "Cousins have to stick together. Female cousins, especially. We're surrounded by officious, controlling men who think they know everything."
All the women nod in unison.
"Yes, that sounds about right," I agree, laughing helplessly. I reintroduce my mother to Iris and Caroline, and then the other two.
"I'm very happy you're here," she says kindly, and I can tell she means it. "This has been a somewhat solitary experience for Oksana."
"I'm here, and I bring champagne!" Anka strides into the room, holding two bottles in either fist, arms raised triumphantly.
"I'm so happy to see you!" I attack her with a big hug. She yelps, nearly dropping the bottles and the girls surge forward to grab them.
"You think I'd miss this?" Anka whispers in my ear. "Hell, I'd crawl out of my bedroom window if I had to and shimmy down the trellis."
"Yeah, just like in high school when you were hooking up with Ambassador Kensington's son," I whisper back, and she snorts out a laugh.
"Anyway, I heard all the fun girls were going to be here, and I convinced mother and father to let me out of my penance early. "
"Wait," Rose says, "they grounded you? Do they even do that anymore? You're like, what, twenty-four?"
"Exactly." Anka points a manicured fingernail triumphantly. "That's why it's ridiculous."
Checking on Mr. Maurice, I see his face is beet red. "This is all unnecessary," he snaps. "We have work to do here."
Maybe it's feeling like the five women behind me have my back. Or maybe my feeble courage has decided to return from its long vacation, but I snap. "You'll get your dress, Mr. Maurice. Allow me to enjoy at least an hour of my time before I'm married."
Oh, I'm sure there's many things he wants to say, but he snaps his mouth shut and angrily gestures for the first rack to be brought forth.
"Settle your asses down, ladies," Dasha crows. "We have some critiquing to do."
Iris and Rose coax my mother into making herself comfortable and pour her a glass of champagne. She leans back tiredly, slipping her feet halfway out of her spike heels with a grateful little sigh.
"That looks like a dress they bury you in," Anka says as I'm shifting uncomfortably in a gown with long sleeves and an itchy lace collar.
The next gown has an odd ruffled bodice and flounces around the hem. "Uh, that one makes you look like you have a starring role in Little House on the Prairie," Rose says, frowning.
"I heard that it was coming back, Netflix, right?" Caroline asks. "My mom loved that show. Also, that dress is hideous."
"Oh, I like this one," Dasha nods, leaning forward and eyeing all the glittering beads along the bodice and swirling over the skirt as I swirl a little. "Do they have this in black? I mean, you are marrying a vampire."
Everyone looks at me for a minute, lips pressed tightly, wondering if they're allowed to laugh. When I shrug my shoulders with a little grin, they all howl.
"We shouldn't -" Mother looks deeply alarmed and polishes off her glass. Caroline quickly refills it before she notices it's empty. "Don't call him that. That's a terrible thing to say. What if he heard about this?"
"I've always thought he was more Hades than vampire," I say.
"So, no blood kink," Dasha says, nodding wisely. "That can get messy."
Mother has already finished another glass and holds it out for a refill.
When Iris knocks on the door, I'm trying to weasel myself free from the tenth dress, but the zipper is stuck. "Hey, you've been in there a while, do you need some help?"
"Oh, yes please, get this thing off me," I say gratefully.
"Yeah, I don't think arms are supposed to move in that direction without dislocating them," she says, eyeing my awkward tangle of limbs with concern.
Turning me around, she gets started on the stuck zipper, trying to free it from a snarl of lace.
"You know, the last time I ran into Vadim, he was sitting in the back seat of our car.
It was the night of that dinner party. Remember, when you were so sweet and invited us to your horse stables? "
"I do," I say, heaving a deep breath of relief as I'm freed from the dress's rib-strangling embrace. She takes the next dress away from the store manager with a stern glare, worthy of the wife of a New York State Supreme Court Justice, and helps lift it over my head herself.
"Now mind you, I was scared shitless," she says. Looking over my shoulder at my reflection. "I mean, who the hell just appears in your back seat, right? I swear, I thought he was a bat."
"Is this meant to be a pep talk to inspire me?" I ask. "Because so far, it's not working."
She chuckles, biting her lip as she works on the last few buttons.
"He came to warn us about two different crime families who were working against the Morozovs.
I know they're cousins, and we are allies, but he expected nothing to return.
In our world where every favor requires repayment, and nothing is done based merely on family ties, I thought it was pretty impressive. "
I'm trying to think of any of my extended relatives who would have done such a thing without expecting a pile of money, or multiple favors in return. "You know, that really is rare in this world."
"Right?" Iris agrees. "So anyway…" she kneels to straighten my dress around my ankles.
"I'm not saying the man didn't scare me, because he did.
Frankly, he still does. What I saw that night, though, was that he wasn't a threat to me, you know?
Everyone always acts like he's going to pull out his butcher knife and gut them like a trout. "
"That's because he has," I say.
"Has he been kind to you?" she asks.
"Do you mean the one time I met him?" I say dryly.
"Oddly, he was. Granted, it was more like indifference.
I saw how the rest of my family reacted to him.
Everyone shrank away from him at the dinner table.
Even my father wouldn't meet his eyes. But he talked to me, not about much. I felt... safe, I guess.
"So even though I've heard of all the terrible things he's done, I didn't feel threatened by him," I say, frowning as I thought back on the night. "I felt comfortable, which I know doesn't make much sense."
Iris stands up with a groan. "My joints are killing me. I was walking our twins last night, up and down the aisle of the jet. Andrey had one baby. I had the other. We'd pass each other and keep going." She chuckles. "That's a lot of footwork just to get a baby to sleep."
"I can imagine," I laugh.
"Back to my point. You know how scary Andrey is, right?"
"Oh, yes," I say fervently. "The one time I attempted to speak with him, he stared at me as if I was a species of bacteria, and not even an interesting one, just more like, 'oh, look, it's sentient.'"
"Yep, that sounds like Andrey," she agrees. "So, we both have a spooky husband. And I suspect yours is going to treat you just as well as mine treats me."
"Now that is a good pep talk," I say in relief.
She looks at the dress critically. "I think this might be the one." We walk out to where the girls are all still swigging champagne. I stand on the dais, arms out in a little 'ta-da!' motion, and everyone cheers.
Except Mr. Maurice. "That is not the one."
With a sigh, I trudge back into the dressing room. By dress eighteen, everyone's getting a little tipsy because the staff keeps quietly bringing out new bottles when the champagne runs dry.
Finally, Mr. Maurice looks me up and down in the eighteenth dress and pronounces, "Yes, this will do."
"Oh, thank god," I blurt. It is, at least, a beautiful dress; heavy white satin, draped over one shoulder, with a train that flows behind it. "This is guaranteed to make me trip at my own wedding," I eye the length of satin nervously.
"You'll be fine," he snaps. "The gown adds more curves, oui? It gives you the generous bustline you do not have."
"That part is good, at least," I smile down at my cleavage.
Anka cackles. "Yeah, that's totally the definition of fashion cat-fishing. I'm getting you a nice padded bra to go with it and the girls will finally live up to their full potential."
Mr. Maurice is disgusted with all of us. He and the designer ignore us, discussing the final fitting before we are allowed our freedom.
"Come on," Iris loops her arm with mine. "We're gonna go get you liquored up." Anka takes the other.
"I think you're all pretty liquored up already," I say doubtfully, but they only laugh.
"I must head back to the house," Mother says, giving me a kiss on the cheek.
"I can come with you," I offer.
For the first time in years, she gives me a real smile, cupping my cheek. "I like the way your eyes are sparkling, milaya devushka, my sweet girl. Go have fun."
***
milaya devushka - Russian for lovely girl