The dressmaker suggests that I try on all three dresses, but I already know which one I want. She helps me put on the pink dress and positions me in front of the full-length mirror. The dress looks as if it were made for me. The only adjustment necessary is taking up the hem a few inches. She pairs the gown with high-heeled silver sandals and a matching clutch bag. The outfit is perfect.
After pinning the hem, she helps me remove the shoes and the dress. I put on a robe over my underwear and install myself in front of the mirror in Alex’s dressing room for the makeup trial that follows next.
The makeup is heavier than what I usually wear, but the black eyeliner, smoky eyeshadow, and nude lipstick are suitable for a formal evening. The hairdresser takes my hair up in soft curls, leaving a few tendrils to hang down my neck. When the makeup artist and hairdresser are done and ask if I’m satisfied with the end result, Lena translates my answer, telling them I’m very happy. They both wear broad smiles as they pack up their equipment.
Lena stands at attention like a drum majorette in the dressing room while they clip their cases closed. She watches my reflection in the mirror as I wipe off the makeup with cotton swabs. I don’t want to be rude, but the way she’s studying me makes me uncomfortable.
“I won’t keep you any longer,” I say, trying to dismiss her politely. “Thanks for translating.”
She lifts her chin. “I suppose grace is inherited and can’t be learned.”
I pause with my hand in midair. “Excuse me?”
The ladies wave and take their leave. A guard waits outside the door to escort them downstairs. If they’re insulted about having their cases and persons searched before entering and exiting the house, they don’t show it.
When it’s just Lena and me, she says, “The white gown and subtler makeup would’ve been more appropriate.”
I pull my spine straight. “I liked the way I looked.”
“Well.” She sniffs. “Just make sure you don’t embarrass Mr. Volkov.” She adds with meaning, “The whole of Russia will be watching the event.”
“You can go now,” I say in a firm tone, no longer making an effort to be polite.
“You’re not done yet.” She waves a hand toward the door. “What about the beautician?”
My smile is tight. “I’ll manage.”
“As you wish,” she says, turning on her heel and leaving.
I’m definitely not Lena’s choice of a partner for Alex. I suppose not being from royal ancestry doesn’t help.
The beautician has already set up her makeshift salon in the indoor garden next to the pool. She gives me a wax and a full-body exfoliation before treating me to a massage. After a manicure and pedicure, I’m ready for the upcoming party.
It’s not quite noon, but the sky is gray and it’s snowing outside. Once again alone in the big house with no patients to treat, I put on my swimsuit and do a few laps in the pool. When I surface for air after swimming underwater, I come face to face with a pair of fancy black dress shoes.
I trail my gaze from the shoes to the dark suit pants and button-up shirt until I meet Alex’s handsome face. With his hands shoved into his pockets, he’s in a relaxed stance, but the underlying tension is ever-present in his body.
Propping my forearms on the edge of the pool, I smile up at him. “Hey. Playing hooky from work today?”
His smile is faint in return. “Having fun?”
“Just keeping fit. Or trying to, at least.”
His smile doesn’t widen at my attempted humor. Offering me a hand, he says, “I’m sure your fitness is great.”
I close my fingers around his and let him pull me out. He takes the towel I left on the chaise lounge and wraps it around my shoulders.
Rubbing the towel over my arms, he says, “Katyusha, there was an incident with your mom.”
I freeze. “What?”
“You don’t have to worry. She’s fine. She just had a little setback.”
“Setback?” I take a step sideways, escaping his touch. “What kind of setback?”
“She had a dizzy spell and fell, but she didn’t hurt herself and nothing is broken. The doctor examined her. Her blood pressure is fine.”
A hollow feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. “Why wasn’t I told?”
“I’m informing you now,” he says in a reasonable tone.
Anguish and helplessness mix together, turning into anger. “When did you find out?”
“An hour ago. That’s why I came home. I left the office as soon as I received the news.”
I take another step to the side, creating more distance between us. “You could’ve called me. You should’ve called me. Immediately.”
“Katyusha.” He raises his hands. “I thought it was better to tell you in person.”
“If I had a damn phone, this wouldn’t have been an issue. I would’ve known an hour ago.” I march toward the door. “I want to speak to her.”