The driver takes us to a wedding dress shop in a town square with beautiful gardens. I never knew Russia could look so pretty.

“Come along,” Mikhail says, getting out of the car and giving me his hand. That’s one thing I’ve noticed—he likes to touch me, whether it’s holding my hand or touching my knee. He wants his hands on me, which I can’t help but find flattering.

And nerve wracking.

Mikhail enters the wedding boutique with confidence as I trail beside him. So, this is happening. Once he buys me a dress, we’ll go to a church and get married. Mikhail will become my husband.

A woman with black hair pulled into a tight bun and wearing a stylish black dress approaches us. She’s beautiful. I see how she looks Mikhail over, making me feel the same way I did back on the plane—confused and slightly jealous.

Mikhail speaks Russian to her, and the woman flicks her eyes to me and nods.

“I will find you the perfect dress,” she says in heavily accented English. So, Mikhail must have told her I’m an English speaker. Though I appreciate his help, it makes me feel like an invalid.

“Go with her,” Mikhail tells me, settling into one of the chairs.

I don’t want to be away from Mikhail. He’s the only person I know.

“I’m Sasha,” the woman tells me.

“Sofiya.”

“Oh, are you Russian?”

“Russian American.”

Sasha frowns, then smiles again. “I can work with that. Now, let’s see. Ah!” She grabs a wedding dress off the rack. “You’ll be beautiful in this one.”

I take it and go into the changing room. Sasha follows. “I can change myself.”

“No,” she says. “I will help.”

Within just twenty-four hours, I’m naked in front of another person.

“Your man is lucky,” she tells me, making me flush.

I quickly slip the dress on before she can look at my naked body anymore. The dress is stunning. It’s form-fitting and made of satin. The straps are thin and attached to a straight-across bodice that showcases my clavicle. The material hugs my body until it flares out around my feet into a short train. It’s both sexy and elegant.

It’s made for a woman because Mikhail is a man. He’s no young boy. I haven’t even asked him how old he is, but I know he’s a lot older than me. The thought strangely excites me.

Sasha pulls my hair into a simple updo. “There.”

I leave the dressing room and approach Mikhail, who sits up straighter in his seat. “What do you think?” I run my hands self-consciously down my body.

“I think it’s perfect.”

Mikhail’s driver takes us to the church where we’ll be married. The moment we get into the car, he places his hand on my knee. I can only stare at his hand all the way to the church. Soon, that hand will touch other parts of me, and I feel dizzy.

Once we arrive, Mikhail opens the door, but before we get out, I stop him.

“Wait.”

“Yes?”

My face flushes in embarrassment. “I need to know before we get married. How old are you? I think that’s something I should know.”

“Forty-five.”

I gulp harder. He really is a man. Why would he want a girl like me? I know I’m a woman at twenty-two, but I feel like a baby next to him. He could have any beautiful, sophisticated woman. I’m sure he’s been with many women like that. But he’s choosing me.

“Ok,” I whisper.

Mikhail takes my hand as we leave the car and approach the church. Inside, it’s eerie how quiet it is. There are no other people except the priest at the end of the aisle and a man standing beside him.

I can hear my heels clacking on the ground as we approach the two men. “Why is it just us?”

“Because that’s what I wanted.” He nods at the priest. “Begin.”

The priest speaks in Russian, so I can’t follow what he says. The other man, who looks younger than Mikhail, eyes me over. Mikhail has his eyes glued to the priest and doesn’t seem to notice.

The ceremony confuses me. The priest has us each wear a crown—a literal crown—while we drink wine from a cup. I follow along. Mikhail clearly knows what he’s doing, almost like he’s done it before.

Then the priest removes our crowns and says more things in Russian I can’t follow. Then Mikhail takes my hand and places a ring on it. When did he buy me a ring? Did he buy it after seeing me the first time?

Finally, the ceremony is over. My soul has been bought by the devil.

“Do we not say, ‘I do?’” I ask.

Mikhail shakes his head. “No. We’re married now.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. I’ll take you to my home now.” He nods at the other man. “This is Andrei, my second in command. You’ll be seeing him a lot.”

Andrei steps forward and takes my hand. “A pleasure.”

“You know English?”

Andrei shares a look with Mikhail and laughs. “Of course, I know English. I’ve traveled a lot with Mikhail. I’ve been to New York. Isn’t that where you’re from?”

“Yes, it is.”

We walk out of the church. At least it’s not as suffocating outside as it was inside.

“I like women from New York,” Andrei says. “You’re all so wild there.”

“Wild?”