“You can't have her, Mikhail,” he blurts out.

“Bold of you to tell me what to do.”

Boris’s mouth drops open, and then he quickly shuts it. “I—I wasn’t,” he stutters. “I’m just telling you like it is. Sofiya is mine. It wasn’t appropriate of you to look at her the way you did, knowing she’s mine.”

“I apologize.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Not really.

“Oh, so … are we good?”

“Why wouldn’t we be good?” I ask in a calm voice. I know how to make people uneasy. It’s a skill I learned years ago, and I’ve honed it in more recent years. Ever since I lost … I can’t even think his name.

I’ve learned you can lose a lot in life. It makes it easier to deceive people when you don’t have a heart.

“I just … I just assumed you wanted Sofiya,” Boris says. “Judging by how you were looking at her.”

“No, you’re right. I do want Sofiya.”

Boris gives me a double take. “But you know she and I are getting married.”

“Oh, I know.” We reach the parking lot of the performing arts center. I pull in next to Boris’s car and turn my car off. Boris squirms in his seat as I turn to him. “But she’s already mine. She doesn’t know it, but she will. It’s cute you think you’re going to marry her.” I pat his face, making it more of a slap. He winces. “You can keep thinking that, Boris. But Sofiya is mine. She will be my wife.”

“Why do you want her? She has two other sisters you could choose from.”

“I don’t want either of them. I want Sofiya. I don’t need to explain myself to you. And need I remind you, you could choose one of them as well. You don’t have to marry Sofiya.”

Boris tries to sit up higher in his seat, but I tower over him, even sitting down. “Why do men like you get to have everything? I have power. I have money. I should get to have the woman I want.”

“The reason men like me get to have everything is because I have nothing to lose. Not anymore. Now, stop fucking whining. You’re not going to see Sofiya again. Now, I won’t kill you because Denis Morozova put you in charge of those women. I’ll respect his dying wish. Viktoryia and Mila are going to need a male protector. You can still be that to them. But you will not be Sofiya’s husband.” I reach across him and open his door. “Need help getting out?”

“I can do it,” Boris grumbles, struggling with the seatbelt around his stomach. He finally manages to unlatch it and hurries out of my car. “You’re going to learn, Mikhail, that you don’t get to have everything.”

I watch him lumber over to his car with a smile. I’m smiling because I can’t wait to show Boris just how wrong he is.

SOFIYA

Boris shows up at our house the next day with a wedding dress. I can barely stand as he enters our house, smiling smugly like he belongs there. Like he has the right to own me.

Vik is watching everything with eager eyes. She wants me married off so I can’t be her competition. Mila—bless her—is looking at the wedding dress with dreamy eyes. She’s been imagining her prince charming ever since she was five years old. Vik and I grew out of that mentality by the time we turned fifteen, but Mila has been clinging to it ever since.

“I want to see you in the dress I bought,” Boris says, handing it over to me. It’s in a black garment bag so I can’t see what it looks like.

“But the husband isn’t supposed to see his bride in her dress until the day of.”

Boris waves a dismissive hand. “I already bought it. I want to see you in it.”

“Yeah, Sofiya,” Vik says, “Go put it on.”

I’ve never wanted to slap Vik across the face as much as I do right now.

I gingerly hold the garment bag against my body as I walk into the bathroom. When I open it, I gasp.

The dress is … frilly, to say the least. Fluffy. Floofy. It looks more like something from the ‘80s than modern fashion. Well, Boris is older than me. Maybe an ‘80s-style wedding dress is what he’s always pictured.

I’m giving him too much credit. The dress is ugly, plain and simple.

I put it on and immediately want to take it off. I look like a marshmallow.

I waddle out of the bathroom—because that’s the only way to walk in this dress—and face my sisters and Boris.

Vik smiles like she’s won the game. Mila presses her hands to her mouth and then smiles at me with pity in her eyes. Even my kind-hearted younger sister can’t take me seriously, and I don’t blame her.

As for Boris, well … he’s staring at me like he wants to rip the dress off and see me naked, which is the last thing I want.

“It’s perfect,” he says. “We’ll be married tonight after your show.”

I freeze. “But … you said not until this weekend.”

“I changed my mind. We could get married now before your show if that’s what you would prefer.”

“No, no,” I say quickly. “Not at all.” Boris frowns. “We can do it after the show tonight.” That gives me a couple of hours to plan my escape. “I’m going to change back into my clothes.” I hurry into the bathroom before Boris can say anything more.

I don’t want to escape. I want to stay in the house I grew up in with my sisters, even Viktoriya. But I can't marry Boris. I think I would die inside every day if I had to wake up beside him for the rest of my life.

I have no idea how I’m going to escape, but I’ll find a way.

The dance tonight features Vik and me in a duet. Mila is backstage, talking with the other dancers. Celine, our dance instructor, doesn’t think Mila is as good as Vik and me, which is why she doesn’t give her as many dances. She would never say that to Mila, but I’ve seen it. Mila is too sweet to even notice. She’s just happy to talk to her other friends.

Vik and I stand beside each other on the stage, waiting for the curtain to rise.

“Don’t make me mess up,” she says.

“I won’t. I never do.”

“You did that one time.”

“What one time?”

Vik barely glances at me. “You know.”

“Listen, I get you’re annoyed with me. You want Mikhail for yourself. You can have him. I don’t want him.” That’s not completely true, but Mikhail scares me enough I can convince myself it’s true.

“You don’t?” Vik makes a surprised face. “Well … ok, then. I think he and I would make a good match. One Father would be proud of.”