‘No, not cake. I’m on a diet.’
I smile faintly at her. I’ve known Lina since kindergarten, but I’ve never truly confessed my secrets to her. Sometimes I would make things up so that it did not seem as if it was always she who was telling me things, pouring her heart out to me while I was holding back. Even when I became engaged to Oliver, I never told her how I really felt. Always at the back of my mind, Baba was saying, The less you say, the safer you and they will be.
It is only a short journey to Wardour Street, where Valeria Lahav, the most famous Russian bridal dress designer has her studio. The first to get out is Vadim, my personal bodyguard. He walks to Valeria’s black door with its gold knocker and rings the bell on the side.
When Valeria answers and her receptionist comes to open the door, Vadim returns to the car and holds the door open for us. Afterwards, he positions himself outside the closed door.
Valeria comes out to the reception area to greet us. She has curly blonde hair that is in a messy ponytail at the back of her head and she is smiling widely at us.
‘You are going to be so pleased. I can’t wait for you to see it. The dress is more beautiful than I thought,’ she gushes.
I smile politely and follow her into the large room. There is a long wooden table and a few tailors’ dummies in one corner. She positions us in front of a curtain. ‘Are you ready?’ she asks theatrically.
‘Yes,’ I say with a big fake smile.
She pulls the curtain and I hear Lina gasp beside me. It is certainly not modest. Then again, Valeria’s designs are famous for their extravagance and intricacy. Italian ivory lace over light gold featuring a high mandarin and yards and yards of silk tulle skirt. There are Swarovski crystals delicately sprinkled throughout with rich decorative beading at the empire waist. I stare at it with conflicting emotions. I have to admit the dress is stunning, extravagant, intricate and more beautiful than I ever imagined when Valeria and I first discussed it and she showed me her sketches and swatches, but I don’t want to marry Oliver. Not in this dress, not in any dress.
‘All of this,’ she is saying, ‘is hand finished by the top seamstresses in Russia using the finest luxury sewing techniques. All the stitches are so tiny you cannot see them without a magnifying glass. Come and see the back,’ she encourages.
I walk around it, noting its keyhole back and the fishtail train finished with scalloped edging.
‘The zipper closure is hidden with silk-covered buttons,’ Valeria says proudly.
I nod automatically.
‘It’s absolutely mind-blowingly gorgeous,’ Lina says.
‘It’s lovely,’ I murmur.
‘Are you ready to get into it?’ Valeria says.
Her assistant comes and they carefully help me into the dress. I stand on a raised round platform as still as a statue as they do their thing. Lina is sitting on a chair, watching. She doesn’t say anything.
‘That’s it. All done,’ Valeria declares.
They ask me to turn around and look into a large mirror on the wall. I look at my reflection. The dress will cost in the region of £45,000 and it is undoubtedly very, very beautiful, but I simply don’t look like a radiant, blushing bride. My eyes are dull and I can barely bring a smile to my face. I can see that Valeria and her assistant have both realized that the appointment is not going as swimmingly as they thought it would. They think they have done an amazing job, and they have. Lina strolls over to my side.
‘Do you mind if I have a moment with Tasha?’ she asks Valeria.
‘Of course not,’ Valeria says, and quickly bustles out.
Lina stands in front of me. ‘You don’t want to get married, do you?’ she says slowly, her eyes filled with a sick realization that everything I was doing was a lie.
I shake my head slowly. I can feel tears burning at the backs of my eyes. Before last night, I don’t know how I did it. Maybe because I so desperately wanted to, I had somehow managed to persuade—or rather trick—myself into thinking I could do it. I could live that loveless life. I could be a good wife the way I was a good daughter. I would pour my love on Sergei and my kids when I have them.
‘Why?’
‘I thought I loved him,’ I lie.
‘Don’t lie to me. Please. You think I didn’t know about all those other times you were lying? I just let it go, but not this time. Just tell me the truth for once.’
I shrug and look down.
Her mouth falls open as the realization dawns. ‘Oh my God. You’re doing this for your father!’
I don’t say anything.
‘This is completely crazy. This is the kind of thing they did in the 18th century. What? You’re just supposed to marry a man you don’t have any feelings for because your father tells you to?’
‘It’s not like that. It’s a mutually beneficial alliance. My father has money. His family has the title and the right social circle. It will be good for everybody.’
‘What about you? Hmmm?’
‘It will be good for my children.’
‘To be in a loveless relationship?’
‘To have the advantages that his family name will give them.’
‘From what I can see all these lords and ladies are all fucked up, stuck-up, weak motherfuckers. Give me a commoner any day. Do you really want that for your children?’
The tears that I have been holding back leak out.
‘Oh fuck,’ Lina says and starts rooting around in her bag for some tissue. She finds one. It’s scrunched up and has lipstick stains on it, but otherwise it looks clean. I take it and wipe my eyes.
‘So what’s with the leather jacket?’
‘It belongs to someone I spent last night with.’
‘Fuck me ragged!’ she breathes, then laughs. ‘It’s always the quiet ones you can’t trust.’
‘Oliver is not faithful to me and he doesn’t care if I sleep with other people either. He once told me that if I wanted to have affairs after we are married I am welcome to it, as long as I follow two conditions. Ensure I do not get pregnant and I am very discreet.’
‘See what I mean about them being fucked-up.’
I smile half-heartedly.
‘So tell me about this guy then,’ she urges. ‘Who is he?’
‘You don’t know him and it’s better if you don’t know who he is. The less you know the better it is for you.’
Her eyes become wary. ‘What’s really going on, Tasha? Are you afraid? Because you’re fucking scaring the shit out of me.’
‘I’m not scared and I’m not trying to frighten you. It’s a truism in my father’s world. The less you know the safer you are.’
‘Fine, don’t tell me who he is. Was it good? Did he have a big dick?’
In spite of myself I smile. ‘Yes, it was very good.’
‘And the dick?’
‘Yes, it was big,’ I admit with a giggle.
‘So what happens now?’
I sober up again. ‘Nothing.’
‘Was it just like a one-night stand?’
‘Yeah, something like that.’
She looks at me curiously. ‘Why is it, it feels like more?’
‘It’s not more, Lina. It can never be more.’
‘How does he feel about you?’
‘It was just a sex thing for him. I offered myself to him on a plate. Of course, he took it.’
‘Tasha, sometimes you say some really dumb things. Just because a woman offers herself on a plate doesn’t mean the man is going to take it. You were obviously to his taste. Did he say or show any signs that he wanted more?’
I press my hand into my midriff. ‘It was a one-night stand, Lina, and anyway my father would not approve of him. He would consider him beneath me.’
She opens her mouth, but I interrupt her by saying, ‘Don’t say it. Just leave it, and let’s talk about something else.’
She looks at me as if she pities me, but she changes the subject. ‘What are you doing tonight then?’
�
��I have that Alexander Malenkov charity function. Remember, I’m on the organizing committee. I sold most of the tickets. You didn’t want to come.’
‘Yeah. No thanks. I would have gone if Mr. Malenkov wasn’t already married. The man is totally fuckable, but since he is there’d be no point. You know me and classical music are like oil and water.’
I smile at her. ‘It’s a party, Lina. As of last night there was one last ticket left. Why don’t you come?’
‘You’re going with Oliver, right?’
‘Yes. Will you come?’
She sighs.
I sense she is weakening. ‘The food is from the L’Auberge Du Pont de Collognes of the Paul Bocuse Group,’ I pause for maximum effect, ‘the only restaurant in the world to retain its three Michelin-star status for fifty years.’
She hesitates.
‘They’re serving Kaluga Queen Caviar, 1.8kg per table, and Snow Leopard Vodka.’
She has the beginnings of a grin on her face. ‘Hmmm … Snow Leopard Vodka, huh?’
‘Uh-huh. Made from rare spelt grain from one of the world’s finest distilleries,’ I add hopefully.
‘You really want me to come, don’t you?’
I look at her and suddenly realize that I do want her to come. I need someone beside me who knows how I really feel. ‘Yes, I do.’
She smiles. ‘Okay. It better not be filled with crusty old men, or you’ll owe me big time.’
‘I think it’s going to be filled with crusty people.’
‘Oh well. There’s always the bar. Five Sex On The Beaches later every man starts to look a bit like Henry Cavil.’
‘Thank you so much,’ I gush gratefully. ‘Quick, pass me my phone.’
She gives it to me and I call the girl in charge of tickets.
‘Oh dear, I’m so sorry, Tash. I’m afraid you’re too late. I just sold the last ticket this morning.’
‘Oh, never mind. If one comes up will you please reserve it for me and call me?’
She assures me she will and I end the call.
Lina touches my arm. ‘You’ll be fine. With or without me.’
Tasha Evanoff
I get out of the car and Oliver lets his eyes roam greedily over my body. I am wearing a long, black, halterneck fitted dress with a slit on one side. ‘You look fabulous,’ he compliments. ‘But then you always were a bewitching little fox.’
‘Thank you,’ I say quietly.
‘How did your dress fitting go today?’ Oliver asks as we arrive at the iconic Pavilion of the Tower of London. The historic walls of the tower are lit up, and I pull my gaze away from the impressive sight and let it focus on Oliver.
Oliver has the quintessential aristocratic face. His father is a Marquis and he is a Lord by birth. His family have a vast estate with one of the most beautiful stately homes in Britain. I have been to Moreland Abbey. It is truly magnificent, but the family lives in a small section of the house because the rest of it is crumbling, leaking, and too expensive to heat. Marrying me means they will be able to refurbish their ancestral home and bring it back to its former glory.
I plaster on a smile. Fake, of course. ‘Good. The dress is very beautiful,’ I reply as I cross the threshold of the venue and into the reception area. The guests are already milling about in groups holding drinks in their hands.
He winks at me. ‘Did you ask her to leave a secret opening for me?’
My stomach churns and I struggle to swallow the hot acid rising in my throat. I look at the bar longingly. I need a drink. Tonight is going to be a long night. I bring my gaze back to his leering face and smile apologetically. ‘No, it was not really an option. It’s got a big skirt.’
‘Right. One of those mafia virgin bride jobs, is it?’
My smile drops. This is not the first time that Oliver has made this kind of remark. They are supposed to pass off as jokes, but in actuality, subtly or overtly, let me know my genealogy is less illustrious than his.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I say stiffly.
His leer loses some of its shine. ‘Does it have one of those big skirts that I can just flip over your back and fuck that beautiful ass of yours?’
I feel the color drain from my face. ‘It has a big skirt, yes,’ I say quietly.
‘Good. We’re in business then.’
We reach the cloakroom and I check my coat in.
A woman in a tight black dress and an impressive butt comes to stand next to us and Oliver’s eyes openly linger on her buttocks. She turns and looks first at him then at me.
I pretend not to notice. The girl behind the counter gives me my ticket and I turn towards Oliver. He brings his gaze back to me. ‘I’m going away to New York for a week.’
‘When?’ I ask softly.
‘Next Thursday. It’s business. Your father will be there too.’
I knew that my father was going to New York, but I did not know that it was with Oliver. ‘Who else is going?’
‘Just Elizabeth.’
‘I see,’ I say. Elizabeth is Oliver’s secretary and his lover. Elizabeth doesn’t even bother to hide the fact. Twice I have met her, and both times she has made it patently obvious that she is giving him what I am not. I want to look her in the eye and tell her that she is not so special after all, she is not the only one. He has others too.
Once, when we were out at a restaurant, a woman passed our table. She gave him a funny look. Less than a minute later he excused himself to go to the toilet. I waited a few minutes before I followed him and saw them in the corridor leading to the toilets. Her breasts were pressed into his chest and his hand was rubbing her ass. I walked back to the table and never said a word. I understood that it would be the pattern of our lives together. He will always cheat on me. Possibly it cannot even be called cheating because he is so open about it.
Oliver leads me towards the white, minimalist bar. On the way we meet people he knows and he stops to chat, his hand hooked loosely around my waist. ‘Have you met my fiancée, Tasha Evanoff,’ he introduces proudly.
Everybody is polite, but everybody is always polite to your face at these occasions. Behind my back there are always whispers about how my father’s great wealth was acquired. They are more correct than they realize.
When we finally get to the bar I would love to order a shot of Vodka, but I don’t. I do the civilized English thing and get a vodka and soda. Other people come to join us, and it is a relief because it means I don’t have to talk, I can just stand there nodding and flashing a polite smile at appropriate moments.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BT4GIljqr-A
Can’t Take My Eyes Off You
Finally, it is time to go through the double door into the massive, regal dining area. Gorgeous sapphire-blue lights lend a romantic, glamorous hue to everything they touch. The green carpets look sea blue, and the canopy ceiling is full of little light reflections that create the stunning effect of stars glittering in a summer night sky. The tall candelabras on every table hold aloft orangey red cups of light.
Our table is close to the stage and midway between the entrance and the dance area. We take our seats and the Queen caviar is brought to the table on dry ice. I throw back the Vodka and let the salty bubbles explode on my tongue as we listen to the speeches from the patron of the charity thanking the sponsors of the evening.
My father didn’t come, but he is one of them, and since I am his representative, I smile and nod when his name is mentioned and the camera pans on me. After a slideshow depicting the different projects the charity has undertaken to help the disadvantaged children of Russia, it is time for the highlight of the evening.
The curtain draws open and the spotlight falls on Alexander Malenkov, the object of Lina’s unrequited lust. I have never heard him play, but the moment he touches the keys the entire audience falls so silent you could have heard the proverbial pin drop. He plays with great passion and true skill and I must admit I am awed by his performance. When he plays his last note and stands t
o take a bow, all of us spontaneously give him a standing ovation.
The curtains close on him and food is served. The food is delicious of course, but I find myself pushing the food around my plate and pretending to eat. I keep thinking that this is what my life is going to be after I marry Oliver. An endless string of the same type of empty functions with the kind of people I have nothing in common with. After I have play-acted consuming the dessert, the last event of the night begins.
The Precious Items Auction is where the guests take off their jewelry or personal items like watches and wallets, and give them up to be auctioned. The items are not collected beforehand, but donated on the spot together with the little receipts that have been left on each table describing the item in as much detail as possible for the auctioneer together with a suggested starting price.
One of the ladies at our table bequeaths her pearl necklace, another offers her rose-gold bracelet, and I take off my emerald and platinum earrings and place them on the platter.
The auction starts with Lady Schloss’s Cartier watch. On the screen behind the podium, a blown-up 360 image of the watch is shown. The starting price is £2,000.00. After a lively bidding it goes to her husband for £5,700.00. The same process is more or less repeated for nearly every woman who gives up her jewelry for auction. Her husband or fiancé ends up winning it back for her. It is all good-natured fun and a bit of charity included.
Then it is my earrings.
‘Kindly donated by Miss Tasha Evanoff,’ the auctioneer announces. ‘A pair of perfectly cut, flawless Brazilian emeralds set in platinum. Each perfect emerald is 4.5 carats.’
He lifts his hand.
‘Let’s start the bidding of at £5,000. Do I hear any takers? Yes, we have. To the gentleman at the back. At the side here. £5,500. Do I hear £6,000. Yes, we have £6,000. £6,500. £7,000 to the gentleman at the back. £7,500 to the gentleman in the red tie over at the side. £8,000. We have £8,500. This is a rare opportunity to buy a truly exquisite pair of earrings. £9,000. £9,500. £10,000. £10,500. Come on ladies and gentlemen. This is all for a good cause. Well done, we have £11,000 in the front. Anymore bids?’
Blackmailed by the beast Page 20
