You Don't Know Me (The Russian Don 3)

‘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?’