I let her play with them, her own bag of toys Isla brought with them abandoned.
“Okay, so you’re in panic mode? You don’t have to tell me. I heard it in your voice, Alina.”
I bite my lip. “I just… What if I’m betraying Max?”
“You’re not.” She sighs and guides me to the sofa as Olga comes in with a milkshake and cookies for Maize and coffees for us.
She sets it all down and then leaves us.
“But,” Isla says as she takes my hands, “maybe this is your body’s way of telling you this whole fake marriage is too much.”
Tears spill, and I wipe them savagely away as I shake my head. “No, I can’t screw Ilya over like that. This is too big to suddenly go and change my mind. He’s been there for me, always. And this isn’t much. He didn’t even ask. I pushed. I’m not… I can’t back out.”
“Sweetie, you know Ilya would understand. He’s always put you first, put your mental health first.” She pauses. “Why do you think he didn’t ask you?”
“Isla,” I say. “I’m aware, but if I back out now, it’ll make it hard, if not impossible, to meet the requirements of his inheritance. I can’t and won’t do that to him. I’m doing this, going through with this wedding, no matter what it takes.”
Isla nods and gets up, going to the wet bar. She comes back with a bottle of Jameson. Demyan has way more expensive stuff, but we both like this one.
She opens it and pours a healthy slug into both our coffees. “This morning, we’re Irish.”
“Momma, look!”
We both look at Maize, who’s built a wonky little wall out of Legos.
Isla casts me a glance. “Mom’s on her way to get her for some quality grandparent-grandchild time. Her words.” Then she gives her attention back to her daughter. “Very good, Maize.”
Maize swivels to me, demanding my admiration. “Aunty Lina?”
“Amazing.”
She blushes and beams. “I know.”
I take a sip of the coffee, then another. There’s enough whiskey to just make it warm in my throat in a way that’s gotnothing to do with the temperature. Isla upends more into my cup so it’s more whiskey than coffee.
Isla nods at it. “Drink up. It’ll help. See?” She holds up her own and adds a little more. “I’m joining you.”
I chuckle and drink it in two big gulps, wincing at the burn it gives. But it’s a good burn that rushes to my stomach, settling it in a sea of heat. Minutes later, my nerve endings start to calm.
When Isya’s mom picks up Maize, we head up, the whiskey bottle in Isla’s hand, to get me ready.
We don’t really drink that much more, since I’ve drunk just enough to make me float through what would be an anxiety-ridden process.
I shower, then Isla does my hair and makeup, and I dress.
Then she rushes downstairs and returns with two bags. “Don’t touch that one.”
She points to the one that has two big white boxes inside that diffuse a flowery perfume, so I know what’s in there.
As she showers and changes into her bridesmaid outfit, a pretty dress she decided she needed in sapphire blue, I pace.
“The car’s here,” Olga calls from outside my room, right as Isla puts the finishing touches on her lipstick.
“They can wait.” She opens the first box.
I’m not wearing a veil, but Isla pulls out a metal comb that has fresh rosebuds and wildflowers threaded through the top of it. She puts it into place.
Then she hands me a bouquet and takes out a smaller second one.
