“But what do I call him?” Courtney asks. “Like, to his face.”

“Kostya,” I say.

She sighs over the phone.

“Don’t make it weird,” I say.

“He’s the king of a whole country,” she says. “It’s already weird.”

“They’ve got a parliament now,” I say. “I mean, we’ve got a parliament now? Fuck.”

Courtney laughs over the phone.

“At least becoming royalty hasn’t stopped you from swearing like a sailor,” she says.

“I’m not royalty yet,” I say. “I can misbehave my ass off for another week.”

“I’m really sure you’ll change your ways after that,” she says.

I just laugh, and Courtney laughs too.

“Okay, I have to go to work,” she says. “God, the time difference is impossible.”

I’m watching the sun set.

“You’ll be here and jet lagged in a couple of days, though,” I say. “We’ll feed you good caviar and okay vodka.”

“As long as it’s at least okay.”

“And as long as you don’t tell anyone the vodka’s just okay,” I say.

“My lips are sealed,” Courtney says.

* * *

I think I was almost as nervous about the rehearsal dinner as I am about the wedding, but it’s gone smoothly, so smoothly I’m almost suspicious. I haven’t forgotten anyone’s names, I haven’t gotten too drunk, and I haven’t accidentally called someone a raccoon anus in Russian.

It’s almost like I’ve finally learned how to do all this shit right.

Around ten, people start to trickle out. My mom and dad both got slightly drunk, and they each hug me twenty times and tell me that they’re beyond thrilled and over the moon that we’re getting married, and my mom insists that she knew it from the moment she introduced us, though I’m pretty sure that’s bullshit.

Sergei and Dmitri are both drunk, and they both say polite things to me and then clap Kostya on the back and shout.

Niko’s less drunk, and he gives me a warm hug when he says goodbye.

“Take care of him,” he tells me.

Even Kostya’s mom is nice. She’s still wearing black, as if she’s in mourning for his father, but Kostya thinks she’s only doing it out of guilt that she’s so much happier now.

Misha, his brother, just disappears. No one seems surprised.

Afterwards, we walk back and sit at a table with my college friends, Courtney, Alice, and Vivian.

“Kostya,” Vivian says immediately. “I can call you Kostya, right?”

Already off to a great start, I think.

“You met earlier,” I say. “Like, three times. You hung out.”

“I’m just checking,” she says.

“You can call me Kostya,” he says.

“How does that even make sense,” Alice says. “Konstantin doesn’t shorten to Kostya.”

“James doesn’t shorten to Jim,” Kostya points out.

Alice looks at him intently.

“Huh,” she says thoughtfully.

“John doesn’t shorten to Jack,” Courtney says.

“Jack is a nickname for John?” Alice says.

“Guys, focus, please,” Vivian says.

She turns to Kostya.

“I have it on good authority that you thought beer pong was only in movies,” she says.

Kostya looks at me.

“This leads me to believe you’ve never played it,” she says.

“I haven’t,” Kostya says.

Vivian reaches into her very large handbag.

She pulls out a stack of red solo cups and a package of ping pong balls, and I just start laughing hysterically.

“Tell me you brought those from the States,” I say, barely able to breathe.

“Of course,” she says, looking pleased with herself.

“Did you bring a ping-pong table?” I ask, still giggling.

“No,” she says.

Now she looks very pleased with herself.

“I told some of the palace staff that I’m in training for the World Ping Pong Championships, and I really needed to practice my craft,” she says. “Turns out there was a ping pong table in a rec room somewhere, and now it’s in the living room of our suite, along with lots of shitty Ukrainian beer.”

I’ve never seen three women look happier.

* * *

It’s not like we have a choice. We head back to the suite they’re sharing in the palace and invite along all the Americans, mostly family and a couple other friends, because if they managed to set up beer pong, I think we have to play it.

They even have a playlist for this, full of Springsteen, Johnny Cash, Bon Jovi, Old Crow Medicine Show, and all the most hyper-American music they could think of.

We set up the cups as Vivian explains the rules. The adults decline beer pong and mill around, wandering from the balcony to the living room, drinking wine.

“I drink if you get the ball into a cup on my side?” Kostya says. He’s frowning at the table, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Right,” says Vivian.

“Why don’t you drink that? It would make more sense,” he says.

“Because I’m trying to get you drunker than me so I can win,” she says.

“The loser gets drunkest?”

Vivian stops and looks at me, standing on the sidelines.

“Cultural thing,” I say.

“I still don’t understand why you don’t just drink the beer,” he says.

“Drinking is not a game in Sveloria,” I say. “They take it very seriously.”

“I can hear you,” Kostya says.

“Just go with it,” Vivian says.

“These cups aren’t even full,” Kostya says.

“Remember the time a couple months ago that your brother was visiting and I got so wasted on three glasses of wine that I spent half an hour trying to talk him into adopting a kitten?” I ask.

“Right,” Kostya says. “Americans.”

“For the record, Misha should not have a cat,” I say.

“No, he shouldn’t,” Kostya agrees.

“Okay!” Vivian shouts. “It’s my turn until I miss, then it’s your turn until you miss. Got it?”

“Got it,” Kostya says.

Vivian wins the first one, and I play her. She wins again, then Courtney beats her and plays Alice. People wander in and out of the room. If they’re surprised that the king is playing beer pong, they manage to keep it to themselves.

“They take this seriously,” Kostya says. He rubs his knuckles down my back.

Beer splashes on Courtney, and she yelps, then laughs so hard she snorts.

“They do?” I ask.

Alice beats Courtney, and it’s Kostya’s turn again, and he wins by one cup. Then he beats me, and Courtney, and Vivian. My aunt Esther pokes her head in, shrugs, and leaves again.

“Is he even drunk?” Vivian whispers to me with the world’s loudest whisper, watching Kostya play Alice.

“These people can fucking drink,” I whisper back. “I don’t know how they have livers anymore. Just goddamn vodka all fucking day.”

“I hope you’re ready for a royal rumble!” Alice shouts at Kostya.

Kostya throws a ping pong ball into her beer, and Alice grumbles.

Courtney giggles, then side-hugs me, her head on my shoulder.

“I can’t wait until you’re the world’s filthy-mouthest queen,” she says. “Filthiest-mouthed? Yeah.”

“You’re gonna wear a tiara, right?” Vivian asks.

“God, no,” I say.

“Come on,” she says.

“What happens to your title if Kostya dies?” Courtney asks.

“Courtney!” Vivian says.

“I become the dowager queen until I remarry and then I receive my new husband’s title,” I say.

“Oh,” Courtney says.

“I asked all the questions already,” I say.

“If you have kids, does succession go in age order or do boys go first?” Vivian asks.

I sigh.

“Right now, boys go first,” I say.

“She says the baby factory’s not open until that changes,” Kostya says, then throws another ping-pong ball into Alice’s cup.

My friends look at him.

“What? We talked about it,” he says.

I shrug. Kostya beats Alice, and she flops dramatically on a couch.

“This is unfair,” she says.

“I’ve never even played before,” Kostya says. “How is that unfair?”

It’s my turn to play him. He makes a big show of rolling up his sleeves, and I roll my eyes at him.

“You’re going down,” he says.

“Are you trash-talking me?” I ask.

“I’m gonna take you to beer pong school,” Kostya says, and I giggle.

“Tell me more about beer pong school,” I say. “Do I get grades? Is there recess?”

“I think beer pong school was Alpha Chi,” Alice says from the couch.

An older couple wanders in. I’m pretty sure they’re diplomats my mom invited, but I don’t know.

“I didn’t know there was beer pong,” the woman says. “You know about the stoplight thing, right? When there’s three cups left, arrange them like a stoplight. It makes it harder.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“That’s the kind of thing you learn at beer pong school,” Alice says.

I throw the ball way too far, off the table, and Kostya catches it.

“I have to stop after this one,” I say.

“Oh, come on,” Courtney says. “Be fun.”

“I’d prefer not to be hung over during an hour-long ceremony in Russian,” I say.

“It’s gonna be an hour?” Alice says, still in exactly the same position she flopped in.

“You just have to stand there and look pretty,” I say. “I have to do all the right stuff and say all the right stuff and not look like an idiot.”

“You’ll be fine,” Kostya says.

I throw the ping pong ball. It bounces off the rim of a cup, off the table, and Kostya catches it again.

“Fucking stop catching it,” I say.

“What, I should just let it fall on the floor?” he says.

“No, stop having hand-eye coordination,” I say.

He throws it into one of my cups. I drink it. We’ve both only got one cup left, and he throws again, but I bat the ball away across the room.

“That’s cheating,” he says, very seriously.

“I can’t play any more,” I say. “Someone else play.”

“Come at me, bro,” Kostya says, and he sways a little.

Alice just giggles from her couch.

“You teach him that?” she asks.

I slump next to her.

“Sadly, yes,” I say.

Kostya finishes the last solo cup of beer, and no one comes to play him, so he sits next to me on the couch.

“Guys, we’re not twenty any more,” Courtney says. “How did I ever do this all night?”

“I don’t know,” Vivian says, her head back on the couch.

“That was fun,” Kostya says. “Anyone else wants to go I’ll still take you on.”

We all groan.

He nuzzles the top of my head and tries to slide his arms around my waist, even though we’re on a couch with another person.

“You are drunk,” I say.

“I’m tipsy,” he says.

My friends are all grinning like the cats that caught the canary.

“Guys, it was a success,” Vivian says. “We should ask them embarrassing questions now.”

“No,” I say.

“Has he ever told you to call his dick ‘Your Majesty’?” Courtney starts.

“What? No,” I say.

“I never told you not to,” Kostya says, and they giggle hysterically.

“Have you had sex on the throne?” Alice asks.

“There’s no throne,” I say.

“Is it weird that you’re gonna be a queen?” Vivian says.

“It’s weird as shit,” I say.

“Is your brother single?” Alice says.

“Yes, and he’d probably have sex with you,” Kostya says.

I giggle. I can’t help it.

“He’s eighteen,” I say. “And please don’t.”

“Oh, ew,” Alice says. “I don’t fuck babies.”

“What about your hot military friends?” Vivian says.

“I thought you and Chuck were moving in together,” I say.

“He’s not here,” she says. “And I can look, okay?”

“I’m not moving in with anyone,” Courtney says.

“Dmitri and Sergei are single,” I say. “Niko’s engaged.”

“They like Americans?” Vivian asks.

“They like Hazel,” Kostya says. I think he’s falling asleep, half on top of me.

The girls raise their eyebrows.

“Not like that,” he says. “Like normal.”

The rest of the party is starting to die down, and people are meandering through the living room, leaving.

“We should go before you sleep on this couch,” I tell Kostya. “I can’t carry you.”

“I should buy a royal golf cart to drive through the halls,” he says.

“Fuck, I would love that,” Courtney says.

“We could race,” Kostya says.

I push him off me, stand, wobble, and hold my hand out. He takes it, and I brace myself to pull him up.

“Night, guys,” I say as handsy, drunk Kostya stands behind me and puts his arms around me. “See you tomorrow. Kostya, stop it. Come on.”

“Byeeeeeeee,” Courtney says. The other two just wave.

* * *

When we get to our apartment, as soon as we close the door Kostya grabs me and pulls me in, and then just holds me tight for a long, long time.

“You okay?” I finally ask.

He kisses the top of my head.

“I was gonna do this tomorrow but I think I’m braver right now,” he says.

“The hell do you need to be brave about?” I ask.

“Stay there,” he says.

I sit on the couch and listen to him pawing through something. I’m drunkish, but mostly sleepy, and I know I have to be up early tomorrow for a full day of ceremony and regalia.

Kostya comes back. There’s something in one hand, and he just looks at me for a moment. He swallows, like he’s nervous. I pull my legs up and sit cross-legged on the couch, getting a little nervous myself.

Then he sits down on the couch and turns toward me, still holding whatever it is in his hand.

“I still get nervous about you,” he says.

“Don’t,” I say.

He looks at his hand and thinks for a moment, while I lean against his shoulder and he puts his arm around me.

“I found this when I was kid,” he starts, his voice going quiet. “I kept this box of these little treasures I found, and even after everything got better and I grew up, I kept them and I never told anyone. And sometimes I take them out, still, when I feel like I’m getting too comfortable. Because I want to remind myself that it wasn’t always this way.”

I take his hand in mine and lace our fingers together.

“I’m not explaining this well at all,” he says.

“You’re fine,” I say.

He exhales hard, looking at the wall opposite us.

“That’s not what I’m trying to say,” he says. “I’m trying to say that all that, the secret box, the being afraid that this will all fall part again, it’s all part of me that I never told anyone until I met you. And I think it’s easy to love a king with a palace and harder to love a dirty, scared kid who hoards trinkets because he always thinks everything might fall apart.”

I squeeze his hand and he takes a deep breath.

“And tomorrow is all king stuff, but I wanted to give you this first, alone, from a dirty scared kid who has nothing, but he loves you and would do anything for you.”

I’m crying, and I bite my lip hard, a tear running down my face. Kostya opens his hand and there’s a dull, dark gray ring inside. He turns it over in his fingers.

“It’s an iron wedding — don’t cry,” he says.

“It’s good crying,” I whisper.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” I say, rubbing the tears off my face. “Tell me about the ring.”

“It’s an iron wedding band that I found in the chapel when I was five or six,” he says. “I think it’s a couple hundred years old, and it’s pretty ugly, and you don’t have to wear it, but I wanted to give you something with no pomp and circumstance. I wanted to give you something that’s mine, not the king’s.”

He’s flipping the ring around in his fingers, rubbing the outside along his thumb.

“I always thought that all that would be a weird, secret part of me forever, and I’d never share it with anyone. But then you came along, and I wanted to share it with you, and you love me anyway and I don’t know why but I’m glad you do,” he says.

I hold out my hand. He takes it and kisses it, then looks at me.

“Put the ring on me,” I whisper.

“Oh,” he says.

It doesn’t fit on the ring finger of my right hand, but it fits on my middle finger, already warm from his hand. He wipes tears off my face with one thumb.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he says.

“It’s okay,” I say, and swallow. “I’m glad you love me even if I’m a fuckup who fucks up a lot. I didn’t get you anything. I’m sorry.”

“You moved across the world,” he says. “You volunteered to get married in a language you don’t know

I just burrow my head against his neck and look at the iron ring on my finger.

“I love you,” I say. “And I love you better because you were a scared dirty kid once, not despite that.”

“I love you better because you met my family wearing spandex,” he whispers.

“I really thought you hated me,” I say.

“Not at all,” he says, leaning his head against mine. “You made me feel funny and I didn’t know what to do.”

He strokes my shoulder, and I take his other hand in mine.

“We should go to bed so we can get married tomorrow,” I say.

“This is nice, though,” he says.

“It is,” I say. “This won’t change, right?”

“Not at all,” he whispers. “I’m yours forever.”

“Ya lyublyu tebya,” I say. “A lot.”

“I love you more,” he says.

“It’s not a contest,” I whisper.

“I’d win if it were,” he says.

I laugh, and he kisses me.

“No way,” I say.

Kostya stands, still drunk, and pulls me up after him. He slides his arms around me and squeezes my ass.

“You’ve got one night left as a commoner,” he says, pressing me against him. “Let’s make it count.”

“Are you saying that once I’m Queen all the fun stops?” I ask, teasing him.

He pulls my skirt up and then slides a hand under it, up my thigh.

“Hell no,” he says, his voice getting lower. “I’m saying I’m drunk, I love you, you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen and I want you to ride my cock on this couch right now, and I love you.”

“Dirty,” I tease.

I kiss him and slide my hand along his cock. He growls into my mouth.

“Just honest,” Kostya says, and kisses me back.