Lina thanks Anatoly, our driver, and slips into the back of the car next to me. She thrusts the John Lewis plastic bag at me as Anatoly closes the door behind her and goes around to his seat.

‘Thanks,’ I say air kissing her cheeks.

‘No problem,’ she says. Lina is American. She has a thick head of shining, chestnut hair, chocolate eyes and a blood red mouth. She gets her dusky coloring and her sultry looks from her Italian mother.

‘Are you excited?’ she asks with a grin.

‘Yeah,’ I say, trying to inject enthusiasm into my voice.

‘So, you want to tell me about the jacket?’

‘Not just yet.’

‘Okay. I was under the impression there was a fairly innocent explanation behind it, but now I’m having to revise it up to scandal category.’

I squeeze her. ‘I’ll tell you later. I promise. We’ll go somewhere for tea and cake.’

‘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 18^th 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.’