"A wedding," she answers impatiently. That much is obvious, and that's not what Nikolai's asking. But given the lack of specificity of his question, it gives her wiggle room not to confront it head-on immediately.

Juris would call her a coward. Her aunt would describe her as something else.

She fidgets where she sits. The aisle is impossibly long. The girl continues to walk the endless road to nothingness—because that's what it is, isn't it? Valentin Grankin had money and means to spoil her, but Zoya never wanted money or means to be spoiled with.

For someone capable of sitting scarily still, she can't stop shifting in anger and discomfort. She wishes to leave, but when she glances over her shoulder, she sees the double doors are so far away. They're sitting at the back of the church.

Through gritted teeth, she's only capable of muttering, "It's my wedding."