Disclaimer: I don't own the Grisha Trilogy and its characters – it belongs to Leigh Bardugo. I do not own the Shadow & Bone TV series, which was developed by Eric Heisserer for Netflix and based on Leigh Bardugo's books.
Modern, no powers AU. Alina is 18, Aleksander is 30 and Luda is 28.
I'm not entirely sure what this is, but the plot came to me this morning when I was still half-asleep and then I somehow managed to write it all out in a day.
Alina has always felt out of place in her family.
A therapist (if she'd ever had one, if her parents had ever given her enough thought to wonder if it might be useful for her to talk to someone) might have said it stemmed from her being adopted.
Alina disagrees. Sure, she looks different from her parents and sister, but she has no memory of her biological parents, was given up as soon as she was born and immediately taken home by the Starkov family. She truly doesn't believe she has identity issues, nor does she have a desire to know who her biological parents are, or any sort of deep-seated sense of tragedy about the fact that she was given up for adoption.
No, she feels out of place simply because she is not truly part of her family.
Once upon a time, back when she was young enough to be dressed up like a life-size doll and quiet enough not to contradict Luda, Alina had thought she and her older sister would be best friends forever.
And then Alina discovered she loved art more than she did the idea of business or economics or medicine, and bright colours rather than matching pastels, and chattering rather than careful small-talk. And then Luda – practically perfect in every way, no room for deviations or disagreements or differences – decided Alina meant nothing to her, simply an annoyance to be avoided as much as possible.
Her parents give her clothes and food and an allowance, they send her to a good school, they pay for art lessons, they buy her a car when she turns sixteen and get her driving lessons. It is more than so many other people get and Alina is grateful, really, but she can't help but miss what they don't offer.
No one comes to the art shows she's featured in at school. Her parents pay for her new licence when she passes her driving test but don't even offer a simple congratulations. She hasn't bothered telling them about any A+ she gets in school for six years because there's no point, they won't acknowledge it. They simply don't retain information about her – they can never remember her favourite colour, sometimes try and offer her strawberries even though she's allergic and entirely ignore the fact that she's been vegetarian since she was twelve.
Luda is the golden child, their perfect princess. Top grades, prom queen, senior class president, great medical school, on her way to a high-flying career. Alina is the afterthought – no, worse than that, she's barely a thought at all, she's simply there, a piece of the furniture.
And fine, whatever, Alina can handle indifference.
But she doesn't have to like it.
And she doesn't like it.
Actually, she hates it.
And as for perfect Luda, well … you reap what you sow.
(and Luda has never brought Alina anything but sorrow and anger).
When Alina is fifteen, Luda brings home Anastas Lantsov, the son of the current governor of New York.
Her parents fawn over him, even though he's a stinking Republican who thinks Donald Trump is the best thing since sliced bread, and his anecdotes are full of casual racism and sexism, and it is absolutely clear that he only got his job through nepotism. He leers at Alina when her sister isn't looking and compliments her on her 'exotic looks', but still talks down to her like she's five years old.
Luda doesn't seem to think there's a thing wrong with Anastas' behaviour or, if she does, she is perfectly willing to ignore it because he's got connections all over New York and they look "so adorable" (her mother's words) together and she's always had tunnel vision, eyes on the prize, who gives a damn about anyone else.
Well, Alina isn't having this.
It is, in the end, ridiculously easy to get rid of Anastas.
He's staying in the guest room during his visit. Alina has no doubt that he and Luda are sleeping together back in New York – missionary position, lights out, probably on a schedule, she imagines he visits a prostitute when he wants a blow job – but as they aren't married (Luda whispers to her mother that an engagement announcement is imminent, to be followed by a beautiful society wedding with six hundred of their closest, most intimate friends – Alina thinks with a satisfied smile about how that dream's never coming true) and Luda likes to play the perfect little princess, they are in separate rooms for the duration of their visit.
Her parents and Luda are like clockwork. In bed and asleep by eleven and not about to stir before eight for anything except a hurricane or other such disaster. Anastas is snoring like a freight train, the smell of alcohol wafting off him – he likes a drink, which doesn't surprise her, and she'd helped him along a little by kindly pointing out where the brandy was kept after the rest of her family had gone to bed.
At five in the morning, Alina rises from her bed. She bites at her lips so that they seem swollen, and rumples her already messy hair. And then, in just her tank top and a pair of panties, she slips out of her room, down the hall and into the guest room.
It isn't pleasant, climbing into bed next to a man who smells like a bar, but sacrifices must be made for the greater good. She hefts one of his arms over her stomach, lets her breathing go slow and regular, and then pinches his thigh a few times to wake him up.
"Shit … fuck …shit," she hears him mutter, words slightly slurred from the alcohol still coursing through her veins.
That's her cue to 'wake up' and turn on the doe-eyed waterworks.
She can see his panic as he tries frantically to remember what happened.
"Alina …" he stutters, "we … I mean … we just messed around a little, right?"
(sick, really, that he thinks it would have been perfectly ok for him – twenty seven years old – to just 'mess around' with a fifteen year old girl).
"What do you mean?" she wails, just loud enough for him to worry she might wake the others, "you said I was beautiful, that you liked me far more than Luda. You … you were my first."
"Fuck … right … well, of course you're beautiful, Alina, but you're like … how old are you?"
"Fifteen," she says, "but you said it was alright because you'd take care of me if I got pregnant."
"Wait … what!"
"You didn't have a condom and you promised to pull out, but … err … I think you got kind of … excited."
"You're on birth control, though?"
She shakes her head, lets a few crocodile tears trickle down her face.
Anastas shakes his head, "this can't be happening. It's an election year for my father, for god's sake."
He leans over to the bedside table and grabs his wallet, opening it up and pressing a roll of notes into her hand, "look, kid, just get it taken care of, if … if anything does come of it. And don't tell anyone about this, ok, you don't want me to get into trouble, do you?"
She shakes her head, all starry-eyed innocence, "but you'll break up with Luda, right? You can't marry her, not after everything we've shared – it would break my heart and then … then I might be so upset I'd let it slip, what we did."
"Shit, fuck, no, Alina! I promise, I'll leave today, right now in fact. I'll never see Luda again, really."
"Really and truly?" she asks, letting her voice go breathy.
"Cross my heart," he says as she slips out of bed, "and it's our secret, Alina, remember that for me."
"Ok," she gives him a peppy smile, copied straight off her school's cheerleading squad.
Some men, she thinks as she walks out of the room while Anastas begins to frantically pack his things, are such idiots.
She gets $500 out of it too. Not that she needs the money, but it's the principle of the thing, and it brings her a great deal of satisfaction to donate every penny of that money to some Planned Parenthood.
When Luda finds his hastily scribbled note a few hours later, Alina relishes in the furious tears and reddened face that momentarily mars her sister's usual porcelain perfection.
Three years after the Anastas incident, Luda arrives home with a ring sparkling on her finger and a new fiancé.
Clearly, Alina thinks wryly, she'd decided that Anastas up and running had something to do with her bringing him back before she'd secured a diamond ring. When it comes to this one, she's not brought him to the Starkov home until she has proof of his commitment.
Her parents have met the man, during a trip to New York (Alina had not been invited, but had been more bothered at the thought of missing out on visiting all of the city's art galleries and museums than at not having the chance to see Luda).
She knows this man is going to be different when he walks in with Luda and she sees his eyes as he looks down at his fiancée.
There is a facsimile of love there, enough to fool most people.
Alina isn't most people and she knows what it looks like to fake emotion.
This is a man who knows what he wants and has no compunctions about using people to get there. Luda, it seems, has met her match. Except … this man is better at it, she can tell.
How delightfully intriguing.
He strides over to Alina, offering his hand, gaze assessing her, curious and knowing at the same time, "you must be Alina. Luda has told me nothing at all about you."
His pleasure at meeting her seems genuine, and up close he is even more startlingly handsome than she'd first thought. She likes his boldness.
"Darling, don't be silly," Luda flits over to his side, looping her arm through his, "I've told you plenty."
"I'm sure you have," he murmurs, patting her head in a condescending manner that makes Alina want to snigger.
"Oh, enough about Alina," her father says, even though nothing about Alina has actually been discussed, "we want to hear all about what you've been up to, Luda."
"You spoke to her on the phone for two hours three days ago," Alina mutters under her breath.
Only Aleksander hears. He looks over and winks at her. Alina finds herself blushing, something she hasn't done involuntarily since she was twelve years old.
"I'll go and put our bags away, shall I, Luda?" Aleksander asks, "perhaps Alina can show me the way."
Luda waves her arm in dismissive agreement, already engrossed in a conversation with their parents about guest lists for the wedding, and Alina leads Aleksander upstairs to Luda's room.
In a turnaround from when she dated Anastas, Luda has decided she and her fiancé will be sharing a room for this trip.
"Engaged is practically married," she'd trilled over the phone to their parents, who agreed with her on this as they did everything.
(Alina likes to think that it's Luda's possessive paranoia showing, that she subconsciously realises that leaving Anastas alone in the guest room had somehow played a part in his abrupt departure).
She eyes Aleksander speculatively as he looks around Luda's room – cream wallpaper, wooden furniture, everything neat and tidy, certificates and medals and ribbons all over the wall.
"Something you want to say, Alina?" he grins at her, showing bright white teeth.
"You're not her usual type," she tells him bluntly.
He raises an eyebrow, "oh. How so?"
"You've actually got a brain."
He laughs, and the sound is charming, addictive. She wants to hear it again.
"You know," he muses, "she really doesn't talk about you. Never calls you, never mentions what you've been up to, has a dozen or more picture frames in the apartment and yet none of them have you in them."
Ah, the family photos. They always get one shot of the four of them and then Luda suggests trying a few different combinations – somehow, Alina always ends up excluded from those.
"Luda doesn't like me," Alina shrugs, "I don't fit into the mold of the doll of a sister she wanted."
"And your parents?" he asks.
"They're wrapped around Luda's little finger. It's not like they hurt me or shout at me, they just … forget I'm here."
"How could anyone forget you," he murmurs, moving closer, eyes dark, fingers reaching out to brush her cheek, "you're … lovely."
She inhales sharply, his touch electric, a spark of something she's never felt before, not even with Mal, the boy she'd once thought was the love of her life (until she realised he was just a idiot easily distracted by a pretty face and a low-cut top).
The moment is broken when Luda's voice rings out, "Aleks, come on, we need to go over the guest list."
He sighs, "she knows I hate that nickname."
"What do you prefer?"
"They can call me Aleksander, but you," he tugs a piece of her hair affectionately, "I think you can call me Sasha, milaya."
She grins like an idiot as he wanders downstairs.
And then she hurries into her room, locks the door and gets out her favourite vibrator. When she comes, it's with his name on her lips.
-x-x-x-
At dinner that evening, a chicken pot pie sits on the table.
"Is there anything vegetarian, mom?" she asks, although she already knows the answer.
"Just the mash and vegetables, dear. Why?"
"I'm vegetarian, mom."
"Really, since when?"
"Six years now," she says, trying not to sound as frustrated as she feels.
"Ah, well, never mind, dear. Maybe next time."
There will not, Alina knows, ever be a next time.
Aleksander's brow furrows at the exchange, "I could make you something after dinner if you like, Alina," he offers, "if your parents don't mind me using their kitchen. I love to cook."
Her father shakes his head, "you don't need to indulge her fussiness, Aleksander. She'll sort herself out."
"Besides," Luda adds, perfectly manicured hand resting on his arm as a reminder that he ought to be paying attention to her, "we have to go over the venue shortlist and I'd really like to get that done tonight."
"It's fine," Alina says, a subtle shake of her head to try and tell Aleksander not to bother pushing his point, since it will just cause him more trouble.
He falls silent, but still looks irritated and troubled. It's rather sweet, she thinks, to have someone actually care.
"Are they always like this?" Aleksander asks her later, when they've both offered to wash up.
"I told you, they just don't pay attention. It's like everything I say goes in one ear and out the other. You know, once, two years ago, when my sister was home for a visit, I won a state-wide art competition. I was so excited about it. When I told mom, all she said was mm, Luda's making us pasta salad for dinner tonight, isn't that nice of her. That was it."
"Bitch," Aleksander breathes out, and then they both snort in amusement, "I mean," he continues, "she's your mother, but still, bitch."
"I think you might be my favourite person right now, Sasha," she smiles.
He grins in response.
-x-x-x-
That evening, her parents go to a nearby city for a rare night out – a theatre show they've both wanted to see, followed by a stay in a fancy hotel since it will be too late to drive back when the show finishes.
As she goes up to bed herself, Alina hears noises coming from Luda's room.
Low, guttural groans, rhythmic thumping and teary, high-pitched sobs.
Oh.
This doesn't sound vanilla at all. It sounds … intriguing.
Alina wonders if Luda likes this sort of thing.
She rather hopes her sister hates it.
The next morning, Alina comes downstairs for breakfast to find Aleksander and Luda already sitting at the table.
Aleksander has his arm slung around Luda's shoulders in a seemingly sweet gesture. However, every time his fingers stroke along her neck, she flinches almost imperceptibly, and Alina sees Aleksander's dark eyes flash in satisfaction.
Alina looks and Alina wants.
When Aleksander suggests that Alina show him around their hometown, Luda does not protest, only nods and says she's meeting her friends for brunch anyway.
Alina thinks she just wants some time to compose herself. Luda has always been the one in control of every romantic relationship she's ever head, and it's clearly messing with her head to have Aleksander turning the usual script on its head.
"It sounds like you had fun last night," she murmurs slyly as they walk down the street towards the town's botanical gardens, "although I'm not sure Luda did."
His smirk has just a shade of cruelty in it, "perhaps I find it amusing to ruffle her feathers every now and then."
"And she's still with you? Luda doesn't tend to tolerate anyone deviating from her preferences."
"My older sister Ulla is the Chief of Staff at New York-Presbyterian and I can recognise the signs of a woman willing to do whatever she can to climb the career ladder. Luda is fun to play with, especially when she thinks she's the one in control, and she does have a lot of useful connections, but this engagement was never going to last."
"Does she know that?"
He shrugs, "not my fault if she can't read the signs. Maybe I'd be more invested if she was actually interesting, and if she made more than a minimal effort to take an interest in my life."
They wander through the botanical gardens talking about politics and history and, most of all, art (he admits to having no artistic talent, but shows a genuine interest in the subject and certainly has plenty to tell her about the Met and various other galleries she wants to visit).
He's easy to talk to and she finds herself speaking of things she's never mentioned to anyone else. The behaviour of her parents and sister and the ways it has affected her, despite how much she likes to pretend she doesn't care. Her hopes and dreams for her art. How much she wants to escape this town, where so many people just see her as a pale shadow next to her popular sister.
In turn, he tells her about growing up in New York, his job, and how he has struggled to find a partner who can cope with the demands of his work and his intense personality.
(Luda, Alina thinks, won't ever be able to satisfy him there – she likes her men simple and pliable and indulgent to her whims).
The noon sun beats down on them, hot enough that she wishes she'd thought to bring a hat.
Still, she wants to make the most of the day, an unusually nice one for their town, where cloudy is the usual forecast, and so she drags Aleksander over to the ice-cream truck (she notices he doesn't complain, and that he picks a giant ice-cream out for himself) and then they sit down together on a grassy knoll to eat their ice-cream and people-watch.
The heat gets to her enough that she tugs off her t-shirt, leaning back for a brief sunbathing session.
When she opens her eyes after a few minutes, Aleksander leans over to twang one of the shoulder straps of her black lace bra, "I do like this colour on you, milaya."
His hand moves down, thumb brushing ever so briefly across her breasts, making her shiver.
Anticipation. Arousal. Desire.
He pulls back then, since they are in public, after all.
That's alright, though, she knows his mind now.
Later, when they sit next to each other in the dining room as Luda lays out her wedding vision (without asking for any input from her fiancé), Aleksander's hand rests on Alina's thigh, driving her slowly crazy.
It's a good thing, really, that none of her family are paying any attention to her. One proper look at her face and she's sure they'd be able to tell what was going on.
Her parents have hired a room at the town's fanciest hotel for Aleksander and Luda's engagement party.
Idly, Alina wonders if they'll be annoyed at all that money wasted when the relationship falls apart. She refuses to feel bad – Luda got fancy parties for countless birthdays, graduations and numerous minor achievements. Alina gets a nice cake on her birthday and a bank transfer "so you can go out and celebrate with your friends, dear."
It's the same story as usual with the guests.
Oh, little Alina. How old are you now, sixteen?
You paint pictures, don't you? Well, I suppose not everyone can be as bright and driven as our Luda.
I didn't see you there, Alina.
If you can be even a fraction as successful as your sister, Alina, you'll be doing well.
What have you done to your face, Alina? You really should take a page out of your sister's book and stick with just earrings – it may well harm your chances on the career ladder to have a nose piercing, they're so unseemly.
She's in the corner of the room, trying to eat her weight in buffet food and hide from relatives who all seem to want to compare her unfavourably to her sister, when Aleksander appears, grabs her wrist and tugs her through the doorway.
"Where are we going, Sasha?" she asks him, "you know they're going to miss you, right – you're Luda's fiancé, remember."
He waves his hand, "don't worry, I told them I had to Facetime Ulla so they won't come looking."
And, of course, they won't miss Alina. They never do.
He ushers her into an elevator and as soon as the doors close his lips crash against hers, hungrily devouring her mouth.
She isn't bothered that this elevator probably has CCTV and they're likely giving the security guards a show. All Alina cares about is that he's kissing her like a man about to go off to war and she's never been so turned on in her entire life.
"This dress," he looks her up and down after they break apart, breathless and dishevelled, "this fucking dress, Alina."
It's a new purchase, made right after his comment about the colour black. She's usually partial to brighter colours, but for an evening event the dress is perfect, especially as it has the added bonus of clearly driving Aleksander wild.
"Everyone is telling me how lovely Luda looks, wearing some hideous shapeless thing that a society wife thirty years older than her would pick out. But you, Alina, are temptation incarnate. Tell me, did you wear it for me?"
Perhaps she should be coy, but she doesn't want that, not with him, "you did say the colour suited me."
"So I did, milaya," he agrees, hand stroking at the silk as he dips his head to mouth at her neck.
"Sasha," she murmurs, "please, please."
She wishes his hands and his mouth could be everywhere at once, every touch driving her wild with anticipation.
"Impatient little thing, aren't you," he laughs, biting down gently, making her scramble for purchase as she goes weak at the knees.
The elevator shudders to a stop and the door opens with a ding, Alina hastily trying to smooth her hair, although there is nothing that she can really do to hide the marks on her neck.
"You've got a room?"
"As fun as it would be to fuck you in your childhood bedroom, Alina, it runs a few too many risks. This will give us far more privacy."
She's known, deep down, almost since the moment he walked into the house on Luda's arm, that this is where they were going to end up. Still, to have it so imminent, close enough to taste … it's intoxicating.
"You're a terrible little thing, aren't you, Alina," his smile is sharp as he unlocks their hotel room and ushers her inside, "you don't give a damn about ruining your sister's engagement."
She tosses her head back, uncaring, "maybe I'd care more if she'd ever even tried to love me. Besides, we both know I'm doing her a favour – she's no match for someone like you. Not like me."
He hums his agreement as he helps her slide her dress down, letting out an appreciate groan at the sight of the scraps of black lace masquerading as underwear, "like calls to like, milaya. A connection like ours, it doesn't come along very often."
Alina pulls at his tie and tosses it to the side, her nimble fingers then making quick work of the buttons on his shirt. As she works on his belt buckle, he unhooks her bra, leaning down to scrape his teeth over one of her nipples.
"Sasha," she whines, yanking at his trousers in an attempt to hurry things along.
"Hush, milaya," he says with a gentle reprimand, "I'm savouring you."
"But I need you," she insists, hooking one leg around his waist, almost crashing into him so she can rub up against the prominent bulge in his boxers.
"You're a brat, little girl," he growls, even as he rocks his hips, "I should spank you."
She perks up. It's not something she's ever tried – she's only ever slept with Mal (big mistake, giant let-down, no idea how he's got the impression he's god's gift to women) and like hell was she going to trust him with it.
He grins at her clear interest, "you like that idea, don't you, Alina. Perhaps a treat for another day. For now, I want to see you."
Alina shimmies out of her panties, lets him guide her towards the bed as he palms his erection through his boxers.
She falls back onto the sheets as gracefully as she can and he drops to his knees at the foot of the bed, grabbing hold of her legs and shifting them over his shoulders before he dips his head and licks into her without even a warning.
She shrieks, then moans. She's heard stories from a couple of the girls at school, about this, but they always preface it with how rare it is and how much guys complain about doing it and that, even if they do offer, they're not always any good.
Aleksander, though, is … well, he's phenomenal.
It doesn't matter that she's got nothing to measure his performance against, she just knows. His tongue is sinfully clever, and when he slips his fingers inside her, crooking them just right, reaching inside her in a way she's never managed by herself, she can't quite believe her luck.
How, she wonders, can Luda have this man in her bed and only want the most boring, vanilla sex imaginable.
The things Alina wants to do to him. The things she'd let him do to her.
If this is real, she's going to be thankful every day. And if it's just a game to him (and she doesn't think it is, believes he's being genuine with her, at least) then she's going to make it so interesting that he'll keep playing with her for the rest of their lives.
As his fingers pump in and out of her, Aleksander mouths at her clit, driving her ever closer to the edge.
"Please, Sasha, pleasepleaseplease."
"You beg so prettily, milaya. Come for me now, there's a good girl."
He curls the two fingers inside her, and uses his other hand to rub her clit, and then Alina sees stars.
Bright, white light, a wave of pleasure crashing over her, a high-pitched scream as she orgasms.
When she comes back to herself, Aleksander is lying next to her, entirely naked now, fingers tracing patterns on her bare breasts, her nipples tightening at the sensations.
She giggles playfully and nudges him so he rolls over onto his back and she can straddle him, rocking against him, "my turn to be in charge?"
He doesn't seem like a man who'll give up control often and that's ok, Alina kind of likes the idea of someone else doing all the thinking, letting her just enjoy it all. For now, though, she wants to see if he'll yield to her every now and then.
His eyes sparkle, as if he knows exactly what she's thinking, "by all means, Alina, go ahead."
She's never actually tried this position before, the couple of times she slept with Mal disappointingly dull, but she's read enough online to know the mechanics.
She straddles his legs and his hands settle on her waist as she shifts forward and up onto her knees.
Then, with a deep breath, content that her previous orgasm has made her wet enough for this, she lowers herself down ever so slightly.
Oh. Ah. Oh.
She likes this.
It takes her a while for her to fully seat herself on him, pausing every now and then to get used to his size, especially since it's been months since she broke up with Mal.
It feels so good, though, and she sighs happily as Aleksander runs his hand over her thighs.
She moves, trying to find a rhythm that works, pleased when he rocks his hips up in tandem.
One of his hands rests on her hip, keeping her steady, while the other reaches up to tweak her nipples.
Something is building, but it's not quite enough, so she raises herself back up and then slips down quickly, letting out a stream of swear words, while Aleksander shouts hoarsely as she clenches around him.
"There you go, milaya," he murmurs, "so perfect … right there."
It doesn't take long after that for Alina to find herself incapable of coherent speech, rocking against him frantically and without any sort of coordination until she comes for a second time, this orgasms even more powerful than the first.
She shudders through the aftershocks and Aleksander lets out a satisfied grunt as he comes too, flooding her with warmth.
After a few moments, breathing heavily, Alina gingerly lifts herself off him and slumps down next to him on the bed.
"That was …" she trails off, entirely unable to formulate an appropriate description that isn't mostly swear words.
"Yeah," he agrees, brushing his hair back, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, "it was indeed."
They'll have to shower, re-dress and slip downstairs as if none of this ever happened (although it did, and they won't forget it).
For now, though, they lay in each other's arms and delight in finding such an excellent match.
The next morning, Alina wakes to chaos downstairs and the news that Aleksander has vanished in the middle of the night, leaving behind a terse, cold note that tells Luda he can't marry her.
She stays smugly silent as Luda rants and raves about her broken engagement and how humiliating it all is coming the day after their engagement party and how despicable she finds the lack of explanation from Aleksander.
Briefly, Alina worries that she won't be able to hide her true feelings if Luda turns to her and demands sympathy. She needn't have worried, though – her sister pays no attention whatsoever to Alina.
When Luda goes back to New York, her things already given by Aleksander into the safe-keeping of one of her friends, Alina carefully packs her entire room up and follows her sister to the same city for her degree.
She slots into Aleksander's apartment (which bears no signs that it was once Aleksander and Luda's apartment) with an ease that surprises even her.
There are teething problems, of course, little kinks to work out, but that's always the case when you're moving in with someone for the first time (and especially so when you only met that person a few weeks previously).
Some things are inevitable, though. Some people just suit. Sometimes what an angry girl tired of being overlooked and devastatingly effective with her revenge needs is an intense, viciously manipulative man who looks at her like she's the sun and thinks her actions are those of a clever, resourceful young woman rather than those of a crazed little girl.
Four years later and Alina has graduated, preparing for her first proper art show with the help of her new friend Genya, whose ability to plan an amazing event on a shoe-string budget is extremely helpful.
She's happy, really and truly. She's made friends during her time at university (bubbly Nina and stoic Matthias, charming Nikolai and vivacious Zoya, and Genya, of course, who is the sister she always wished she had) and met those closest to Aleksander (his surly but loyal best friend Ivan, Ivan's cheerful husband Fedyor, and Aleksander's delightful whirlwind of a sister Ulla).
That Christmas, she carefully addresses a card to her family. She's sent a generic one every year since she left after her high school graduation, the only communication she has had with them since she started university and one that is not returned since she has not, of course, given them the contact address that would be so familiar to Luda.
She's very pleased with this personalised card, which bears the message Merry Christmas from the Morozov Family and shows Alina and Aleksander (he in his usual black and she in a sunshine yellow dress – inappropriate colours for Christmas, but Alina is wearing a Santa hat that clashes horribly with her dress as a nod to the season) in a tight embrace, his hand resting lovingly on her prominent bump (the baby is due in February and will probably be the most spoiled child in existence, especially since Genya and Ivan seem determined to do battle on who will be the favourite godparent).
It's petty beyond belief, of course. After all, she hadn't bothered to notify her family when she and Aleksander got married a year previously. Still, sometimes a girl just needed to be a little mean, and Aleksander is indulgent enough to go along with her wishes.
A few days later, Alina imagines she hears a screech of fury echoing over state lines and she grins.
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.
You can find me on Twitter under the username Keira_63. At the moment I pretty much just post mini prompt fics.