Elena closed another Excel spreadsheet with a quiet sigh and rubbed her tired eyes. The monitor cast a soft glow through the dim emptiness of the office, its light reflecting in the large panoramic windows. Neat piles of invoices, delivery notes, and contracts covered her desk. The event-planning agency Empire of Celebration, where Elena had worked as chief accountant for five years, was in the middle of its busiest season.
To clients, it was a place where dreams came true: fairytale weddings, grand anniversaries, lavish corporate parties. But to Elena, all that magic boiled down to dry, merciless numbers. She saw the reverse side of other people’s vanity.
That very morning, she had processed a payment for three hundred thousand rubles — and that was only for the floral decoration of the guest area at one single wedding. Three hundred thousand for flowers that would wilt in two days. Elena was practical by nature and used to strict budgeting, so amounts like that still made her shudder inwardly, even though outwardly she remained a calm professional.
She turned off her computer, carefully placed her pens back into the organizer, and put on her light coat. It was time to return to real life. A life without cascades of orchids or crystal glasses costing five thousand apiece, but with its own ordinary, earthly concerns.
At home, her husband Maxim was waiting for her. The moment Elena opened the front door, she smelled the sharp chemical odor of solvent.
“Lena, is that you?” Maxim’s muffled voice came from the living room. “Don’t take your shoes off there, I put newspapers down!”
Elena walked into the room and, despite her exhaustion, could not help smiling. Her husband was crouched in the middle of the living room, furiously scraping their brand-new, carefully chosen flooring with a putty knife.
“Giving up?” she asked sympathetically, crouching down beside him.
“This yellow Moment glue is a spawn of hell,” Maxim said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and leaving a gray streak of dust across his skin. “It has eaten into the light quartz vinyl like it was born there. I’ve already tried three different solvents. I got distracted for one second during the renovation, dripped some on the floor, and that was it. A stain right in the middle of the room.”
“We’ll get it off,” Elena said, encouragingly touching his shoulder. “We’ve cleaned worse things before. How are the calculations for the partition wall?”
“Done,” Maxim said, suddenly brightening as he set the putty knife aside. “I recalculated everything according to the drawings. To build a proper wall and separate the walk-in closet, we need exactly three hundred and eighty bricks. Plus cement, plaster… Overall, we’ll stay within our monthly budget if we don’t splurge.”
“Excellent. We’re doing well,” Elena said, looking around their apartment with quiet satisfaction.
They had bought it with a mortgage two years earlier, pouring every last kopeck into the down payment. The apartment had been in terrible condition, so they were renovating it themselves, step by step, saving on contractors and putting their souls into every inch. It was their shared project, their nest, the reason they had given up seaside vacations and expensive restaurants.
At that moment, the cozy evening silence was shattered by the sharp ring of Maxim’s phone. The screen read: “Mom.” Maxim sighed heavily and answered.
“Yes, Mom. Hi.”
Elena could hear her mother-in-law’s loud, commanding voice even from arm’s length away. Zinaida Petrovna did not know how to speak quietly. She announced things.
“Maxim! You and Elena will be at my place this Saturday! Both of you!” his mother declared, leaving no room for argument. “I’m making my signature goose with apples. We have a major family event. Denis has proposed to Milana! We’re holding a family council. Objections are not accepted. I expect you at three!”
Short beeps marked the end of the call. Maxim looked at Elena apologetically.
“A family council,” he said. “Goose with apples. That means it’s serious.”
“Denis is getting married…” Elena said slowly, feeling an unpleasant premonition settle somewhere beneath her ribs. “Interesting. With what money? Didn’t he quit yet another car dealership three months ago because they ‘failed to recognize his potential’?”
“Maybe he found a new job,” Maxim suggested without much confidence. “Or maybe Milana is sponsoring it. Anyway, we’ll go, congratulate them, get away with giving them a toaster, and come back to our quartz vinyl.”
If only they had known exactly what kind of “toaster” Zinaida Petrovna had prepared for them.
On Saturday afternoon, his mother’s apartment greeted them with suffocating heat and the smells of roasted meat, garlic, and heavy perfume. Zinaida Petrovna bustled about the kitchen, clattering dishes as if she were commanding an artillery unit.
In the living room, seated in the place of honor on the large velour sofa, was the hero of the occasion himself — Denis. Maxim’s younger brother, seven years his junior, had always been the family favorite. Tall, handsome, and permanently wearing a condescending smile, he was used to getting everything on demand. Beside him sat Milana, a striking young woman with perfectly straight hair, eyelash extensions, and a gaze that seemed to evaluate the world exclusively through the lens of price.
“Oh, the elders have arrived,” Denis said lazily, without getting up from the sofa. “Come in, sit down.”
Milana gave a silent nod, deliberately fixing her hair with her left hand so the diamond on her ring finger caught the chandelier light.
“Congratulations,” Maxim said sincerely, shaking his brother’s hand. “That’s a good thing. When are you planning it?”
“In August!” Zinaida Petrovna announced solemnly as she entered the room carrying a huge platter with the roasted goose. “The perfect season! Beautiful weather, warmth! Sit down at the table before everything gets cold.”
The family lunch began in the usual way: the weather, his mother’s ailments, and endless praise for Denis. Zinaida Petrovna talked without pause, describing what a beautiful couple they made and what genius children they would surely have. Elena ate quietly, joining the conversation with polite nods. She knew this mood of her mother-in-law’s very well: excessive praise was always followed by a trap.
Finally, when the plates were empty and an enormous cake appeared in the center of the table, Zinaida Petrovna dabbed her lips with a napkin, folded her hands together, and gave her older son and daughter-in-law a long, meaningful look.
“Well, now to the main point,” she said, her voice taking on a solemn, businesslike tone. “As you understand, a wedding is no small matter. It is the beginning of a new life. And that beginning must be worthy. Milanочка is a girl from a good family, and we have no right to embarrass ourselves in front of the in-laws.”
“I completely agree, Mom,” Maxim nodded. “If you need help — moving things, for example, or driving people around on the wedding day — I’m always ready.”
Zinaida Petrovna gave a patronizing little smile, like a teacher listening to a foolish first-grader.
“Anyone can move things, Maxim. We are talking about organizing the wedding. And here, all our hope is on you and Lena.”
Elena immediately became alert. Her internal accounting alarm went off.
“What do you mean by on us, Zinaida Petrovna?” she asked gently, though there was a chill in her voice. “I can give you contacts for reliable vendors: photographers, decorators, hosts. I have excellent specialists in my database who won’t let you down.”
“She’ll give contacts!” her mother-in-law snorted, exchanging a look with Denis. “Lena, don’t pretend you don’t understand. You work as chief accountant at the most elite event agency in town! You have connections, discounts, access to management. But that’s not even the point. You two are the older ones. Denis is your only brother, Maxim! Your father and I are pensioners; we can’t afford this. So the family council has decided: you will take care of organizing and paying for the wedding. That will be your gift to the newlyweds.”
A thick, ringing silence fell over the room. It seemed as if even the refrigerator in the kitchen stopped humming in astonishment. Elena slowly lowered her teacup back onto the saucer so the slight tremor in her hands would not show.
She looked at her husband. Maxim’s face had gone slack. His mouth opened slightly, like a fish thrown onto the shore, as he tried to find words.
“Mom… are you joking?” he finally forced out hoarsely. “What do you mean, paying for the wedding?”
“What’s so strange about it?” Zinaida Petrovna asked, sincerely outraged, red patches appearing on her cheeks. “You are two grown, working adults! You don’t have children, so your expenses are minimal. You live for yourselves!”
“Zinaida Petrovna,” Elena said, taking a deep breath and calling upon all her professional composure — the same composure that helped her deal with tax inspectors. “I think you don’t fully understand the kind of sums involved. What kind of wedding do Denis and Milana want?”
Milana, who until then had behaved like beautiful furniture, suddenly came to life. Her eyes glittered greedily.
“Well, we’ve sketched out a rough plan,” she chirped, pulling her phone from her handbag. “There will be about a hundred guests. Relatives, my girlfriends, Denis’s friends. We want the banquet at a country club by the water. Tents, an outdoor ceremony. A real arch made of fresh peonies — that’s my dream! We need a well-known host, maybe someone from television. A good cover band. And the décor should be in powder pink and gold tones. Lena, you’re in this world, you know better!”
Elena listened to this stream of fantasies while a calculator spun furiously in her mind, producing a final figure at terrifying speed.
“Milana,” Elena said, looking the young woman straight in the eyes. “Just an arch made of fresh premium peonies out of season — and August is already out of season for peonies — will cost around two hundred and fifty thousand rubles. Including the florists’ work.”
The smile slipped from Milana’s face. Denis frowned.
“Oh, come on, don’t make things up!” he scoffed. “A quarter of a million for a bunch of flowers? Do you take us for idiots?”
“I take you for people who don’t know the market,” Elena replied calmly. “A banquet for one hundred people at a decent country club costs at least seven thousand rubles per person, not including alcohol. That’s seven hundred thousand just for food. A media host starts from three hundred thousand for the evening. A cover band is another one hundred and fifty. Then there’s sound, lighting, tent rental, décor, photography, videography… The wedding you just described will cost no less than two and a half million rubles. And that’s a very modest estimate.”
Zinaida Petrovna turned pale, but quickly pulled herself together.
“That is exactly why we’re entrusting it to you, Lena! You’re an accountant! You’ll find ways to save. You’ll use your channels, negotiate discounts!”
“Mom, this isn’t about discounts!” Maxim finally found his voice. He struck the table with his palm, making the cups clink pitifully. “Where are we supposed to get two million? We pay a mortgage! We’re doing renovations! We count bricks one by one so we don’t buy too many! Yesterday we spent the whole evening on our knees scraping glue off the floor because we didn’t want to hire workers!”
“Oh, don’t pretend you’re poor!” Zinaida Petrovna waved him off contemptuously, her voice rising to a shout. “I know perfectly well what your situation is! Maxim let it slip once! You put all your spare money into those… what are they called… stocks! Federal loan bonds! Lending money to the government! You’ve built up a decent amount in those accounts. So withdraw it! Your own brother needs it more than the government does!”
Elena felt a cold, calculated fury rise inside her. She and Maxim had spent years building that safety cushion. They bought conservative, reliable stocks and bonds so they could have stable income, so they would not be left helpless in case of an emergency, so they could one day pay off the mortgage early. That money was their confidence in tomorrow, their blood and labor turned into securities. And now her mother-in-law wanted them to burn their future on powder-gold tents and a celebrity toastmaster.
“Zinaida Petrovna,” Elena said quietly, but there was such steel in her voice that Denis shifted uncomfortably. “Our investments are our private money. They are untouchable. That is our fund for early mortgage repayment and for the future of our children when we have them. I will not withdraw a single ruble to pay for someone else’s party for one hundred guests.”
“Oh, a party?!” her mother-in-law clutched her chest theatrically and leaned back against the sofa. “This is your brother’s wedding! His only brother! You greedy, calculating woman! I always knew you would put Maxim under your heel! Sitting on money like a dog in the manger, like a dragon guarding gold!”
“Mom, stop it!” Maxim jumped up from the table, his face flushed. “Lena is right. We are not obligated to finance someone else’s whims. Denis, you’re twenty-five. You want a wedding worth millions? Go ahead. Open HeadHunter, update your résumé, find remote work or a proper office job, work hard for a couple of years, and then celebrate wherever you want, even in the Maldives.”
“I… you…” Denis choked on his outrage, his face twisting with offense. “You’re just jealous! Because you didn’t have a proper wedding yourselves. You just signed papers at the registry office!”
“We signed papers because we were saving for a down payment, Denis,” Maxim said wearily. “And now we live in our own apartment, not on Mom’s neck.”
“Get out of my house!” Zinaida Petrovna screamed, pointing a trembling finger toward the door. Tears streamed down her cheeks, smearing her mascara. “Don’t set foot here again until you apologize! Traitors! Misers!”
Elena silently stood, picked up her handbag, and headed for the hallway. Maxim followed. As they put on their shoes, they could hear his mother sobbing in the living room and Milana’s indignant voice, apparently already realizing that the peony arch was being canceled.
They stepped outside. The air felt unbelievably fresh and light. Elena breathed deeply, feeling the tension leave her body. She looked at her husband. Maxim looked exhausted, but there was relief in his eyes.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said quietly, opening the car door for her. “I didn’t think Mom would go that far.”
“You don’t have to apologize for someone else’s shamelessness,” Elena said, gently touching his hand. “Thank you for standing by me. I was afraid you might give in to her manipulation.”
“I love my brother,” Maxim sighed as he started the engine. “But I’m not blind. And I love our family. Ours. Our plans matter more to me than his showing off.”
They spent the rest of the day at home as if washing away the sticky greed of strangers. For dinner, they ordered pizza — no more complicated dishes and ceremonial speeches.
That evening, they settled on the sofa. To shake off the stress, Maxim opened his favorite sandbox game on his laptop — a survival game in a blocky world. Elena smiled as she watched his character run along a pixelated beach.
“Where are you headed?” she asked, biting into a slice of pizza.
“I crafted a recovery compass,” Maxim explained enthusiastically, clicking the mouse. “I’m trying to find the place where I accidentally died yesterday so I can get my stuff back. Then I’ll follow a treasure map. They say there’s a chest with diamonds buried somewhere around here. The main thing is to orient myself properly by the cardinal directions.”
“Just make sure you don’t spend all the diamonds on tents and peonies,” Elena joked.
Maxim laughed, loudly and sincerely, and that laughter finally chased away the shadows of the day.
Elena turned on the television and found her favorite series. Familiar synthesizer music from the opening credits began to play, and neon letters appeared on the screen. It was a mystical story about teenagers from the eighties fighting monsters from a parallel dimension. Elena always watched it to relax. The monsters on the screen seemed clear and predictable — unlike relatives demanding millions for a banquet.
Five months passed.
Life went on. Elena continued to balance accounts with masterful precision at the agency, still amazed by people’s endless appetite for extravagance. The renovation in their apartment was nearing completion: the cursed glue had finally been removed from the flooring, and the brand-new, perfectly straight partition wall made of those exact three hundred and eighty bricks was already plastered and waiting to be painted.
Zinaida Petrovna did not call them for three months. She was waiting for her older son to come crawling back on his knees, begging forgiveness and waving a bundle of money. But Maxim only called on major holidays, offered brief congratulations, and hung up before his mother had a chance to start another scandal.
The fate of Denis’s wedding unfolded in the most predictable and ordinary way. Once Milana realized there would be no free millions, and that Denis himself was incapable of earning enough even for a modest celebration, her enthusiasm cooled sharply. The peony arch had to be abandoned. So did the country club, the celebrity host, and the cover band.
The wedding took place in mid-August. It was a modest civil ceremony at the district registry office. Denis wore an old suit he had bought for his graduation, while Milana appeared in a simple white dress from a mass-market store, her face sour and displeased. Only the parents from both sides and a couple of friends attended.
Elena and Maxim were never invited to the registration. Zinaida Petrovna crossed them off the guest list as punishment for their “betrayal.”
Elena found out by accident when she saw the photos on a relative’s social media page. She looked at the gloomy faces of the newlyweds, at her mother-in-law’s forced smile, and felt nothing. No gloating. No guilt.
She closed the browser tab, opened her bank statement, and noted with satisfaction that the latest bond payment had been credited to their account. The numbers were clear, correct, and honest. Unlike some people, they never lied and never demanded anything in return.
That evening, when Maxim came home from work, they would go to the hardware store to choose paint for the new wall. And to Elena, that was the best and most proper celebration of all — one that required no decorations and no fake smiles.