— Oh, Veronika, what an inconvenience! — Rimma Arkadjevna raised her hand, the thick gold bracelets jingling with the motion. She carefully set the crystal pitcher back on the table. Her lips pressed together, forming a look of sympathy, but her eyes sparkled with secret delight.
— My hands went completely weak. I just wanted to pour a sip of juice, and you moved right then…In the large room furnished with a round table, lined with platters of baked gray catfish and crystal salads, a sudden silence fell.
Then a quiet giggle erupted. My husband’s aunt, a hefty woman in a ridiculous sequined dress, put down her fork.— It’s okay, Rimma, — she chuckled, wiping her mouth with a napkin. — The color suits her… like a vegetable vendor’s apron. Vera is used to dirty work anyway.
I sat up straight, looking at the ruined dress. Around us, life went on in the countryside eco-hotel, Stepped Lakes, in its banquet hall. A jazz band played, silver cutlery clinked, waiters hurried in their crisp white shirts.
Rimma Arkadjevna celebrated her birthday with royal splendor. A place I had begged my husband not to bring me. But Stasz, as always, went his own way.My husband sat to my right. When the pitcher tilted toward me, he didn’t move. Now he nervously adjusted his tight collar, pretending to study the drink menu.
— Stasz, ask the waiter to bring a wet wipe, — I said calmly.— Come on, Vera, go to the bathroom yourself and wash it out, — he waved, not looking at me. — Mom only did it by accident… Don’t make an elephant out of a flea.
— Pitchers don’t tip over at this angle by accident, — I whispered, but everyone at the table heard.Rimma Arkadjevna dramatically clutched her chest.— Look at this! I invited her sincerely into a respectable company, and she’s insolent even to me! — she raised her voice.
— “Go to your little nest, poor girl!” — she laughed while watching me dab the juice with a napkin. — She stuck to my son, and now she dares raise her voice!I stopped cleaning the dress. I placed the wrinkled burgundy napkin on the edge of the table.
Seven years ago, I really did get off the train at the small-town station in a thin coat and a cheap leather bag. My hometown, Zarechensk, was slowly dying after the factory closed. Staying would have meant giving up everything.
At the Stepped Lakes hotel, I first started as a cleaner in the wellness section. I collected wet towels, scrubbed pool tiles, inhaled chlorine fumes for twelve hours straight. Stasz thought I was just organizing papers in the storeroom. It was better that way: he was the successful man, I was the provincial “little lady.”
In reality, Stasz was an average salesperson. He spent his salary on the company car and his mother’s needs. I paid for groceries, rent, the household.By the second year, working as a cleaner, I noticed strange disappearances of expensive cosmetics. Empty jars in the trash.
I checked procedures, made spreadsheets. The next day, the boss, Boris Leonidovich, called me in with a serious face. A week later, the wellness manager was fired, I became a warehouse assistant, then weekend accounting courses, sleepless nights over Excel tables.
Three years ago, the crisis hit. The hotel was drowning in debt. Suppliers were demanding payment, occupancy was critical. Boris Leonidovich fell ill. I negotiated with suppliers for days, cut costs, sought new investors. I saved the hotel from the red. Then Boris offered a deal: I would take full control and the debts, and he would transfer majority ownership to me.
— Vera, you’re like a stone statue! — her aunt’s voice pulled me back to reality. — Go wash up, you’re ruining everyone’s appetite.The jazz suddenly stopped. In the middle of the stage, a tall, dark-suited host stepped up to the microphone.
— Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention! — his deep baritone filled the hall. — Tonight, the hotel management would like to make an important announcement…Rimma Arkadjevna adjusted her hairstyle with satisfaction.
— Surely it’s praise from the manager, — she whispered to her neighbor.— Tonight, it’s not just a family celebration that’s special, — the host continued. — There is someone here who has been running this place invisibly for the past three years.
And tonight, she officially takes the helm. Please welcome the new owner and CEO of Stepped Lakes — Vera Nikolaevna!The spotlight blinded me.My husband’s face contorted. Almost supernatural terror was written on him.— Ver… — he groaned. — Who did you say is the owner now?
I didn’t answer. I slowly raised my lush blonde shoulders and walked through the glowing eyes toward the stage. The burgundy stain looked almost black in the light, but I didn’t cover it.I didn’t start recounting the story of my success. When I took the microphone:
— Good evening! I’m glad to have everyone here at Stepped Lakes. Thank you for your trust, and I promise our service will only improve. Enjoy the evening!The audience applauded.My husband jumped up hysterically, almost toppling a glass.— You… you bought the hotel? With what?! We live on our salaries!
— You paid for the car loan and your mother’s mink coat — I said calmly. — We lived on my money. Or, rather, we did until now.Through the kitchen door, I stepped into the fresh night, the air scented with wet earth, pine bark, and the cool breeze from the nearby lake. My phone vibrated in my pocket — Stasz was calling, I blocked him.
Ahead of me were quarterly reports, supplier negotiations, repairs… but there was no weak husband or arrogant mother-in-law among them.Tomorrow would be my first day as full-fledged owner — and I knew it would be a wonderful day.