Kirill Krasilnikov was in a rush. The night was already late, and he had barely started preparing for his mother’s birthday dinner. Svetlana Eduardovna, the woman who ran the empire, who could command respect just with a glance, was celebrating another year at the country house. Kirill dreaded these family dinners. It wasn’t the grand mansion, the luxurious catering, or even the abundance of fine wine that made him restless—it was the inevitable questions about his life, his single status, and his refusal to comply with his mother’s matchmaking schemes.
Today, the situation was more urgent. His mother’s birthday was a spectacle, an event where business partners, politicians, and socialites gathered. But Kirill had something else in mind. He had grown tired of the constant pressure to conform, so today, he planned a small, mischievous surprise that would catch everyone off guard—especially his mother.
As the clock ticked, he realized that he hadn’t even picked up flowers yet. In his desperation, he rushed to the only shop that was still open, a small, humble flower stall by the central market. Kirill never shopped in places like this. He usually bought his gifts from extravagant boutiques and made arrangements with the city’s best florists. But time was running out, and he couldn’t afford the luxury of time.
The shop was dimly lit, and there was a faint smell of fresh flowers mixed with the scent of cleaning products. Kirill called out for the seller, his patience wearing thin. It wasn’t like him to be so rude, but the day had been chaotic, and his nerves were frayed. He didn’t expect a response, but a voice from the back room shot back sharply.
“Why are you shouting like at the market? Can’t you wait?”
A young woman in a dark blue coat appeared. She wasn’t what Kirill expected. She was beautiful, but her beauty wasn’t the type that could be bought. It was simple, natural, and striking. Her sharp tone startled him, but something about her presence intrigued him.
“I need flowers for my mother’s birthday,” Kirill said quickly, brushing aside his irritation. “She’s a wealthy, elegant woman, and I need something special. Roses, preferably.”
The girl, still unbothered by his sudden outburst, began arranging the flowers with surprising skill. Kirill watched her hands, her natural grace despite her humble appearance. He was used to polished women, carefully curated looks, and a life built on appearances. Yet, something about this girl, this Liza, made him rethink the value of all that he had been taught to care about.
“Your mother, how old is she?” Liza asked as she worked.
“She doesn’t like to talk about her age,” Kirill replied with a sigh. “It’s one of those things she refuses to acknowledge.”
Liza chuckled, a warm, genuine laugh. “That’s funny. My grandma Matrena never remembered her age either. We always said she was sixteen, even though she was nearly seventy.”
Kirill found himself smiling at the thought. There was something refreshing about her.
“By the way,” Kirill said, a thought suddenly forming in his mind, “Would you be interested in helping me with a little… joke tonight? I could pay you for your time.”
Liza raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “What kind of joke?”
“Here’s the thing,” Kirill leaned in, lowering his voice. “It’s my mother’s birthday, and every year, she asks when I’ll get married. The aunts, the matchmakers—everyone’s on my case. I was thinking… if you came with me, posed as my wife for just one evening, it might teach them a lesson.”
Liza stared at him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, to his surprise, she smiled. “I think I can help with that.”
Kirill was taken aback. “Just like that?”
“Sure, why not? As long as it’s just for a laugh. And I can use the money.”
He hadn’t expected her to agree so easily, but something about her confidence struck a chord with him. They arranged to meet later at the dinner, and Kirill left the flower shop feeling a little lighter.
That evening, as Kirill introduced Liza to his mother and the guests, the room went silent. The elegant women in their designer dresses whispered behind their hands, while his mother’s face turned a shade of red that was hard to ignore. The tension was thick, but Kirill kept a straight face, secretly amused at the chaos he had caused.
As the night progressed, something unexpected happened. Liza wasn’t just a figure to entertain the guests. She effortlessly charmed everyone, making them forget about their snide comments and matchmaking schemes. The family dynamic shifted in an almost magical way. Kirill’s mother, though initially stunned, found herself intrigued by Liza’s wit and honesty.
The evening didn’t end with the usual bickering or awkward glances. Instead, as the guests left, Svetlana Eduardovna turned to her son.
“Kirill,” she said, with an unusual softness in her voice, “you always surprise me. But this one… this one was different.”
Kirill smiled, a genuine smile he hadn’t shared in years. “Maybe it’s time for something different, Mom.”
As Liza slipped out quietly, her role as his “wife” just a moment in time, Kirill realized something he hadn’t anticipated: he didn’t need to conform to expectations. What he truly wanted was someone who could see through the facade—and Liza had done just that.