“Yes,” she says.
“That’s incredible. Oh my god, Lara, I can’t believe it!”
“Are you glad?” she asks, looking up at me with those big dark eyes.
“Am I glad? I’ve never been so happy in my life!”
“Me too,” she says, eyes bright with tears.
I hold her face between my hands and I kiss her lips, her cheeks, her forehead, every inch of her. I can’t get enough of her, or enough of this moment.
And then I realize why she’s come here. Why she won’t be testifying against her father.
Lara sees it in my eyes, that I understand.
“Do you think I’m making the right choice?” she says.
“It’s the only choice,” I tell her, kissing her again.
I would never have guessed what this day was going to bring.
But I’m so goddamn glad.
28
Lara
If I get married, I want to be very married.
Audrey Hepburn
The first of May is my wedding day.
Two grooms wait at the altar for the two brides.
The ceremony takes place in the chapel of the monastery, which Dom tells me is now called the “War Room,” or the place where Dom and Ivan make their plans. Whatever purpose it might serve generally, it’s still one of the most stunning rooms in the house, with all the original stained-glass windows and the bare wood beams supporting the airy vaults of the ceiling.
Someone has filled the space with white roses—thousands and thousands of them. I know it wasn’t me, and I doubt it was Sloane—she’s many things, but not domestic. I doubt it was Ivan either. He’d be more likely to give Sloane a new handgun or a bouquet of grenades, which would be more than welcome to her. So it must have been Dom. Sometimes he tells me that my perfume smells like rose.
The scent of all the flowers is light and intoxicating. The doors of the chapel stand open, letting in the clean spring breeze.
None of the pews remain in the chapel, but the Petrov men are sitting in the chairs brought in from the dining hall. I know them all by now: Efrem, Jasha, Maks, Oleg, Andrei, Vadim, and Zima. They’re dressed nicer than I’ve ever seen them, which means that they’ve all combed their hair and put on shirts with buttons.
It strikes me that none of us have family to invite. I mean, most of the men are related to Ivan and Dom one way or another, with the exception of Zima, but there are no parents or grandparents in attendance.
In a way, it’s comforting.
I was born into a family ruled by cruelty.
Now I’m marrying into the family of my choice. We’ve all chosen each other. We’re here because we want to be, not because of an accident of birth.
The wedding date had already been set by Ivan and Sloane—apparently after Ivan won a bet. But they kindly invited us to share the day.
I couldn’t wait much longer, not if I wanted to fit into a normal dress. Already this one is getting tight across the belly, though Dom tells me I couldn’t possibly look any more beautiful than I do at this moment.
When I see the look on his face, I feel beautiful.
Dom is wearing a proper tuxedo, slate gray, with a white bloom in the lapel. He’s shaved his face for once, so he looks young and handsome and ridiculously happy. He hasn’t cut his hair though, and I’m glad he hasn’t. It’s almost down to his shoulders.
He’s grinning at me. I’m smiling back so hard that my cheeks hurt.
Ivan is wearing a black suit and he’s also smiling, more than usual at least. He’s looking down the aisle at Sloane the way he always does—like she’s the only other human in the world.
Sloane’s dress is a plain silk sheath with a stark black sash at the waist. It suits her perfectly. She’s so stunning that anything else would only be a distraction.
My dress is light and soft and floats around me like a cloud. It looks a little vintage and a little bohemian. It’s long enough that I can wear comfortable shoes underneath, because my feet are already starting to swell.
Efrem is also wearing a proper suit, because he’s the one who’s going to perform the ceremony. He got his minister’s license for the occasion. He’s finally walking normally again, his calf all healed. It was Pavel who shot him, Dom told me for certain. I don’t know exactly how it happened, but Efrem doesn’t seem to hold a grudge against me, for which I’m grateful.
Once Sloane and I have joined our lovers at the altar—Sloane with a saucy wink to Ivan, and me reaching over to give Dom’s hand a quick squeeze—Efrem stands between us and clears his throat.
“What a blessed day it is,” he says, “to see our beloved boss finally accepted by someone . . . anyone . . . probably the only person who could stand him for long.”
The men laugh, while Efrem tries to keep his solemn expression in place.
“And then there’s Dom—what a classic little brother move, to try and beat Ivan to marriage and fatherhood. Dom, we all knew you’d get married, but we’re surprised it’s to a woman and one you didn’t have to order out of a catalogue.”
Dom laughs along with the others, giving me a playful wink, while Ivan looks like he’ll allow one more joke before he snaps Efrem’s neck.
Efrem, sensing the same thing, takes a step away from Ivan, so he’s standing closer to Dom instead.
“While the rest of us are a bit jealous, we’re hoping for some time off during the honeymoon—“
“No,” Ivan interjects.
“And maybe some cash bonuses—“
“Not happening.”
“Or maybe a belated bachelor party.”
Ivan scowls and fixes Efrem with a withering stare.
“Efrem,” he says, in his most brutal tone. “If you don’t finish this fucking wedding in five seconds, I’m going to shoot you exactly where Lara’s father shot you before and throw you back in the river. I’ve already waited too long.”
He turns his eyes on Sloane, looking like he wants to devour her whole.
Dom grabs both my hands and pulls me close. He’s not waiting, either. I look up into his handsome face, into those warm brown eyes that make me feel swallowed up in happiness.
“Right,” Efrem says hastily. “Then with no further ado, I pronounce you man and wife. Both of you. All of you, I mean.”
Dom bends his head to kiss me, a kiss that goes on and on while the chapel erupts in cheers.
Much like our very first kiss in the museum, I don’t notice the people around us, or even the room we’re standing in. The only thing I can feel is this man who has captured me—literally—from the moment we met.
“Where’s the rings?” Ivan asks.
“Vot,” Dom says.
Ruslan trots over, carefully holding the box in his mouth.
Dom takes out one slim gold band and slips it on my finger. He kisses my hand over the top of the ring.
Ivan takes the other band, putting it on Sloane’s hand with a look of triumph.
The air fills with popping corks and bursts of foam as the men open a dozen bottles of champagne. The dining hall is filled with wine and liquor too, as well as endless tables of food. I know we’ll head in there soon.