Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
It’s a picture-perfect day. A picture-perfect setting. And while a string quartet plays instrumental music in the background, I can’t help but notice the palpable tension in the air.
Nikko and I are the lucky ones. We found love in the midst of hatred and truth in the midst of chaos.
I walk toward my future husband, waiting beneath the floral archway and surrounded by his brothers. It’s only the first of two weddings between our families, but in many ways, our union forges us together. Forward.
I can’t help but wonder what my father would’ve thought.
My mother stands ahead of me and I am prepared, proud even, to walk down the aisle alone. It feels fitting, really. I am making this choice. I am the one solidifying the link between his family and mine.
Outside, the late afternoon showers have stopped and the warm sun shines down on us. Our guests are standing when I reach Nikko. He reaches for my hands, and I don’t know if it’s on purpose or instinct, but he moves his body in front of mine to shield me from the crowd. “You look beautiful,” he says, bending down to kiss my cheek.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Our vows pass in a blur. I hold his gaze and speak with honesty and conviction. I hear every word he says when he repeats his. The priest officiates, and Nikko’s brothers are on constant alert, scanning the crowd for any trouble. As the ceremony proceeds, I notice a few subtle things—whispers among the guests and a few sidelong glances. Hints of tension in the air. Maybe not everyone’s pleased with this union, but we’ve made our decision. I’ve heard of some commotion at previous ceremonies, but ours goes off without a hitch.
Nikko stands beside Viktor, the intimidating one who bears a few scars and looks as strong as an ox. His best man. Lev and Ollie stand nearby as well—Lev, the youngest, sober and a bit aloof, and Ollie, with his piercing green eyes and enigmatic presence.
I wonder which one of them will marry my sister. I grin when one of his brothers places a gold crown on his head. I take mine as well, and even though we laugh, I feel the weight of that symbolism.
Queen. King. Rulers.
Nikko holds my hand in the air like a prized fighter, and the next thing I know, I’m swept off my feet. “I present to you our newly married couple, Mr. and Mrs. Romanov!” I squeal with laughter, and he practically runs with me to the reception area just as the clouds break open again and our good luck rain pours down in buckets. He’s absolutely soaked but manages to shield me from the downpour so I’m still mostly dry as we make it to the main home.
Uniformed staff stand waiting by the bar, and large round tables are filled with coordinating flowers. “So that’s it,” I say, grinning up at Nikko as he stares down at me. His hair is soaked, and there are large splotches of water all over his dress coat. He shrugs it off and tosses it on a chair. I let my eyes feast on his chiseled body that’s been practically poured into a tailored dress shirt.
“Mmm,” I say in a low whisper. I fist his tie and yank him over to me. “Tell me we can skip the ceremony, husband?”
It feels natural to call him that after pretending for all this time. It’s hard to believe that he is, indeed, my husband now. I’d guess it’s going to take me a while to fully embrace that.
We’re soon pulled into the festivities and let them do all their traditions. We break our dishes—a strange tradition, but one we follow nonetheless. It isn’t until we’re picking the pieces up together, also a part of the tradition, that the symbolism of our actions really hits me.
Picking up the broken pieces, we clean up the mess. . . together.
We start again. . . together.
We tie the literal knot in a handkerchief to strengthen the marriage bond, and Mikhail presents us with a loaf of bread and salt, supposedly a symbol of hospitality and prosperity. We take a bite together to signify our willingness to break bread together.
By the time we get to tossing the bouquet and garter to the crowd, one of the only traditions familiar enough to me, I feel like I could fall asleep standing up. Just like in traditional American weddings, whoever catches it is the next to marry. Though the single women nearly push each other out of the way to catch it, the bouquet lands squarely in Viktor’s large, rough hands.
He and Nikko share a look. Ekaterina’s eyes go wide. Mikhail only nods.
We will see about that, then.
The celebration continues with music, dancing, and a lavish dinner featuring gourmet, traditional Russian dishes, as well as decadent American fare. Even the cake looks like it was taken out of the pages of a glossy catalog—tall, immaculately white, and decorated with shaved chocolate.