Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 100417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
She’d put together a compilation of pictures from the last couple of months of Natalie and Aleks’s relationship.
Leaning in toward me, she said, “Keep your eye on Aleks in the pics. He fucking worships the ground Natalie walks on.”
It was true. He always had his gaze on his fiancée. Such devotion! Also interesting was the evolution of his expressions. At first, he looked stern and uncomfortable. As time passed he loosened up, even giving tentative smiles.
There were pictures of an older gentleman with twinkling blue eyes—must be Natalie’s birth father, Pavel Kovalev. As Natalie watched, tears welled. Even steely Aleks was moved.
The last frame was the date of the wedding with a message from Jess. “As you go about your married lives together, always remember: Dance like nobody’s watching.”
While there were a ton of Awws, I thought that was kind of lame.
Then another line appeared to complete the message. “Dance like nobody’s watching. Fuck like everyone is.”
Oh, no she didn’t! I turned to her. “There went the last little piece of my heart, Jessica.”
She air-smooched me.
Red-faced Rebecca screwed her eyes shut, but everyone was laughing. Natalie had to hold her stomach; even Aleks chuckled.
Máxim laughed, telling me, “Like I said, colorful.”
Rebecca pointed at her. “We will talk later.”
Jessica belched into her fist. “What?”
Smoothing her hair, Rebecca addressed Máxim, “I suppose if you have a speech, you should go now.”
Had he prepared one? As best man—and brother—would he mention their family? Aleks and Máxim hated their father. Their mother was dead. Natalie’s family was full—an adoptive father and mother, a birth father and mother, and now a stepfather she clearly liked. How was Máxim going to handle that?
“Of course, Rebecca,” he said, his tone casual.
As Máxim stood, Aleks grew visibly nervous. Did he expect coldheartedness from his brother? Scheming? Natalie held his hand on the table.
Anyone else might have been tentative addressing a gathering like this, but Máxim, the politician, was all confidence. He gazed around with that I command all I survey look, until the room quieted. Even Jess sat up and paid attention.
In a self-deprecating tone, he asked the crowd, “How am I going to follow Jessica’s eloquence?” Laughter sounded. Then he flashed a movie-star smile that wowed everyone. I could have sworn I heard sighs. One rapt server paused midserve, holding a plate in the air.
Por Dios, could he be more charming?
“I make this speech on behalf of myself and Dmitri, the youngest Sevastyan brother, who sadly couldn’t be here.” Aleks raised a brow at that.
With his deep voice resonating, Máxim said, “First, I would like to say spasiba—thank you—to all of you for your warm Nebraska hospitality. We from Russia appreciate it deeply, as does my beautiful lady from Florida.” He winked at me as he said, “Who is delighted to have come with me.”
My cheeks heated, and I mouthed, Devil.
“When I heard that my brother was to marry Natalie, I marveled at his fortune. She is everything Aleksandr could hope for in a wife. In fact, my brother heartily recommends this great Husker State for finding brides and apparently for something called . . . football?”
Laughter and cheers broke out. Oh, he was good.
He continued, “I wish our mother Roxana Antonovna Sevastyan could have met his soon-to-be wife. She would have called Natalie her dorogaya doch’ka, dearest daughter.”
Aleks’s uneasiness deepened.
If Máxim noticed, he didn’t show it. “Natalie is a credit to her family here: to the late Bill Porter—a guiding force in her life; to Tom Christianson—who’ll proudly walk her down the aisle tomorrow; and to Rebecca”—he leveled his blue gaze on her—“the lovely and most gracious mother of the bride.”
Thunk. I could all but hear Cupid’s arrow hitting her heart. She rested her chin on her hand and mooned over him. Natalie grinned and bumped her shoulder against her mother’s. Aleks narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
Addressing the rest of the room, Máxim said, “Across the world in Russia, Elena Petrovna Andropova, Natalie’s birth mother, tragically passed away before she could know her daughter—but not before she loved her. Yet it was Natalie’s birth father, Pavel Kovalev, who brought her and Aleksandr together.”
Had I worried how Máxim would handle this speech? Natalie was in raptures. Strangely, Aleks looked like he was bracing for an inevitable hit.
“I’d met Kovalev, and sometimes crossed paths with him socially.” Máxim turned to Natalie. “As an aside, I never saw him so happy as he was in those pictures with you.”
Her eyes glinted again, her hand tightening on Aleks’s.
Máxim resumed his speech: “Though our mother started Aleksandr on the path to becoming an honorable and respected man, it was Kovalev who guided him the rest of the way. Kovalev was a gentleman of the old order who believed in the code: respect those who earn it, assist those who need it, and protect to the death all you hold dear. In his lifetime, he did all of these things.” Máxim paused a moment, letting everyone in the know reflect on the sacrifice. “He raised my older brother by the code; over these last few months, I’ve recognized that Aleksandr Sevastyan has become the man his beloved mentor always knew he could be. So no longer do I say how fortunate Aleksandr is to marry Natalie; I say how fortunate they both are to have found each other.” He raised his glass to the couple. “Katya and I, as well as Dmitri, wish all blessings upon you for a long and joyful marriage. Schast’ya vam. Happiness to you.”
Cheers broke out, everyone drinking. Máxim had included me, like we were together, together.
Aleks gazed at his brother as if he didn’t recognize him. Then, weirdly, he shifted that dumbfounded expression—to me.
Natalie mouthed “Thank you” to Máxim. Turning to Aleks, she gave him an I told you so look.
To the crowd, Máxim called, “Vyp’em za lyubov’! Let’s drink to love.” This time he raised his glass only to me.
Jets. Overheating. Mal funcionamiento. My glass shook on the way to my lips.
He sat down nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just made a roomful of people claw out their hearts in tribute to him. Myself included. “How did I do?”