Sasha shakes her head like she’s trying to dislodge the thought, then her eyes catch on the dresses. “These are beautiful.” She lifts the one I’d laid across the bed, the fabric spilling between her fingers. “Did you pick this one?”
“Yes.”
“It’s beautiful,” she says, smiling softly. “Come on, let us help you get dressed. Thankfully, I had my travel bag with me when I was taken from home—there’s a makeup bag in there. Come on.”
I stand sluggishly, my legs heavy, my body moving on autopilot. Violet takes the dress from Sasha and helps me step into it, her hands gentle but firm as she fastens the back. Sasha sets out her little arsenal of brushes and powders on the vanity, muttering to herself like she’s preparing for battle.
“This feels surreal,” Sasha says as she dusts foundation onto my skin. “Like…this morning, I was supposed to be on a flight to Rome. Now I’m here, doing mafia bridal makeup. My supervisor is going to flip when I don’t check in.”
Violet laughs. “Text them later, say you had a…family emergency?”
“Yeah, except if I say family emergency one more time, he’s going to assume I’m living in a soap opera,” Sasha shoots back, making me chuckle despite myself.
I watch them in the mirror—Sasha leaning in close, tongue between her teeth in concentration, Violet carefully arranging the lace of my sleeves. For a moment, it almost feelsnormal. Like two friends helping me get ready for a night out instead of…this.
A knock on the door shatters the illusion.
It creaks open, and Demyan steps in, his frame filling the doorway, his expression unreadable as always. His eyes flick over me once, taking in the dress, the makeup, the veil draped at Violet’s elbow. Then he says simply, “It’s time. Niko is waiting for you in the church.”
My stomach plummets, all the air leaving my lungs at once.
Violet squeezes my hand, her smile brave, meant to steady me. “We’ll be right there with you.”
Sasha nods, brushing the last bit of powder from her fingers. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
They go ahead, slipping past Demyan into the hall, their voices a soft murmur as they walk ahead.
I linger for a heartbeat, staring at my reflection one last time. The bride in the mirror looks nothing like me—she’s polished, composed, draped in lace and expectation. But her eyes give her away. They’re wide, too bright, a caged animal’s eyes.
I press my lips together and follow. My heels click softly against the corridor floor as I trail after Violet and Sasha, Demyan’s silent shadow behind me. Each step feels heavier than the last, pulling me closer to the church where Niko waits—closer to the moment there’s no turning back.
We reach the church, and I step inside, my pulse pounding in my ears. The space is quiet, almost hollow, with only a handful of people seated in the pews. Still, the décor catches me off guard—soft white flowers, candles flickering in gold holders, an aisle lined with petals. It looks…real. Like a wedding that was planned, not forced. Niko must have gone out of his way for this.
My throat tightens.
I start down the aisle alone, every step echoing. I keep my gaze fixed on the flowers, on the altar rail, on anything except the man waiting for me at the end. But I feel him all the same—tall, sharp-edged, unmovable.
The priest’s voice cuts into the silence, steady and solemn, as the ceremony begins.
I steal a glance at Niko, and my chest stutters. He looks impossibly handsome in his suit, the candlelight catching on the angles of his face, his dark eyes steady on me. It’s unfair, how effortlessly he commands the moment, while I can barely keep my knees from trembling.
The vows blur together, the words spoken on instinct, like I’m watching myself from far away. Rings are exchanged—cold metal against my skin, binding me to him.
“And now,” the officiant declares, “I pronounce you husband and wife.”
I brace myself, heart hammering as Niko leans in. The kiss is small, soft, barely more than a brush of his lips against mine. A peck. And yet…it sparks something low and unsettling, a heat that lingers. To my horror, it leaves me wanting more.
I pull back quickly, breathing hard, my thoughts a jumble. But relief swells through me all the same. It’s done. It’s official. I am finally, irrevocably, Niko’s wife. And for the first time in weeks, I feel the faintest flicker of safety.
I turn with Niko as the priest gestures for us to face the few people present.
In the pew, my eyes find Violet and Sasha. They’re watching me, both of them trying to look brave for my sake. I lift my hand in a small wave, and when they return it, a sting burns at the back of my eyes. For a second, I almost forget where I am, what this means. For a second, I just feel seen.
Niko’s hand closes around mine—warm and steady. The grip is firm, like a promise. If I didn’t know better, if I let myself forget everything, I’d think we were in love.
The thought rattles me, and I suck in a sharp breath, forcing my lips into a smile. A bride’s smile. A survivor’s smile. I’ve always found a way through, always fought my way out of the corners life shoved me into. This moment won’t be any different.
So I square my shoulders, lace my fingers tighter with Niko’s, and step forward. If the world wants to test me again, let it. I’m ready.
