I don’t need a replacement. I’ve survived the last five years without him, or anyone.
I watched Ava walk down the aisle before me, sprinkling blood-red rose petals over the marble floor. Now she waits with the rings at the altar, reaching up to hold Art’s hand and pointing at me withwonder written all over her face.
My eyes filled with tears at the sight. My golden-haired child and my golden-haired man. She finally knows who her father is, she can finally have that part of her life.
The crowd can pity me all they like. It feels right to me as I step onto that polished marble floor, clutching a bouquet of white roses, the matching lace veil over my face sending the church into a cloudy haze. I have all the family I need, standing at that altar and waiting for me.
I’m supposed to step slowly in time with the music, but I can’t stop myself from rushing towards the perfect image that is Ava and Art standing at the altar of a church, a place I never thought we would end up in.
This is it. Art gives a warm smile when he sees how I’m rushing, only holding back from a run so that I don’t trip over the hem of this dress. He runs a hand through his tousled hair as he watches me , breathing out slowly through his mouth. Like his heart is racing as much as mine is.
I’ve never had a family before I had Ava. I didn’t even know that kind of unconditional love was possible until I felt it for her.
It’s the look in Art’s eyes that makes me realize that I might have it now.
Everything I’d wanted. A family. Not just for me, but for Ava as well.
“I guess this is the part where most people would have their families here,” I murmur to Art when we’re back at the reception, vows done, being wrangled into a million different photographswith different combinations of his relatives.
Art pulls me closer. “You have this family now. And you're not getting away from it.”
He's always saying that, like I’ll want to escape at some point. I make a face. “They’re not that bad.”
“No take-backs.” He squeezes my waist playfully. “Once they start drinking at this reception, you'll change your mind.”
“And will you be joining them?”
I glance over at the bar, where Nikolai is leading a group of large tattooed men with the same buzz cut as him. I have to crack a smile when I see that Lily is matching them drink for drink. If anyone can teach those Bratva boys a thing or two, it’s Lily.
“There's only one thing I want to do tonight, Nenoka.”
Art pulls me closer to him, his eyes blazing, but the tap of a cane against the marble floor interrupts us.
“Vanya,” I greet her, turning and bowing my head respectfully.
“Nina Petrova,” she says formally, taking my hand and brushing her lips over my knuckles. Suddenly I feel like I’m in a historical drama.
I choke out a laugh. “I’m not changing my last name.”
She just shrugs her frail shoulders. “This family is built on tradition, dear. Better get used to people calling you that anyway. And it suits you.”
She turns to Art, her face cracking into a wide smile. If there’s one thing that’s for sure, it’s that Vanya loves her golden boy.
“Now, can I have a dance with my grandson?” She glances at me with those piercing blue eyes.
I look at her with her cane and the determined expression on her face. The last thing I want is to be alone in this room without Art, facing his family, but there’s no way to say no to Vanya Petrova in her own ballroom. “He's all yours.”
The second they step away, I feel alone, and small. Ava is holding court in the corner with her cousins, and my heart aches to know that she has a whole family of children her age to play with now.
Art sways slowly around the ballroom, absurdly graceful even as he clearly has to support his babushka. They’re talking intently, his brows knitting together as he explains something to her.
The tutting of a tongue brings me back to reality.
“By yourself at your own wedding?”
Just from the way the words drip with venom, I know exactly who it is. My throat tightens.
I turn to see Polina approaching me. Graceful, but tense. Her hands grip her studded leather purse tight, like she’s worried someone will tear it away from her. She's dressed in black as though she's going to a funeral, though I suppose black florals are technically wedding attire.
