Alexei relinquishes me to Roman for the next dance, who hands me to Mikhail for the one after that, followed by a procession of men whose faces blur together. I spin from partner to partner, passed between them like a mannequin.
Valeria catches my eye and rescues me. “Time for cake!”
Gratefully, I excuse myself and let her lead me to a table where an elaborate confection with white frosting, sugar flowers, and multiple tiers waits. Someone gives me a heavy silver knife. Alexei’s hand covers mine as we cut into the cake together.
A camera flashes.
More applause.
A piece of cake appears on a plate, and Alexei picks up a fork. I open my mouth automatically when he offers me a bite. The sweetness is cloying. I struggle to swallow, washing the dessert down with more champagne that materializes at my elbow.
A stranger passes me another fork. I blink at first, unsure of what to do.
Oh, right, I’m supposed to feed him. I spear a bite of cake and lift the confection to Alexei’s lips. His gaze slides to mine ashe opens his mouth, and for a split second, his eyes flare with warmth, revealing a flicker of the man I thought I knew. Then the glimpse vanishes, replaced by his remote expression.
The next part of the night passes in a blur.
More drinking.
More dancing.
More faces I won’t remember.
Way too much alcohol.
The reception swirls around me like a fever dream. I find myself at a table, seated beside Irina, who pats my hand and comments on how lovely everything is. I agree, though to be honest, I’ve barely noticed.
After a short eternity, someone announces that it’s time for the newlyweds to leave. I’m suddenly besieged by a flurry of cheek kisses and well wishes.
The alcohol in my system continues to haze my mind, but not enough to erase the truth. I’m a new bride leaving her wedding reception. Mrs. Alexei Kozlov. This isn’t a nightmare I can wake from or a movie I can storm out of because I hate the plot.
This is my life.
Outside, the wet pavement shimmers under the lights. Another limousine waits, this one decorated with white ribbons and trailing cans that clatter against the asphalt. A hand-painted sign proclaims “Just Married” in swirling script.
Someone went to a lot of trouble to inject this farce with an air of celebration and joy.
“Aurora!” Valeria catches me before I escape into the vehicle, her face flushed with excitement and champagne. “I forgot to tell you that we’re all so excited about tomorrow night!”
The words slowly penetrate the fog in my brain. “Tomorrow?”
“Your art show!” She beams, squeezing my hands. “Alexei told us all about it, and I’ve invited a few friends. The whole family will be there. To support you.”
The art show.
In the whirlwind of wedding festivities, I’d all but forgotten. My homemade artwork, my untrained pieces, on display for the world to see. For the Kozlov Bratva to see.
That thought momentarily pierces my alcohol-induced haze. “Oh. Thank you.”
Valeria hugs me, her floral perfume assaulting my senses in the process. “Welcome to the family. You’re one of us now.”
One of us.
The phrase follows me into the limousine, where Alexei sits, stiff in his formal wedding attire.
Light glints off the ring on my finger, drawing my attention. The massive gem is one of the gaudiest and most ostentatious pieces of jewelry I’ve ever seen. At least four carats of princess cut diamond set in white gold weigh my hand down, branding me a married woman. This beautiful anchor signals my induction into their family.
But I’m not part of their glittering throng. These elite criminals. The Russian brotherhood.
