The ceremony is long and complicated, with lots of standing and kneeling, prayers and chanted hymns. Alexei pulls me along for the entire process. I catch maybe every third word. Something about sacred unions and bonds that cannot be broken.
Alexei issues flat, automatic responses. A robot would probably sound more alive.
“Alexei and Aurora, have you come here of your own free will and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?”
My pulse races. “I’m sorry…what?”
When the priest repeats himself, all I can do is parrot Alexei’s vows back, my voice distant even to my own ears.
Next, we stand while the priest reads scripture. I should probably pay attention, but I zone out as his voice drones on in the background. I snap back into my surroundings when heplaces a silver crown on my head and repeats the process with Alexei. When he talks about unity and establishing a new family while attaching the crowns together with a ribbon, I realize this must be a Russian Orthodox custom. For a moment there, I thought the crowns had something to do with the bratva.
“The rings,” the priest says, and an eager young boy rushes forward. He holds out a velvet cushion bearing two shiny bands.
The exchange is a blur. Alexei’s skin is as icy as his demeanor as he slides the white gold ring onto my finger. I fumble with his, nearly dropping the large band. Someone in the crowd laughs.
Not Alexei. He waits, patient and still, until I manage to complete the task.
With our rings safely on, the priest removes the crowns. “On behalf of God and his Church, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Alexei leans in, his lips brushing mine in the barest approximation of a kiss. Cold. Impersonal. A business transaction sealed.
My buzzing ears mute the applause that follows.
We turn to face the congregation.
Myhusbandand I.
Husband. The foreign word plays on repeat in my head. I’m Aurora Kozlov now.
Hysteria rears its head again, and I barely manage to hold back a flood of wild laughter.
We walk back down the aisle together, his hand guiding my elbow. Controlling.
In the antechamber, chaos erupts. People swoop in to kiss cheeks, slap backs, and congratulate us in Russian and English. I smile until my face hurts, saying “thank you” until the words lose meaning.
Through everything, Alexei remains at my side like an immovable statue even though he never once looks my way.
“You were wonderful.” Irina squeezes my hands. “I know this isn’t the wedding you dreamed of, but we had to do it quickly and quietly.” Her eyes are earnest, her smile genuine. “Don’t worry. We’ll give you a proper celebration later. Something magnificent, when things are…safer.”
A do-over wedding.
As if that’s the problem. As if more flowers and a different dress would render this marriage any less of a prison sentence.
A knot of emotion lodges in my throat, but the tears refuse to come. Maybe they’re locked behind the same glass that separates me from this surreal spectacle.
Raindrops pelt us as we exit the church, spattering the stone steps like tiny explosions.
At least Mother Nature will cry for me.
A massive black umbrella appears, shielding us as we descend the stairs.
The rain blurs and softens the world. A perfect match for the fog in my head. Water drips from the umbrella’s edge, creating an imaginary boundary around us that severs us from everything else.
A sleek black limousine idles at the curb, the tinted windows reflecting the rain like oil. The driver holds the door open, and Alexei ushers me inside with that same impersonal touch at my elbow.
I expect a little time alone with my new husband and a chance to ask what happens next.
But I’m not even allowed a few minutes to breathe before we’re bombarded with people.
