Natasha insists on showing me every single ornament and telling me its story. There are handmade ones from when Dimitri and Konstantin were kids—crooked stars and painted pinecones. Delicate glass ones from Russia that must be a hundred years old. Modern ones the current kids made.
"This one is from when Papa was five," Natasha says, holding up a lumpy clay ornament. "Babushka says he made it in school and she kept it forever."
"It's beautiful," I tell her honestly.
"It's ugly," Dimitri calls from across the room. "But my mama wouldn’t let me throw it away."
"BECAUSE IT IS FROM YOUR HEART!" Yelena yells back. "And you were FIVE! Of course is ugly! But is yours!"
Konstantin keeps finding excuses to stand near me. Helping me reach a branch. Steadying me when I wobble. His hands on my waist, my shoulders, the small of my back. Touching me constantly.
"You're not subtle," I whisper when we're close.
"I don't want to be subtle. I want everyone to know you're mine."
"They already think that. It's why we're here."
"Good." He presses a kiss to my temple. "Then my work is done."
Natasha tugs on my hand. "Miss Jemma! Look at this one! Uncle Kostya made it when he was my age!"
She holds up a star made of popsicle sticks and glitter. It's lopsided and half the glitter has fallen off, but it's oddly charming.
I look at Konstantin. "You made this?"
"I was seven. Art wasn't my strong suit."
"It's perfect." I hang it on the tree carefully. "We should put it somewhere visible."
Something flickers in his eyes. "You think so?"
"Yeah. It's part of your history. It matters."
He looks at me for a long moment. Then he pulls me close and kisses me, right there in front of everyone.
Someone whistles. Someone else laughs. But Konstantin doesn't stop until he's ready.
When he pulls back, his mother is crying happy tears.
"Look at them!" she sobs to Anya. "They are so in love! I knew it! I KNEW IT!"
My chest gets tight.
By the time the tree is finished, it's beautiful. Lights and ornaments and tinsel everywhere. Natasha insists we all take a photo in front of it. Konstantin stands behind me, his arms around my waist, his chin resting on top of my head.
"Perfect!" Yelena is taking approximately a thousand photos. "So perfect! My family! All together!"
And despite everything—the kidnapping, the lies, the insanity—I feel something warm bloom in my chest.
These people barely know me, but they're treating me like family.
It's been a long time since I felt like I belonged anywhere.
After lunch, people start dispersing. Naps, errands, phone calls. Konstantin takes my hand.
"Come with me."
He leads me back to our room. Locks the door behind us.
