Her presence is a balm I didn’t know I needed. I hate that I’m relieved by it, that her cheer and calm are the only things keeping me from losing it entirely in this moment.
“You look beautiful,” she gasps as the dress slides over my body. “I knew it!”
I trace the seams of the dress, letting my fingers linger over the shimmering fabric, and finally let out a shaky sigh. “I’m scared, Noelle,” I admit, my voice low, almost breaking.
She sighs and takes my hand. “Of marrying Lev?”
“Not of him…not exactly. But of what this—marrying him—means. It’s like the life I’ve known for so long isn’t mine anymore. And now I’m supposed to step into some new role I never asked for.”
Noelle steps closer, her hand brushing mine. “Hey…I know it feels overwhelming. But you’ll figure it out. You always do. And…everything will be all right eventually. I promise.”
She tilts her head, a thoughtful crease between her brows. “Have you talked to Lev about continuing your job? You still want to fly, right?”
I shake my head. “No…I texted my manager and took some time off, but I haven’t…I haven’t spoken to Lev about anything.” My chest tightens.
“You can bring it up,” Noelle says gently. “It’s your life too, Sasha. He might be controlling in some ways, but he’ll have to respect you in this.”
I swallow hard and nod. Slowly, almost instinctively, I lean into her, and she wraps me up in a tight hug. I close my eyes and let the warmth of her presence anchor me for a moment, letting her steady voice and gentle strength seep into my racing thoughts.
There’s a sharp knock on the door, and before I can dwell too much, a familiar head peeks into the room—Mikhail.
“The ceremony has started,” he says. “It’s best if you come out now.”
My first instinct is to roll my eyes, but then I catch the gentle expression in his eyes, the same calm patience he’s shownsince I arrived. Even on the days when my temper flares and my words could cut glass, he just stands there quietly, letting me vent, letting me be me.
I feel a small warmth creep into my chest. He’s…nice. Really nice.
“Thanks, Mikhail,” I say softly, forcing a small smile. “We’re coming.”
He nods once, respectful, patient, then disappears back down the hall. I take a deep breath, straighten my shoulders, and turn back to Noelle. “Ready?”
She squeezes my hand, and together we step toward the unknown waiting just outside the door.
Noelle guides me along the stone path, her hand steady on my elbow, and I let her lead me into the garden. The air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of roses and fresh-cut grass, and the sun is just beginning its climb, gilding everything in soft light.
I glance to the side, watching her join the few guests already seated. She looks calm, almost like she belongs here, and I can’t help the pang in my chest.
Then my eyes snap forward, and there he is. Lev.
He stands at the end of the aisle, his black suit crisp, immaculately tailored, the morning light catching the sharp line of his jaw. My chest tightens. I can’t look away. He’s impossibly handsome, every inch of him exuding control and power, the kind of man who commands a room without a word.
The decorations are understated but elegant—roses along the aisle, soft white ribbons, and a single golden arch framing him perfectly. Only a handful of people are here. Most are Rusnaks. I recognize a few familiar faces from when I arrived; their presence is commanding and dangerous. Each one is clearly a Bratva member, and the weight of their eyes adds a tension I can feel pressing against my skin.
I try to remind myself that none of this is for show, that it’s not a glamorous wedding but a binding, a transaction steeped in old-world law. But I can’t. My gaze keeps returning to him, and my stomach twists in ways I refuse to name.
I take a deep breath and start walking toward him, each step measured, careful, though my heart pounds like it’s trying to escape my chest. The world narrows, and all I see is him—Lev, waiting, perfectly still, and far too dangerous to ever look away from.
I notice the bodyguards, standing like silent sentinels around the perimeter. Their eyes flick to me briefly, and I realize just how real this is. This isn’t some fantasy or rehearsal. This is my life now—and my eyes can’t leave him.
I reach him, and he doesn’t flinch or step back. His face is unreadable, a mask I’ve spent too long trying to decipher, but his gaze never leaves mine. It’s intense, almost possessive, and I can feel the subtle pull of it in my chest. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t look away. He simply stands there, steady and commanding, and the air between us hums with a quiet tension I can’t name.
The ceremony begins, voices low and rhythmic, the words rolling over me in Russian. I don’t understand a single thing, but I feel every syllable, heavy with history, obligation, and promises I didn’t choose but am about to live.
Lev slides his hand into mine. His fingers are warm, firm, grounding me in a way I didn’t know I needed. His thumb brushes across my palm in slow, deliberate circles, subtle yet intimate, as if to remind me that I’m not alone in this—even if every part of me wants to resist.
I glance down at our intertwined hands, startled at how much that simple touch unsettles me. The warmth spreads like wildfire up my arm, through my chest, and I realize that even in the middle of this forced, transactional moment, I can’t escape the pull of him.
The officiant’s voice fades into the background as he lifts my hand and slides the ring onto my finger. The metal is cold at first, but when it settles, it feels impossibly heavy, as if it carries all the weight of the vows we’ve just exchanged—vows I barely understand but somehow feel deep in my chest.
