Now, as I started toward the dugout, a soft evening glow flooded through the darkened area while Vassilievich took my hand. The cheers of thousands reached me. Weakened my knees. The crowd rose in a wave of blue and white, but all I heard was my own deep breathing and the steady click of my heels as I exited the dugout.
Sunset painted the sky in warm streaks of turquoise and fire, glowing behind the stands. My brother’s arm steadied me, strong but trembling, since he knew how shame once haunted me.
Though his presence helped, I murmured, “Tell me why Mia MacKenzie cut her eyes at you during our bridal shower.”Yep, deflection tactics are still strong.
“Shhh,” Vassilievich groaned, “millions of people are staring.”
Thanks, Boobie.Besides, he was himself again. Not the Russian kind of usual—no brooding, no plotting murder over tea. Just happy I got my revenge. Which, now that I considered it, was very Russian. Finding my father’s gaze near the edge of the field, I murmured,“Relax. They can’t see my lips from here.”
“Jumbotron.”
“Ugh, thanks, Boobie,” I muttered aloud, eyes flicking up to the massive screen.
“You’re welcome, Cutie Pie.” He kissed my cheek, then whispered, “You deserve this, Tasha. Stop being shy. Also, no more conversations, they’re supposed to turn on your mic when you reach Lach.”
Stopping myself from biting my lip, I instead nodded. The weight of satin and lace tugged my shoulders, but it was nothing compared to the invisible weight I’d carried for years. The shame. The self-hatred that nearly smothered me.
Now, I glanced up at my father and cherished his parts. All of me was unique, and Momma didn’t birth me by herself. His dark eyes softened as he pressed a kiss to my forehead.
“Are you ready,dochka?” Pops murmured, his voice thick with Russian pride and a sorrow I suppose he found because love had changed him when he met Momma.
“Uhhh …” My eyes flicked to the ocean of faces in the stadium seats.Tash, stop. You’re already married. But … so many eyes. So, so many eyes.
About twenty yards away, Lachlan stood in the center of the field, waiting for me like he’d been waiting his whole life. He wore a Dodger-blue suit—like he couldn’t help but wear the colors of his blood—perfectly cut to his broad shoulders and lean waist. A crisp white-linen shirt unbuttoned at the top to display the tanned muscle wall of his chest. Jordyn and Simona flanked one side in the same blue chiffon dresses. Montana and Jamie stood on his opposite side.
My heart sputtered. I needed to get to him. Get over how many eyes were on us.
Once we stepped closer, Pop lowered his face, his eyes pinning me. “Your beauty comes from your mother, but your spine of steel comes from your father,” he said, pressing his large hand firm and protective against my back. The touch straightened my shoulders, and a sigh jittered out of me. Nerves cracked loose like ice in Moscow during spring.
“Luchshe?” he asked in Russian.
“Da, better.”
He gave a sharp nod, then placed my hand into Lachlan’s, whispering words only for us. “Lachlan,lyubi yeye. Zashchishchay yeye.Love her. Protect her.” His gaze burned, not just a command, but an acknowledgment of the past—the things I had survived, the battles Lachlan had already fought for me.
But they all faded because Lachlan stared at me like he’d been waiting for me to arrive his entire life. His usual rebellious hair tossed in the soft evening wind. And those eyes—clear, blazing, like the floodlights of the whole stadium had bent just to live in them.
Those gorgeous eyes saw past the walls I built, past the tidy fictions I’d spun to make Adrian Chelomey the villain for every hurt I’d endured when Enzo carved the deepest wounds. Those eyes saw past the scars I thought no man would want to look at. But now they found me, the corners crinkled as his mouth tugged into a smile meant for only me.
The roar of the crowd dulled into a distant hum as I smiled up at him. My veil whispered against his suit jacket in the wind. His hand enclosed mine—soft, familiar. The hand I held when I shared the reason behind my night terrors and fear tried to steal my voice.
We had become each other’s shelter. Each other’s pulse after I was the strength he’d needed too, when I’d awoken after Lorenzo drugged me. We made each other stronger. And standing before the officiant, I knew with a certainty deeper than oxygen, we were forged to endure—together. MacKenzie and Resnov, family forever.
59
LACHLAN
“My boy,”Montana had whispered when Natasha floated toward us, a vision in white that stole the breath right outta me. He clapped his heavy hand on my shoulder and gave it a good shake like he couldn’t hold his pride. “Youthatbrotha. You did good,bébé!” Some French Creole blended into his NOLA accent. “Tasha walked straight out of heaven just for you. That’s beauty right there.”
Och. I hadn’t expected that but knew he could be a softy.
Jamie chuckled, finally finding his footing after Ferri’s deceit. Said he’d even met the lad’s Nonna. Turned out to be some old dear who’d tried to mother him. Jamie even paid for her to attend Ferri’s funeral … as if he deserved one.
“Aye. You that brotha,” Jamie said, his voice an awkward blend of Scottish New Orleans that might make me laugh if my dream weren’t nearing with her father.
As he stepped away, her father’s words echoed in my skull—Love her.Protect her. I’d been trying to do both since the first moment she let me close.
The next few minutes became a time capsule I’d never forget. Natasha’s vows wrecked me. Right there at home plate, in frontof sixty thousand strangers and the whole wide world, I felt like the only man alive.
