Her request humbled me. I had considered this day to be little more than an inconvenience. I knew that Mila didn’t want this marriage either, but the wedding day was stealing something from her. We had replaced something that was supposed to be meaningful and authentic with a charade. She was trying to salvage the day by paying homage to her late mom with photos.
I let the photographer take multiple shots of us as a bridal party, but when he told us that he was done, I could see the crushing disappointment in Mila’s eyes.
I stepped forward to speak to him privately. “I want you to take photos of my bride. I want you to give us the most beautiful pictures of her and her dress.”
His eyes widened. “Those aren’t the instructions I got.”
“Who gave you these instructions?”
“Lena.”
“Change of plans.”
“I can do that.” Then he dedicated the several minutes to taking perfect bridal shots of Mila.
I stood to the side watching, pretending not to notice how beautiful she looked.
“Give me a couple more with just the bride and groom,” the photographer encouraged at the end. “I can Photoshop your black eye.”
He posed us and moved back to his camera to fiddle with the flash.
Mila spoke quietly from beside me. “Thank you.”
I felt like telling her that she should never thank me for something so basic and small, but then I realized that’s all she’d ever gotten from me and probably all she could expect.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but her gratitude pissed me off. I couldn’t say why.
The photographer lifted his head from his camera and looked at me. “Maybe don’t look so angry.”
I worked to fix my face into a semblance of a smile.
“Show me the love,” he said, as he took picture after picture. “Keep those happy smiles going. You made it. You’re finally married.”
He lifted his face from the camera. “Mila, where did your smile go?”
“Sorry,” she murmured.
The receptionnever seemed to end, and it didn’t help that I couldn’t drink due to the pain medication I was on. Beside me, Mila pushed her food around her plate and listened impassively to the many long speeches about Grisha.
The line of people who wanted to kiss Grisha’s ass never seemed to end. Our plates had been cleared, dessert had been served, and only then did the last speech end to a smattering of applause.
“I’m just going to go freshen up.” Mila stood.
“I’ll walk you there.”
“I’ve got this.” Her bridesmaid muscled in beside me.
I watched as they walked away and then caught Grisha motioning for me to join him at the cigar table.
“What a beautiful reception,” he said, beaming, slapping my shoulder. “Those speeches were some of the best I’ve heard.”
I managed to smile, even though it felt like my lip would split. “I agree.”
He made a face. “We got some bad news, though. Demetrius was murdered last night in Vancouver.”
Demetrius was the man I was supposed to replace. “How?”
“A car bomb, a signature of the Volkov family. They flattened his car and two others in the explosion. I mean, who else could it be? They always go overboard with their explosives. This means I need you in Vancouver. Immediately. I’ve booked your flights already.”
