We ride back just as the sun begins to dip, a cool gold settling across the skyline. By the time we return to the mansion, the shift has already begun—staff bustling about, florists weaving garlands, chefs setting up prep stations, security pacing alongthe perimeter. Upstairs, a makeup and hair team waits like a small army, curling irons and eye shadow palettes at the ready.
The next few hours pass in a flurry of foundation, brushes, tiny finger sandwiches, and laughter echoing between dressing rooms.
And then it’s quiet.
I stand in front of the full-length mirror in my dressing room, the gown hugging my belly, hair swept up in soft curls, earrings catching the last light through the windows. My hands rest gently over the twins, and for a breath, I don’t move.
This is my life now.
And somehow, it fits.
The ballroom is alive when I descend the grand staircase, a blush rising to my cheeks as eyes turn toward me. The chandeliers drip golden light, catching the delicate beads on my gown, and for a moment, it really does feel like something out of a dream—except this time, no dread coils in my belly.
Only warmth and awe.
A string quartet plays in the corner, their bows sweeping in perfect rhythm. The scent of saffron, roasted duck, and sweet figs fills the air, wafting from silver trays passed between tables overflowing with wine and laughter. Everyone who matters in the city’s shadow world is here. New York faces. Moscow figures. Yet none of them matter.
I only see him.
He stands across the room, imposing and devastatingly handsome in a black tux that fits him perfectly. His dark hair isneatly styled, a hint of stubble on his cheeks, his silver cufflinks catching the light as he lifts a glass of champagne to his lips.
God help me when he looks up and sees me. The way his eyes change nearly brings me to tears. It’s as if the whole world has narrowed down to just this moment, to just the two of us.
He makes his way toward me, cutting through the crowd.
“You look…” His voice catches, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “There aren’t words, but I’ll try. Radiant. Brilliant. Mine.”
My breath stutters and I smile. “You clean up well yourself, Ivanov.”
He offers his arm, and I take it. “Dance with me?”
The quartet shifts into a slow and romantic waltz as he leads me to the center of the room. We move together easily, one hand on the small of my back, his other wrapped around mine. Despite the audience, it feels private, like there’s no one else in the room but us. People smile as they watch us twirl. I hear Dalia let out a little swoon. Maura winks.
Yuri leans down, whispering, “This is what heaven looks like.”
I laugh softly. “You’re getting sentimental.”
“For you? Always.”
The music fades. A soft clinking of silverware signals something’s about to happen, and then I feel his hand gently leaving mine.
Yuri takes a step back and lifts a hand to gather everyone’s attention. “Friends,” he begins, his voice clear and confident. “I could spend the rest of the evening telling you how proud I am ofmy family, how much this night means to us after the year we’ve had. But there’s something far more important I want to say.”
The room is quiet as glasses are raised.
He turns to me. “This woman right here is beautiful, brilliant, and maddeningly brave. She’s outwitted corrupt federal agents, brought down a cartel leader, and taught me what it means to love without fear. I never saw her coming. And I’ll never stop thanking whatever gods decided to put her on that plane with me.”
My throat tightens as tears pool.
“There’s only one thing I regret,” he says softly. “I wish I’d done this sooner.”
He drops to one knee. Gasps ripple throughout the room. My hand flies to my mouth.
“Astrid,” he says, eyes full of emotion, “will you marry me?”
Tears blur my vision. My lips tremble as I nod, words catching in my throat. “Yes,” I whisper. “Yes!”
The crowd erupts in applause as he stands and pulls me into his arms. I cling to him, laughing through the tears, heart so full it aches.
