“Are we expecting something to happen?” I ask Ella as we're ushered into a shiny silver Bentley.
“In our family,” she says, folding her hands placidly on her lap, “it is always best to be prepared.”
“I'm not adding an additional threat level tonight, am I?” I ask. “Maybe I should've stayed home. The last thing you need is gunfire at a wedding.”
Roman bursts out laughing, rapidly texting something on his phone. “Trust me,” he says, “I've never been to a Bratva wedding where therewasn'tgunfire.”
“However, this is supposed to be alegitimatehigh society wedding,” Alexsey corrects. “Everyone's keeping their hands clean tonight.”
Roman snorts inelegantly. “Yeah, sure.”
“There's nothing to worry about,” Ella squeezes my hand. “If there was, we wouldn't risk your safety. And who knows? You might enjoy it. The champagne is guaranteed to be excellent and the food spectacular.” She leans closer to whisper, “You could use a few extra calories, and I’m speaking only as your physician and not as one who judges another woman's body.”
“You're very kind,” I say. “This fabulous figure ishonedby months of lack of sleep, poor nutrition because I never had time to eat, and consuming enough caffeine to reanimate a corpse.”
“Yes,” Ella laughs, “I remember those days.”
***
Dmitri's friend's wedding is being held at the Ritz-Carlton. Of course it is, because based on the Rolls and Porsches and Bugatti’s dropping the guests off, they all havestupidmoney. The surgeons and hospital administration at Bellevue are loaded, of course, and I've been to plenty of chi-chi parties. These people, though, have taken over an enormous chunk of one of the most expensive hotels in the country and the result is spectacular.
We might be enjoying summer here in New York, but the ballroom is an ice forest. Tall, stark white trees, wrapped in lights arch over the aisle and soar up to the towering ceiling where thousands of tiny crystalline snowflakes dangle.
“The bride really likes winter, huh?” I murmur to Ella as we follow the usher down to our seats. Roman sits on one side of us and Aleksey on the other, and while I'm pretty sure they weren't invited, two of Ella's bodyguards sit behind us. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the other two disappearing into the corners of the ballroom.
“I actually believe it's Adam's idea,” Roman says, leaning over to whisper. “He's been wanting to get back in touch with his Slavic roots, according to Dmitri.”
“Does he have any of those?” I whisper back.
His shoulders shake with a silent chuckle, brushing against mine. “Well, heisRussian, so yes. His parents were born in St. Petersburg, like my father. To be honest, I don't think he'd ever been there until he came on a trip with us last year. He got all these ideas about the Winter Palace, and behold, the result you see before you.”
“Well, I appreciate his dedication to detail,” I say dubiously, looking at waves upon waves of stiffened white and pale blue silk draped across the walls and looking like snowbanks. I’m not sure if it’s the chilly landscape, but I’m freezing. Rubbing my arms a bit, I’m glad this dress has long sleeves to cover my healing cuts and bruises.
Dmitri quietly enters from a side door, along with a man shorter and stockier than he is and wearing a grin that could split his face. I'm guessing this is Adam, the groom.
I can’t help feeling a bit sorry for him, because standing next to Dmitri is a thankless task. It's got to be hard when your best man is so much hotter. Dmitri is tall and beautiful, his dark hair brushed back with a few strands of hair hanging rakishly over his forehead, a look I'm sure models take countless hours to achieve. He's sporting just a hint of stubble, giving his jaw a sharper definition and even from here, I can see his icy blue eyes scanning the crowd until they land on us. One corner of his mouth goes up in the hottest smirk I've ever witnessed.
Damnhim! Is there anything unattractive about this man?
While we’re waiting for the bride, I stare at the decor and wonder how much the silk cost they used to create the fancy snowbanks. After a few minutes of pondering fabric costs, I notice a woman two rows in front of us wearing a fire engine red dress. She’s making one hell of a fashion statement, and she keeps glancing over her shoulder, alternately smiling at Roman, then her eyes narrow at me. She must think I'm Roman's date and that's pissing her off.
Not subtle, sister. Not subtle at all.
Finally, the bride floats down the aisle on her beaming father’s arm, and I feel a funny twinge of awareness. When she seesAdam standing next to the priest, her face lights up like she’s illuminated from within. During the whole time I’d planned my wedding with Kevin, I never imagined wearing this look, this whole-hearted joy of walking down the aisle to see him there waiting for me at the end. Did I really love him at all? Or did I just think this is what people did?
Kevin was always yapping on about ‘power couples,’ and how together we were an ‘unstoppable combination.’ I think he just liked the idea of having one more thing to put next to his fleet of expensive sports cars, his beach house in the Hamptons and his apartment in London.
Looking back at Dmitri, I can see a smile there, genuine pleasure as he watches his best friend make his vows to his bride. As they both say “I do,” for some reason, Dmitri's icy blue gaze returns to me, and I stare back, lips parted, unable to look away.
“It was a beautiful ceremony,” Ella sighs as we walk into the reception hall, which is even more cavernous and stuffed with more winter trees. They've even got a series of tall potted pine trees in the corners, all dusted with fake snow and crystals.
“At least we can move around in here,” I say, rubbing my hands. “Keep the blood flowing, huh?”
“Solnyshka,”a deep voice comes from behind us. “I'm sorry I missed the wedding.”
Turning around, I see the man who could only be the father of all of these unspeakably handsome guys. Maksim,Pakhanof the Morozov Bratva.
Okay, I did alotof reading the other day.
