"I do," I say confidently, squeezing Ava's hands.
He turns to hear her response, and there's a painfully long pause, only a moment but stretched, it feels into hours before Ava whispers, "I do."
The prayers are simple, much of the pageantry usually present in Russian orthodox weddings has been pared down. It makes the impact of the father's gentle voice, the solemnity of the rings exchanged, even greater.
Father Artur beams, a slight tinge of relief in his tone as he offers the last blessing. Clearly, not having been certain if we'd get through this without the bride running shrieking down the aisle at some point during the ceremony. Roman blows out a sigh. Mrs. Ivanova smiles, her sour expression blooming into happiness for us.
Inside me, my demon is calm again, resting and satisfied. Ava is enclosed in my arms, in my life, and in my heart. She’s not ready to hear it, but she will be soon.
***
Bozhe moy- My God in Russian
Chapter Thirty-One
In which Ava's wedding night is much better than her ambush wedding.
Ava…
Back at the mansion, I manage to get loose from Dmitri and Roman long enough to scurry into the master bathroom, turning on the water full blast before sitting down on the edge of the tub and sobbing. It feels ungrateful and selfish to cry where Dmitri can hear me.
Oh, the irony… I used to think the most stressful thing that could happen to me would be finding a naked stranger sleeping on my couch. Now I wake up, wondering if this is the day they'll finally get me. The faceless "they" who lured me into the electrified hell of that apartment. Worse, is this the day someone will die because of me?
My careful little routines and rituals that I've built to keep my head straight don't seem to work now, these new fears and uncertainties washing over me like a tsunami, sending me spiraling down into a current I can't swim against. My medication isn't helping much with all the intrusive thoughts that scatter me into a hundred different directions. I've started interrupting people again without thinking, and then trying to backtrack and understand what they said. Dad used tohatethat.
"Are you a fucking idiot? Pay attention!"
Now, I'mmarried?
Leaping to my feet, I clutch my phone, pacing. What do I tell Priya? Or my mother? Do I even tell my mother? How long do we have to stay married? Whydidhe marry me, really? I should check to see if Priya has texted me. Should I text her? What about my passport can I fly back into the US now that my last name is Morozova?
And the saddest thought. If Dmitri had asked me to marry him because he loved me, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. Instead, I'm still a thing to protect.
"Focus," I whisper. "One thing at a time."
"Sit back down." I do.
"Stop crying." It takes a while, but I do.
After a few deep breaths, I wait for my hands to stop shaking. I picture the bits and pieces of me flung in all directions returning, putting everything back together again more or less in the shape of Ava Blue.
Ava Blue Morozova.
Stay focused, I think. On here and now.
"Are you fucking stupid? Pay attention!"
I'm not fucking stupid, Dad.
I am overwhelmed and I'm going to sit here and marinate in the steam until I can force my brain into a single train of thought again.
***
When my face is washed, hair brushed and I look - more or less - back in control, I head back downstairs to find a conspicuouslack of… people. This is a twenty-thousand square foot mansion. There are guards. Maids. The butler guy. Magda, the cook.
I follow the sound of whistling to the kitchen, a massive room with two pantries, multiple fridges, and ovens and… Dmitri. He's chopping something at the gray granite counter with unsettling speed and precision. His jacket's off, tie gone and he's rolled up his shirt sleeves to show off those colorful, vivid tattoos snaking up his forearms.
"Where is everyone?" I ask, pausing in the entryway.
