71
Clara
A week before Christmas
“You try to poison Lyonya; he deserves it sometimes. But now? You take care of each other. That’s what family does.”
Galina’s weathered hands move with surprising grace, weaving the last sprig of baby’s breath into my hair, her deft fingers threading it into the loose braid that cascades down my shoulder.
“What?” My thoughts, which had been circling like panicked birds, zoom back to the present.
She steps back, surveying her work with a critical eye.
“There. Beautiful. Like Russian snow princess.”
I glance at the mirror. A gilded masterpiece, the antique frame gleaming faintly in the morning light spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. And there I am, staring back at myself, looking… like a bride.
A bride.
It hits me like an avalanche. I’m getting married today. To Leonid Kuznetsov. A man I never imagined standing next to at an altar, especially not now, just a week before Christmas.
I said yes.
He proposed to me in front of Jake’s tomb.
The memory flashes vividly: His eyes were a burnished brown, like the sweet earth after a long summer rain that locked on mine, his words raw and trembling with something I hadn’t dared believe until that moment.
“I love you, Clara Caldwell. Marry me.”
And now here I am, in a bridal suite perched high in the Swiss Alps, preparing to marry a man who terrifies and fascinates me in equal measure. A man who has broken me, remade me, and somehow, despite all the chaos, made me believe in love again.
“You are thinking too much.” Galina’s voice snaps me out of my spiral. She leans down, her sharp gray eyes peering into mine through the mirror. “You’ll wrinkle your pretty face. Lyonya will think you changed your mind.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Maybe I have.”
Galina tuts and gently smacks my arm. “None of that. You love him. He loves you. Even if he’s a big idiot sometimes.” She picks up a pearl-encrusted hairpin and slides it into my braid. “Men are likeborscht—messy, but worth the effort if you do it right.”
The room around me feels like a dream. The soft crackle of the stone fireplace mixes with the faint hum of voices outside the door—Kayla, Elijah, and who knows who else. The scent of pine and lavender lingers in the air, grounding me amidst the chaos in my head.
“You don’t understand,” I whisper.
Galina pauses, her hands hovering near my hair. She meets my eyes in the mirror, her gaze softening. “I understand more than you think,dorogaya.”
The words hang between us, weighted with truths neither of us needs to say.
“Do you think Jake would—” My voice cracks, and I have to swallow hard before finishing. “Do you think he’d think I look beautiful?”
Galina’s hands settle on my shoulders, her grip firm but comforting.
“Jake would say you look like the queen of the world. And if Lyonya ever forgets that, Jake would haunt him.”
A laugh bubbles out of me, mixing with a fresh wave of tears.
Galina brushes them away with the corner of her apron, clucking softly. “No crying. You’ll ruin my masterpiece.” She fusses with the edge of my braid one last time before stepping back. “Now, stand up and look at yourself properly.”
I do as she says, smoothing down the lace of my dress as I rise. The gown is breathtaking—long-sleeved with intricate embroidery that catches the light, a perfect balance of elegance and simplicity. The fitted bodice gives way to a flowing skirt that pools around my feet like a cloud.
For the first time, I see it.
