A smile breaks across his handsome face. He kisses me and I kiss him back, while my new name settles in my heart like coming home.
Bella Romanov.
I think I'm going to like the sound of that.
BELLA
THREE MONTHS LATER
The chateau gardensmells like lavender and old stone and the particular sweetness of French countryside air.
I'm getting married today.
The wedding is small. Just family and a few of Slava’s closest associates. Three months ago, it would’ve been a very short guest list and a very complicated definition of the wordfamily, but time and survival have a funny way of redrawing those lines.
Anthony walks ahead of me down the aisle, carrying a pillow bearing two rings with solemn concentration. His dark hair is combed and his face is set in an expression of total determination that I have to press my lips together to keep from laughing.
Alessandro walks beside him like they've been doing this their whole lives.
The two of them reach the altar and turn, and Anthony gives me a toothy smile so pure and so earnest that my eyes start stinging with tears.
The garden path to the altar is lined with wildflowers. I look to my right and see Ludmilla is crying tears of happiness.
She started crying before the ceremony even began, and she shows no signs of stopping. The handkerchief in her hand has already been soaked through, and she pulls out a new one by the time I reach the altar.
Lydia sits to her side, green eyes matching her dress as she beams at me. Nico is a seat behind her, and every once in a while, his amber eyes keep darting to her hair, while she does her best to pretend like he’s not there.
Interesting.
But the only eyes I care about right now are my husband’s winter gray, and they haven't left me for a single second.
Up close, the gray is shot through with green and blue—flecks of color I used to miss because I was too busy reading his gaze as a threat. I drink in his face as I look at him. Sharp cheekbones, sculpted jaw, that tiny scar on his chin that I’ve traced and kissed night after night.
When Slava slides the band onto my finger, I look down and see a delicate pattern etched into the gold that looks, at first glance, like an abstract design. But as he gives it one final turn, I recognize what that design is.
His thumbprint.
I look at him and see the knowing smile on his face.
"I figured since you used this to open something where I used to keep my heart," he says. "You might as well have it on you always."
I stare at him. "You'reinsane."
"And yet you agreed to marry me.”
Fair point.
Alik says the words as he officiates and I hear none of them because Slava is looking at me.
And when Slava’s lips meet mine to mark me as his wife, I know that this is where I belong.
Not the chateau. Not the garden. Not France.
But in the specific, irreplaceable geography that is Slava Romanov's arms, with his mouth on mine and his heartbeat under my palm. Here, where every lie fell away and every secret was confessed and every wound was given air until it closed. Where two people who weaponized love against each other finally laid down their arms and chose to be defenseless together.
His lips taste like promises, and I kiss him back with everything I have.
The reception isin full swing when I spot them.
