If not another boat, we’d swim.
If we couldn’t swim, fuck,we’d drown. We’d drown together.
I knew how wild and ridiculous my thoughts were, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was getting to Katya and being together no matter what.
I put on my shoes quickly and slid the door open quietly, moving stealthily across the patio. I had no weapons, no defense except for my fists should I be caught, but the risk was worth it.
The idiots stayed asleep as I crept past them, and I almost felt guilty because I knew the lashing they would receive later for not keeping me locked in the condo. Casualties in the art of love, the art of war.
I moved around the big resort building, heading towards where the engagement dinner had been. There were people everywhere, resort staff bustling around with tables and chairs, a curved trellis—the backdrop for the priest no doubt—and sundry other wedding paraphernalia. The sight of each one spurred me forward and made me more determined to stop the wedding from happening.
Everyone had lost their goddamn minds, me included. In what world did it make sense to force Katya to marry a man that she just met, even before Alexander had married the woman he actually loved? It was their wedding that should be happening first, and it should take months of planning.
Not this absolute thrown-together shit show… for the wrong bride and groom.
Somehow, against odds, I found myself hunkered down in a thick area of trees and bushes near the wedding location. I watched the activity around me carefully, until I saw two employees rolling a garment rack towards the restaurant. Crisp white uniforms with gold buttons and black detailing. I left my hiding place and followed cautiously, entering the building and eventually finding the rack waiting in a small utility room. I quickly shifted through the clothing until I found something nearly my size. The fact that matching nautical style hats were pinned to the uniforms was a lucky break. It would help me hide my face until it was the right timing.
It also struck me how much Katya would hate the uniforms. The color scheme, the hats, even the damn trellis. This was as far from her dream wedding as it could possibly be. I knew, because once when we were kids, I’d stolen her dream diary and seen the wedding she wanted. Forest greens and deepest crimsons. Almost Christmas themed, but in July so the weather was warm and she could wear whatever style of dress she wanted. And it would be outside, in the woods, with a clearing for dancing and fairy lights strung through all the tree branches.
No one cared what she wanted. They never had. God, not even me. How many birthdays had she been pushed to the side? How many family events focused on Alex’s future as King, while she was left in the corner?
I wanted Katya to have everything she ever dreamed of, I had to make it happen for her.
I grabbed what I needed, leaving the utility room in favor of a nearby employee bathroom and changing there quickly, tossing the blood-stained old clothes into the trash and washing my face briskly with cold water. The bruising was still there, parts of my face turning a dark purple. Swollen bottom lip and eye hard to ignore.
Still, the hat helped to conceal me a little.
The time ticked by slowly.
The wedding scene was slowly building out on the white sands. Ocean blue flowers rioted with bright yellow, punctuated by delicate white blooms and sprigs of rich green. The ivory chairs and tables bore expensive flatware flanking gold-rimmed plates. Crystal glasses caught sunshine and shone like diamonds. It was the picture of a happy event, beauty hiding the dark truth that the union was a doomed one, full of shadows and pain.
A small walkway had been created, lined with conch shells and candles. At the end of it, facing the ocean, was the curved trellis—now decorated with the same blue and yellow flowers as the table arrangements. Only eight chairs were set up, four on either side of the aisle.
It would be a small affair, no more witnesses than that of the engagement dinner, but nonetheless dripping with the trappings of wealth to put on a proper show.
“Take this to the banquet table,” a voice barked at me and thumped me on the shoulder. I grimaced as pain shot down my shoulder from a bruise I hadn’t known was there until now. I kept my face tilted down as I turned to the speaker. The man wielded a large silver barrel filled with spherical, molded ice cubes and three bottles of what I knew to be one of the most expensive champagne brands in the world. Whilst the pale liquid inside was delightful, it was the diamond and white gold label that determined the crazy price tag.
It was even too much for Eduard and Evelina’s tastes. So expensive it crossed over into vulgar and tacky. No, this was Viktor’s doing.
“Did you hear what I said? This is a Vasiliev function.” The man snapped sharply inches from my turned down face. If it had been any other situation, and I hadn’t been paddling against a brutal current on life-threatening rapids, I’d have taught the man a lesson. “Get your head in the game. We can’t afford to disappoint our wealthiest client.”
I nodded quickly, avoiding the man’s gaze, and took the champagne. I walked purposefully towards the wedding arrangements. Eyes on the sand. One foot after another.
There were no clocks here, and yet, I heard the tick, tick, ticking of time moving forward.
One minute.
Two minutes.
Three minutes.
A waitress directed me to place the champagne near a grouping of fluted glasses.
“You might as well stay here,” she said quickly as I began to walk back the way I’d come. “We’re only thirty minutes until the ceremony and several of our staff haven’t made it from the mainland today. Insane if you ask me, putting on this type of function with barely a day’s notice. But it’s the Vasiliev family, so nothing surprises me.”
“Sure,” I responded quickly, not commenting on her dig at the Vasilievs, and moved around the table to join her behind the banquet table. Hors d’oeuvres were beginning to arrive now. Delicate sandwiches arranged on oval resort-crested platters were placed near the celebratory champagne. Various cheeses, olives, grapes. Petit fours decorated to match the floral arrangements were happy, dainty little things mocking my pain.
I forced down the grief and rage and did my best to stay calm and controlled. I could only wait now. Only bide my time. Soon, I’d go all in.
