Instead of becoming a spectacle for the whole of St. Petersburg, I'm doing things Gabriele Volante's way. His understated approach feels alien to me but I can't say I hate it. Under the circumstances, I prefer the lack of fuss.
When Maria showed me up to my bedroom, I found my wedding dress hanging on the closet door. A floor-length ivory silk sheath, it clings to my curves. The neckline is high at the front and low at the back. There's a pretty lace trim. It's demure yet sexy at the same time. It fits perfectly, as do the four-inch heels that complement it. Maria helped me to zip it up, then gave me a maternal pat on the arm. Though it wasn't much, it was actually more than I could have hoped for from my own mother.
What surprised me almost as much as the dress was finding the suitcase I brought with me from St. Petersburg in the closet. Someone must have fetched it from the Four Seasons where Niamh and I stayed last night. There was barely any time for them to do that. My fate was clearly decided before I even left Russia.
Part of me finds it frightening that everything has been taken out of my hands. I came into this situation assuming I had some control but Gabriele soon disabused me of that notion. Letting him take the reins is both terrifying and strangely comforting. For the first time in ages I feel like someone is taking care of me. I know, deep down, it's just him making sure his shiny new possession doesn't come to any harm, but right now I can't bring myself to care.
Perhaps my view of the situation is too rosy but I have to believe everything will work out. After months of acting, reacting and trying to stay one step ahead of disaster, I don't object to him taking over as much as I usually would. I just wish it wasn't all happening so fast.
As we pull into a narrow street, I notice four men in dark suits stationed at the end. They're not obviously armed but I'm sure each of them is carrying a weapon. The car stops about halfway along the street, outside a small church tucked between two ochre buildings. Stone steps lead up to a heavy wooden door. Despite the trepidation washing over me, I take a momentto admire its charm. Somewhere in the distance a bell tolls, a low, resonant note perfectly timed to herald my arrival.
Lukas gets out of the car and comes to open my door. He's been chatting with the driver in rapid-fire Italian for the last fifteen minutes and the only word I picked up wasragazza, which I'm pretty sure means girl. They might have been talking about me but I guess if I want to know for sure when I'm being discussed, I'll need to learn the language.
"Signorina." Lukas holds a hand out to me.
I take a moment to try to reconcile myself to what's happening. Though this was what I came here for, things have slipped completely from my control. Am I making a terrible mistake? Gabriele Volante is a dangerous man and I know nothing about him.
"Katya," Lukas says, more insistent now.
For the second time today, I take his hand and let him help me from the car. As I stumble on the old, uneven stones beneath my feet, he catches my arm and steadies me.
"Thank you," I whisper.
"Can't bring you to Gabriele with bruises all over you."
It's a stark reminder that people will now view me as something to protect for Gabriele's sake and not my own. I almost laugh at the disappointment that causes. When has it ever been different for me?
Lukas leads me up the steps and into a small entrance area where Niamh is waiting. She looks me over and smiles.
"The dress is stunning."
"Did you choose it?" I ask, wondering just how complicit she is in this whole ambush wedding situation.
"Gabriele did," Lukas says.
"Gabriele?"
"He has a good eye, doesn't he?" Niamh says as she examines me once more.
"Just the one," Lukas says before chuckling.
Niamh shakes her head as Lukas saunters off down the aisle, leaving me unsure how to react to the remark. Should I be appalled? Probably, but I also find it reassuring. If Lukas is comfortable joking about Gabriele’s scars, perhaps the man who’s about to become my husband is less forbidding than he first appears.
"Lukas and Gabriele are like brothers. They don't tiptoe around each other." Niamh reaches out to adjust the lace at my neckline, where a piece has tucked under itself. "If they seem insensitive at times, ignore it."
"I'm used to tactless men, believe me."
Niamh gives me a sympathetic smile. As I look at her I realise she's wearing the same pretty floral dress she had on when she dropped me off at Gabriele's villa. It doesn't scream bridesmaid but it isn't business casual either. The dress is something you might wear to a summer garden party. It firms up my suspicions she had some pre-warning this wedding was going to happen.
"Did you know he planned this?" I ask.
To her credit, there is a hint of apology in her expression. "Gabriele doesn't waste time when he knows what he wants."
"And what about me?"
She lays a hand on my arm. "Katya, you knew what you wanted from the moment you first approached me. You need Gabriele and the protection he brings. You want his wealth and influence and perhaps now you've met him, a part of you just might want the man himself."
There is no way I'll admit that when Gabriele's gaze moves over me, it leaves my skin tingling in its wake.
