Page 124 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

A knock on the door interrupts us. Ekaterina enters without waiting for permission, her expression softening when she sees me standing there in the gown.

"Beautiful," she says simply. "My son is a lucky man. All three of them are."

She crosses the room and adjusts my veil with practiced hands, her touch gentle and maternal. When she steps back, her dark eyes are suspiciously bright.

"It's time," she says.

My heart pounds so hard, I worry it's going to jump out of my chest. Sharon squeezes my hand once more before stepping back, and Ekaterina guides me toward the door.

The walk down the grand staircase feels surreal. Music drifts up from below, a blend of traditional Russian melodies and something softer, more modern. My hand grips the railing as I descend, my legs shaking beneath the layers of silk.

When I reach the bottom, I see them. Russ stands to the left, wearing a perfectly tailored black suit with a white shirt and no tie. His blond hair is styled back, and his light eyes are locked on me with pure love and possession. He looks younger somehow, less guarded, and when our eyes meet, he smiles.

Nick stands in the center, his black hair falling just past his shoulders, his green eyes serious and focused. His suit is darker than Russ's, almost charcoal, and he wears it with the same control he brings to everything. But he looks at me with pride and... possession, of course.

Alex stands to the right, his brown hair graying at the temples, his lean frame radiating quiet authority. He's wearing a dark gray suit with a black shirt, and the scar along his jawline is barely visible in the candlelight. His eyes never leave mine as I approach.

The ceremony is a blend of Russian traditions and the unconventional reality of what we're doing. An Orthodox priest stands before us, his robes elaborate and his voice deep as he begins the prayers. Crowns are held over our heads during parts of the ceremony, the weight of them symbolic even though they never touch our skin.

But when it comes time for vows, we abandon tradition completely.

"I'm not doing this the normal way," Russ says, his voice carrying across the gathered crowd. "Because nothing about this is normal."

A few people laugh quietly, and I see his mother dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

Russ takes my hand, his grip warm and steady. "Marla, I didn't plan on falling for you. I didn't plan on any of this. But you walked into my life and turned everything upside down, and I wouldn't change a damn thing. I promise to protect you, to make you laugh when you're scared, and to love you for the rest of my life."

My throat tightens, and I blink rapidly to keep the tears from falling.

Nick steps forward next, taking my other hand. His voice is quieter but no less serious. "I've spent most of my life keeping people at a distance. It's safer that way. But you got past every wall I built, and now I can't imagine my life without you in it. I promise to keep you safe, to stand beside you no matter what comes, and to love you completely."

Alex moves closer, his hands cupping my face gently. His dark eyes search mine, and when he speaks, his voice is rough with emotion. "You made me believe in something I thought I'd lost years ago. You made me want more than just survival. I promise to give you everything I have, to protect you and our family with everything I am, and to love you until my last breath."

I'm crying now, tears streaming down my face as I look at each of them in turn.

"I promise to trust you," I say, my voice shaking. "To let you protect me without fighting it every step of the way. I promise to love all three of you equally, completely, and forever. You've given me a family when I never thought I'd have one. You've made me feel safe when I spent years being afraid. I love you. All of you."

The priest finishes the ceremony with prayers and blessings, and when he finally declares us married, the entire room erupts into applause and cheers.

Russ kisses me first, his mouth warm and familiar. Nick follows, his kiss deeper and more possessive. Alex kisses me last, his hands cradling my face.

When I turn to face the crowd, I see Ekaterina openly crying while pretending she isn't. Even some of the older captains look moved. Nobody looks ashamed or uncertain. The three men stand beside me proudly, possessively, and the weight of years spent feeling temporary and disposable unravels inside me.

I belong here. I belong to them.

The reception afterward is loud, emotional, and chaotic in the best possible way. The central gathering house feels truly alive as music blares from speakers, vodka flows freely, and people dance with abandon. Speeches are given, some heartfelt and others teasing, and laughter echoes off the high ceilings.

Nick dances with me, despite his earlier claims that he hates dancing. "You look beautiful," he murmurs against my ear.

"You're not so bad yourself," I say, smiling up at him.

Russ becomes increasingly affectionate as the night goes on and the vodka keeps flowing. He pulls me into his arms at every opportunity, kissing my temple, my cheek, my lips. "My wife," he keeps saying, like he's testing out the word. "My fucking wife."

Alex remains quieter throughout the reception, but his eyes barely leave me all night. When he finally pulls me aside for a private moment, his hand rests protectively over my stomach.

"You okay?" he asks.

"I'm perfect," I say honestly.