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I take her hand. "Indeed, I am Ivan Stepanov. It's a pleasure, Barb," I reply, my tone polite yet reserved.
Julie, standing beside me, watches the exchange with an unreadable expression. "Barb has been a big support," she adds, her voice carrying a note of fondness.
I nod, acknowledging the sentiment. "I can see that. It's always good to have family around."
“Well,” I say, releasing Barb’s hand and gesturing to the nearby courtroom where the proceedings are set to occur. “Shall we?”
“I suppose we shall,” Julie says.
As we step into the courtroom, the heavy door closing behind us with a definitive thud, I steal one last glance at Julie. In the sterile light, she's a welcome presence in a world of legal formalities and repetitious procedures.
"Ready for this?" I ask, my voice a low whisper that only she can hear.
Julie nods, her eyes meeting mine with a resolve that mirrors my own. "As ready as I'll ever be," she replies, her voice laced with a courage that I can't help but admire.
With that, we turn to face the judge, side by side, stepping into a future neither of us could have predicted. It's a new beginning for both of us, untraditional yet meticulously planned, and underlined by a current of something raw and uncharted.
As the judge begins to speak, the reality of our decision anchors itself. For the first time, I find myself embracing the uncertainty of it all, intrigued by the possibilities it holds.
Chapter 12
Julie
The wedding—if I can even call it that—wraps up in a cool ten minutes. It feels more like a business meeting that just happened to include exchanging rings. Ivan slips a simple gold band onto my finger, its weight foreign and oddly significant. In return, I slide the matching band onto his. He picked them both out, of course. Practical, no fuss.
When we say, "I do," the words echo in the courtroom, sounding too loud, too formal. Ivan presses his lips against mine, a chaste, brief contact that sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. It's over before I fully register it, but the sensation lingers, a ghost of a touch that leaves me more confused about my feelings than ever.
As the judge pronounces us husband and wife, I can't help but steal another glance at Ivan. He's looking every bit the embodiment of a modern-day prince in his impeccably tailored suit. The fabric seems to cling to him in all the right places, accentuating his broad shoulders and the lean strength of his frame. The suit, a deep navy blue, makes him appear even more commanding and impossibly sexy.
As we step away from the judge's bench, I turn to my new husband. "So what now?" I ask, trying to keep my voice light, masking the whirlwind of thoughts in my head.
Ivan is all business, as usual. "I have a car waiting for us outside," he says.
"A car? Are we going on a honeymoon, or do you have a meeting?" The words slip out before I can stop them, my attempt at humor masking the surrealness of the situation.
As Barb and I say our farewells in the courthouse lobby, I can't help but notice the concern etched on her face, her eyes reflecting both love and worry. She pulls me into a warm embrace, her arms wrapping around me with a motherly tenderness. “Julie, you can always come to me, anytime, day or night, if you need anything,” she whispers, her voice heavy. “You know that, right?”
I nod, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. “I know, Aunt Barb. Thank you,” I manage to say.
She then turns to Ivan, her gaze piercing, protective. “You better take good care of her, Ivan. She’s precious, and I’m entrusting her to you.”
Ivan meets her gaze steadily, a flicker of respect in his eyes. “I assure you, Barb, Julie will be well taken care of,” he says, his voice firm, leaving no room for doubt.
Barb studies him for a moment longer, as if weighing his words, then finally nods, seemingly satisfied with his promise. She turns back to me, kissing my cheeks softly. “Remember what I said, darling.”
As we part ways, Fyodor steps in with his easy charm and a smile that lightens the mood. “Welcome to the family, Julie,” he says, his voice warm and welcoming, though a hint of hesitation lingers beneath his cheerful demeanor.
He doesn’t seem entirely convinced about the nature of our union, but his friendly disposition is a stark contrast to Ivan’s more reserved manner. “Let me walk you to your car, Barb,” he offers, extending his arm to her in a gentlemanly gesture.
Once alone with Ivan, the air shifts. The presence of others had provided a buffer, a distraction from the reality of our situation. But now it’s just him and me, a husband and wife in the most unconventional sense.
As we reach the curb, a sleek car glides to a smooth stop in front of us. The driver, dressed in a crisp uniform, quickly hops out and opens the door with a practiced air of professionalism.
Stepping inside, I'm immediately struck by the lavish interior—a bottle of champagne along with two flutes are chilling in a silver bucket and a small charcuterie board arranged with an assortment of cheeses and meats sit beside it, all elegantly displayed. It’s all very Ivan; efficient luxury without a hint of ostentation.
Ivan follows, sliding into the seat opposite me with an ease that speaks of his familiarity with this kind of luxury. He reaches for the champagne bottle, his movements precise and practiced. With a deft flick of his wrist, he pops the cork, the sound cutting through the quiet of the car.
Pouring two glasses of the sparkling liquid, he hands one to me. Our fingers brush briefly, sending a jolt through me. It's a simple touch, but in the confined space of the car, it feels intimate, charged. A reminder of the fire still blazing between us.
