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“Are you ready, solntse?” he asks, dressed in a fine Italian suit that makes his beefy shoulders look impossibly broad. And despite the tension that has lingered between us these past weeks, his eyes are filled with an unexpected warmth.
I nod, gripping onto his arm for support. The lace-trimmed veil cascades down my back, and I take a steadying breath. Today is the day I become Mishka’s wife, and nothing can ruin that. Not even my father’s presence.
The music starts, ushering us down the aisle, and as I enter the chapel, I spot my friends and family—the girls from school. Mishka stands at the altar, a vision in his tailored black suit, his eyes never leaving mine. As I approach him, the world fades away, and all that remains are the love and commitment reflected in his gaze.
When we reach the end of the aisle, my father places my hands in Mishka’s, and I feel a surge of gratitude for the man who claims me. His strength and confidence remind me of why I’m here today. I want to marry Mishka. The truth is, I would have married him the day he asked me to. The rest of this is just icing on the cake.
On my side of the altar stands Katie, her smile radiant as she watches us with a deep love that tells me she’s ecstatic that I’m so happy.
Viktor stands beside Mishka as the best man, and though his smile is genuine—his objections over our union having dissipated in the past month—his presence beside Mishka is still both comforting and bittersweet. I know that if Sascha were still alive, he would be standing in Viktor’s place, and it makes my heart ache that, as theatrical as this wedding is, Mishka has no one to stand beside him. Only me.
But of course, for the audience, Boris steals the show. Carrying our box of rings in his mouth, he marches up the aisle with a purpose and poise that makes me smile. He’s on his best behavior today, and despite all the pomp and ceremony of the production my parents put on, I stoop to give my dog an ample amount of praise and nose kisses as I retrieve the rings. Then I rise to hand Viktor the box.
“You look stunning,” Mishka murmurs as we take our place before the altar, and warmth radiates in my cheeks.
“Almost as good as you,” I counter, my heart fluttering as I spot his attempt to tame his unruly locks with hair product. Though his success is marginal, I find the effort both endearing and shockingly sexy.
The officiant weaves a tale of love and unity as we stand before him, and our friends and family—mine by birth and his by sheer determination—witness our union, and despite the icy landscape outside, the warmth that fills the chapel is palpable.
When it comes for the vows, Mishka’s voice is steady and full of emotion as it resonates through the room, his words binding us together. “I promise to stand by you in joy and sorrow, to cherish and support you, and to love you with all my heart.”
Tears well in my eyes as I reciprocate, making promises that come from the depths of my soul. “I promise to stand by you in joy and sorrow, to cherish and support you, and to love you with all my heart.”
It’s actually the one part of the wedding I insisted upon—vows that represented the love and devotion that encapsulate our relationship.
The exchange of rings symbolizes the eternity of our commitment. As Mishka slides the thin silver band onto my finger, creating a soft click as it meets the metal of my solitaire princess-cut diamond engagement ring, I feel the warmth of fulfillment wash through me. All I want is to be his wife, and now, as I guide the simple gold band onto his left ring finger, it’s official.
“I now pronounce you man and wife. Mishka, you may kiss your bride,” the officiant announces.
Mishka’s eyes twinkle, his lips spreading into a breath-stealing grin, and as he pulls me into his arms, warmth floods my body. Applause erupts through the church as he dips me playfully and we seal our vows with a kiss. I scarcely notice the noise as his lips trap mine in a fiery embrace—one that reminds me exactly why I want to marry him.
When I’m with Mishka, the rest of the world just… falls away.
Mishka and I walk back down the aisle hand in hand, greeted by the smiles and cheers of my friends and family and my father’s men. Boris trots beside me, unwilling to be left out of the special moment for longer than a moment.
As we step into the reception a short time later, the room is alive with celebration. Laughter and chatter create a joyous ruckus, and after a divine dinner, the dance floor beckons.
“Dance with me?” Mishka asks, taking my hand as he stands from his chair to pull me to the center of the room for our first dance.
“Mr. Orlov, I thought you didn’t dance,” I tease, thinking back to the night of my twenty-first birthday. I was the one trying to drag him onto the dance floor that night.
Mishka chuckles, pulling me from my chair and into his arms when I don’t make a move. A small squeal escapes my lips, and my hands go to his strong shoulders as he holds me close.
“I’ve found the girl I want to dance with,” he murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss to my lips. Then he guides me to the open space.
We share our first dance as husband and wife, and the world disappears around us as we lose ourselves in the music and the moment.
Then it’s time for the father-daughter dance. I force a smile, the warmth of the occasion contrasting with the cold reality that surrounds us as my father takes me in his arms.
“Alina, you look radiant,” he says, his eyes filled with a cautious pride.
I nod, feeling a surge of discomfort. “Thank you, Papachka. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done to make today special.”
Swaying slowly to the song, he gives me an affectionate squeeze, pulling me close like he used to when he comforted me as a kid. “You’ve made us proud today, Alina. Now, we can put this behind us and focus on the future.”
I offer him a tight-lipped smile. How much has changed since I met Mishka, and though I’m glad to know the truth of my father’s world, I miss our closeness.
“I am happy for you, solntse,” he says, his deep voice rumbling. “And though I know we’ve have our differences, I only want what’s best for you.”
