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I’m not afraid of it. Of him. Of any of them.
I let them consume me, because I want to be consumed. I want to be devoured. I want to be theirs.
And tomorrow, I will be.
Forever and always, theirs.
Chapter 30
Valentina
Staring at my reflection is surreal. I’ve tried the dress on half a dozen times now for Celia to make alterations, but seeing it for real, with the lacy veil draped down my back, the golden embroidery woven throughout, the hints of glitter across my cheeks...
It’s surreal.
I look like a princess. Like the one I was promised to become. Only, not like the one I was five years ago. Something bolder. Better.
I suck in a breath and stare at my reflection. The dress is definitely bolder than my last one. The deep V cut accentuates my cleavage, while the cinched waist highlights my hourglass figure. The skirt doesn’t flare out until my thighs, meaning that my full hips are on display. It’s unapologetically sexy and makes me feel like a goddess.
Celia comes around to my front with the tube of lip stain in her hands. “I’m telling you. They won’t be able to keep their hands off you. Mikhail’s been trying to sneak a peek at your dress for days. When he sees you, he’s going to go feral. They all will.” She dazzles me with the Monrovia signature smile as she applies a final coat of red to my lips. “I’m jealous.” Her smile turns a little sad before she catches herself. “But in the best way. You have to tell me all about tonight when I see you next. And your honeymoon! Where are you going? Oh! Don’t tell me! Let it be a surprise.”
I don’t actually think there’s going to be a honeymoon, but I don’t have the heart to tell Celia. Let her dream.
It beats the reality of knowing that we might be having a wedding and a funeral.
I pick at my cuticles while we wait for the ceremony to start. My grandmother is here somewhere. I know she is. But what’s her plan? Is she going to sit in the front row as my only living relative left? Will she burst into the church and object to the ceremony right as Andrei and I are about to say I do? Have my men already found her and tied her up, or worse, put a bullet between her eyes and shoved her into a broom closet?
Celia snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Hello? Beautiful bride? You in there?”
I force a smile as Celia comes back into focus. “I’m sorry, were you saying something?”
She gives me a skeptical look. “We have your something borrowed—” She taps the gold bracelet on my wrist that she let me borrow. “Something new—” The teardrop diamond necklace Andrei surprised me with is cool against my neck. “Something old—” The pearl hairpin holding up my French braid was my mother’s. “But your something blue. Didn’t we have a ribbon or something?”
I glance down at my bare feet. Mikhail tried to get me to wear pale blue heels, but I declined, insisting that my gold pedicure would look best on display. “I was going to wrap a blue ribbon around my ankle, yeah.” It’s not the most traditional, but it’ll give me a little pop of color in the place of shoes. “It’s okay if we can’t find it. I don’t need it.”
It’s not like I believe in superstition, anyway.
Celia gasps melodramatically. “Of course you do! Something blue is the most important! It wards off evil.” She squeezes my hands with her own. “Don’t worry, I’ll go find something. I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who would love to give their pakhan’s bride something blue to wear. I’ll be back in a jiff.”
“No, really, it’s okay?—”
The door clicks shut behind Celia, and she’s gone just like that.
I resist the urge to bite my lip and ruin my lipstick. “Well, here we are again, Valentina. Alone on our wedding day.” I turn back to the mirror and brush my palm down my bodice, smoothing any imaginary wrinkles. The gold embroidery is beautiful, a finishing touch that Celia insisted on. It curves around my waist like vines, weaving down into the skirt, with touches of gold petals falling like snow around them.
The dress feels magical.
I feel magical. Like I’m glowing.
I wish my mom were here to see it.
The longing aches, and I brush a stray tear from my eye. Even if she’s not here in person, I know she’s in every stitch of this dress. Golden roses were one of her favorite things, and I specifically requested they be incorporated into the design in her honor.
As another tear falls, I slip into the bathroom to check the damage. Celia spent an hour on my makeup, insisting that she do it all herself as part of the whole design package, and I’ll be damned if I mess it up.
Once I reapply mascara and dry my eyes, I step back into the dressing room. “Celia, are you back yet?”
I’m met with silence, and anxiety creeps up my spine. It has to be time for the ceremony to start. Where did she go?
