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“When Dad died, Mikhail didn’t even give himself time to grieve.” She presses her lips together. “This lifestyle might not break my brother, but if you leave like you did before...”
A cold sweat breaks out across my lower back.
“...he won’t come out the other side the same man. He won’t survive it.”
I swallow the lump in my throat as best I can. “Celia, when I left before?—”
She holds up her hand. “I don’t need your history. I like you, Valentina, and I want to believe you have good intentions, but you backed out before. It’s going to take a while to build up my trust, not to mention the trust of the entire city.” With a sigh, she flicks her bangs out of her eyes. “You have a hard task ahead of you. I don’t envy you for it.”
As Celia sips more of her wine, I straighten my posture to look her dead in the eye. “I don’t owe you an explanation, but since you’re Mikhail’s sister, I’ll say this.” I steel my spine, feeling surer about this than ever before. “I know everyone may think I’m a flake, fine, but they don’t know anything about my life, other than the gossip they spread. Yes, I left, but I was a different person five years ago than I am today. I...”
I picture my men standing around Ezra’s room after our misadventure in bed together. They all look so relaxed, and after watching them work themselves into an early grave for the past few days, the difference is striking. They look happy. My heart soars when each of them smiles at me, holds my hand, or calls me by some little Russian pet name.
Not only that, but I still need answers. My mom’s dead and sadly not buried, and now my grandmother is apparently public enemy number one. There are too many hidden family secrets I still have to dig up.
If I have any chance at a happily married future, I need to root out past demons and exorcize them, first.
“I’m not leaving,” I assure Celia. “I choose them too.”
Celia’s demeanor brightens instantly. Jumping up from the couch and crossing over to me, she practically falls into my lap as she tries to give me a half-standing, half-crouched hug. “I’m so relieved, Valentina. You have no idea.” She stands back up, shaking her arms and twisting her body. “Oooh, okay. Shake it off. Let’s clear the air here.” Waving her arms around to clear the air, whether literally or metaphorically, she exhales and nods. “Better. Now, I know Mikhail spilled the beans about your wedding dress...” Her brown eyes sparkle. “Would you like to see it?”
Warmth bubbles in my chest. The last time I looked at wedding gowns was with my mother. We spent hours looking at catalogs and trying on all the different gown designs delivered to the estate. We ate finger sandwiches in bed, both of us buried in the ruffled skirts of our dresses.
It’s one of my happiest memories, and I’ll treasure those moments with my mother for as long as I live.
My brief time with Celia feels different than the time spent with my mom. My heart aches for what I’ve lost, but as Celia takes me into her home office and shows me all the different sketches she’s drawn, hope flows.
Celia’s massive sketchbook is as wide as her arm and covered in fabric swatches pinned to the edges of every page. Penciled designs in creams and whites and golds fill a dozen or more additional pages.
I haven’t given much thought to my wedding dress this go around, but Celia has clearly been planning for a while.
“Now, Andrei told me snippets about you, but he’s left a lot of the design up to me. I looked at pictures of your previous dress, but if we’ve got a new Valentina Baranova on our hands, the old one won’t do.” She takes me through various design features, between the bodice and the skirt and even the possibility of a train. By the end, we’re both sitting on the floor as Celia pulls up inspiration pictures on her phone. Luxurious fabrics are scattered in piles all around us, and we spend a long time coordinating around my tastes.
I want something different from before. So much has changed since then, and I want the dress to be a reflection of everything I’ve overcome.
Celia stares at the ceiling, the end of a pencil propped against her lips. “Tell me how you feel when you think of your life, Valentina. Of Andrei or Mikhail or Ezra. We’ll try and capture those emotions with our design.”
While we continue working, I catch Mikhail peering into the room from the hallway. When more time passes, and we aren’t anywhere near stopping, he brings a second bottle of wine, then some crackers and cheese on a tray. As he sips his own glass, he leans against the doorframe and watches our progress.
“How was work?” I ask him, offering him a slice of gouda on top of a salted cracker.
He pops the cracker combo into his mouth. “We’re having some trouble, actually.” He’s quiet for a few seconds, his forehead creasing in thought. “I thought I’d secured all the properties my father sold years ago, but apparently, there’s been a legal snag.” He swirls the wine in his glass, a scowl on his lips. “I’ve been fighting our competitors for days, but it seems like I’ve lost.” Bitterly, he downs the rest of his glass and snags the open bottle to pour himself another. “Andrei won’t be pleased.”
“Guess we shouldn’t go home, then.”
As my words settle over him, Mikhail’s expression shifts, a devious smile taking hold. “Guess not.”
Excitement snares my heart before I can remind it that we’re mad at Mikhail. He catches the look on my face and grins down at me. Setting down his glass, he walks over and holds out both his hands to help me up off the floor. “Truce? At least until Andrei’s wrath has passed? I can’t have my pakhan and my girl both mad at me.”
I grasp his hands, and he pulls me up from the floor. “You’ll survive.”
“Barely,” he breathes, stepping into my space, cupping my cheek, and brushing his lips against mine. “A kiss would help.”
I roll my eyes and lightly smack his chest. “You’re insufferable.”
“Only when it comes to you.”
“Not true!” Celia interrupts, pushing herself up off the floor. She takes one look at us and smiles at me over Mikhail’s shoulder. “You guys hungry? I’m gonna order some takeout. Chinese okay?”
