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Her expression is loaded with affection. “Because if I was in your shoes, I’d be sprinting out the door. You seem to be finding little ways here and there to delay this.”
Bunching my hands in the front of my dress, I make a split-second decision to be honest. It’s foolish—the girl works for Arsen—but what have I got to lose anymore?
“This isn’t how I pictured my wedding,” I admit quietly. “Nobody I know will be there.”
“You know me.” She offers a warm smile.
I think she’s teasing me, but the raw sincerity in her eyes says otherwise. Disarmed by her comment, I deflate on the spot. My hand winds into hers, tugging her to the exit. “You’re absolutely right.”
Olesya beams happily at my response. She opens the front door for me, waving me through. I step into the light, grateful to have a reason—even an ominous one—to be free of the mansion again. There are three men outside on the driveway next to a pair of white Escalades in place of the usual black ones.
I recognize Kostya instantly, his bald head shining in the sunlight.
He sees me and scowls. “Come on,” he grouses. “Get in the car.”
“Are you driving?” I ask suspiciously. He gives me awful vibes. I do not want to be alone with him.
His frown spreads wider. “No. I’ll remain here on guard duty.” He sounds annoyed.
I guess only some of the soldiers are allowed at the wedding. How does Arsen decide who gets picked for special events and who stays behind to watch an empty house?
Kostya adjusts his gun in its holster, and I spy the new bandages on his left hand. Looks like he still isn’t healed yet from whatever happened to him the other day.
“Stop delaying,” he grumbles. “Or do you need me to force you into the car?”
Drawing myself up, I challenge him with my shoulders pulled back. I must look hilarious to be facing off with an armed man in my wedding dress.
“What’s happening?” Ulyana rounds into view from behind the first car. Her typical outfit has been replaced by an ankle-length gown the color of a stormy sky. The beading on the hem is as metallic as the rims on the cars. She’s pulled her hair into a high updo that draws attention to her thick makeup.
“Kostya!” she snaps like an owner reprimanding a dog.
The man shrinks at the tone in her voice. “Apologies. I was only reminding the mistress of the time.”
“That is not what Arsen Kirilovich instructed you to do,” she scolds him. Her attention flies to Olesya, who has been lingering nearby looking anxious. “You. In the other car. Now.”
While Olesya hurries into the rear-most Escalade, Ulyana opens the back door of the first. I peer inside; it’s empty.
“I’m riding alone?” I don’t know the man at the steering wheel. The idea of being with a stranger when I’m vulnerable, on the verge of running or puking, isn’t fun.
“No,” she says, giving my shoulder a light pat. “I’ll be up front. Now, please, so we don’t have to rush.”
She helps me into the back seat, closing me in. The sound of the door shutting alarms me. Even though she’s right in front, close enough to touch, I still feel alone. Not, not feel, I tell myself. I am alone. There’s no one here who’s my ally.
The driver starts the car, taking us through the tall, spiked gates. I peek back to make sure the other car is following. I can’t see Olesya through the tint. As we drive, I take note of which roads we turn on. I have no clue where we’re going. My wedding feels more like a surprise party. I’m in the dark on every aspect of it.
“Would you like some music?” Ulyana asks. “Anything in particular? Classical, perhaps, since you like the ballet?”
Pushing my lips together, I think it over. “How about some pop?”
She lifts her brows to her hairline. “Pop …?”
Chuckling, the driver flicks on the radio. Doja Cat begins blasting out of the speakers. Ulyana’s shocked face has me covering my mouth to stifle my giggles. It’s almost enough to cheer me up, helping me forget what I’m on my way to do.
This music reminds me of Audrey. And suddenly, I’m bombarded by memories of bribing bartenders to play music we liked—always something high energy that’s fun to dance to, especially when drunk—and stumbling back to her house while belting out the lyrics and leaning on each other as we laughed.
I was her maid of honor, and I thought for sure she’d be mine. My hands bunch up in my dress, and I fight back the tears as the car carries me toward Arsen. The reality of what is about to happen is like a splash of ice water on my face, washing away the memories of the searing lust that overwhelmed us the night before.
I wish she was here. When I get married ... for real married ... she’ll be at my side. I just have to endure this. Everything will be okay. My confidence starts rising, until we turn the corner.
