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And I see it.
The outside of the church is a geometric fortress. It’s a replica of the tattoo on Arsen’s back, but in color. Spires shine like golden fire in the sun; the white of the stone is brighter than my wedding dress. It has to be thirty feet tall. It might as well be a behemoth. Intimidated by the sight of it, I freeze up inside the car. “This way,” Ulyana says, hopping out and opening my door.
Not looking at her, I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“You must.” Her voice is hard as iron.
Fidgeting with the ring on my finger, I close my eyes, trying to find some source of courage. Think of what Dad would say. Scrunching my face, I recall the day of my ballet show. It’s not the made-up fears in our heads we should get trapped in; it’s the joy we share with others.
But what joy is here? Not mine. I doubt Arsen is happy either.
Lust isn’t love.
The fears aren’t made up this time, Dad.
My eyes snap open. Ulyana is watching me with concern, creating wrinkles on her forehead. “Galina, please.”
“No time for a pep talk?” I chuckle cynically. “Maybe remind me that I have to do unthinkable things for survival?”
Her eyes overflow with anguish. “Do you feel that marrying him will be that awful?”
Instead of answering, I climb out of the car.
There are men everywhere. Though they’re dressed in sharp suits like you’d expect at a special event, I know a performance when I see one. If I look carefully, I can spot how they tuck their hands under their jackets, fingering something solid. Guns. All of them are Arsen’s soldiers, each of them armed to the teeth.
The queasy pit of unease gets deeper when we enter the church. The stained-glass windows are beautiful pieces of art. Shadowy figures move beyond them. Other people shift in the nave, not from nerves but paranoia. He’s placed men everywhere. Ninety percent of the attendees are killers who work for Arsen. The rest are the house staff, though I bet they’re armed, too.
He expects Yevgeniy to show up. Thinking back to Mila’s recent meeting, I know I’m right. She knew the date of the wedding before I did. Arsen is orchestrating a booby trap for his enemy. And I am the bait. I still don’t understand what he wants from me. I’ve never met Yevgeniy; I only know his name thanks to Arsen.
I should have asked Mila more questions when I had the chance. Mila ... where is she? Searching the church, I confirm she’s nowhere to be found. Then I feel silly; of course I don’t see her. She’d be a terrible assassin if I did.
Ulyana puts her hand out to halt me from going further. Looking ahead, I spot the altar that’s decorated with ivy wreaths, the green leaves flecked by spots of color. Roses. Are they from Arsen’s garden? A priest in elaborate, full-length robes stands like a sentinel at the end of the aisle. His eyes track to Ulyana. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t speak, but something is communicated.
“Follow me,” she whispers.
My heels inch forward. An orchestra of music pipes from speakers on the walls of the large room. Brass and strings work together to create classical wedding music. All the eyes in the church shift to me. If you didn’t know the situation, you would look at the scene and think, Yes, a perfect wedding is unfolding here.
Swallowing the hard ball in my throat, I follow Ulyana down the aisle. My legs feel like bloated river logs, and moving them takes incredible effort. It’s a miracle I reach the priest without falling. Now that I’m up close, I see that he’s quite old. There are brown spots making a pattern on his forehead, his hair as pale as my face. He carries himself with an air of reverence. Not the cocky energy Arsen boasts, but something that makes me recall the natural respect I had for my father.
He offers me a benign smile. When he looks over my head, my heart strains to contain itself. I know what I’ll see before I turn.
Arsen is dressed in a tapered suit the color of aged wine. His hair is slicked back more than usual, giving his features a precise, sharper look. It’s the impression of a shark swimming toward me through the waves. Confidence wafts off him from a distance. This man is built differently … a person who inherently knows he’s the most important person in the room. Air strains my lungs; I let it out, not noticing I was holding it in.
He climbs the steps to stand beside me. I’m used to him undressing me with his eyes. Today is different. He’s not stripping me bare with a look; it’s more like he’s absorbing me … locking the moment into memory.
This event is a show. He shouldn’t be allowed to stare at me with admiration. He should be distracted, walled up.
I want him to act like he’s ready to marry me. Not actually look my way with the raw emotion of a man ready to spend the rest of his years at my side.
Ulyana extends her arms over my head. She’s gripping a gorgeous crown, the tips sharp as rose thorns, the metal winding like snakes. It’s as gold as the church spires outside. Where did she get that from? I wasn’t around for my parents’ wedding. I wonder if they followed these same ancient customs as well when they were married.
I wait for her to place the crown on my head. But she doesn’t. From the corner of my eye, I see a man beside Arsen doing the same to him, holding a slightly different crown over him. The pair wait patiently for some sign to set the crowns upon us.
“The rings,” the priest whispers for just our ears. Arsen pulls a silvery band from his suit pocket. The priest looks pointedly at me.
I blink as panic grips me in its icy fist. “Wait, I didn’t bring?—”
Ulyana makes a soft noise in her throat; she’s holding out a ring in her palm, at hip height, away from the crowd. Only we and the priest can see. Though I’m grateful not to have gotten caught in a mistake, I’m uneasy when I take the ring. It’s cold to the touch.
