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Dimitri’s outburst rings in the air like a gunshot, but I can’t help but admire the audacity of Erik’s plan. I turn my gaze toward him, looking for any sign that he’s joking. There’s none. The bastard is as serious as a heart attack.
“If you can make that happen, Erik,” I say, ignoring Dimitri’s tangible shock, “that would be a fucking coup. We’d have an inside track on both the Italian and Russian underworlds. But you’re going to need more than a wedding ring to get that ice queen to thaw.”
Erik just gives us a mirthless smile. “Oh, I have my ways. And once we’re tied by blood, not even a goddamn nuclear bomb will be able to break us apart.”
A long pause.
Dimitri’s scowl gradually transforms into a reluctant nod. “Alright. Erik, you’re playing with fire here.”
“I’ll manage,” Erik says, smirking.
“Alright,” I say, clapping my hands together. “We’ve got a lot to do. But first, Yulia has been asking to spend time with us. The wedding is tomorrow, and today, we should give her a little attention.”
Dimitri exhales, the smoke from his ever-present cigarette curling into the charged air. “From war rooms to wedding bells and daddy-daughter dates. What a fucked-up life we lead.”
Chapter 68
Sophia
“YOU LOOK like a princess, Sophia.” Little Yulia’s voice is filled with awe, her eyes wide as saucers as she stares at me in my wedding gown.
I look back at the mirror, my reflection transformed by the elegance of the gown and the artful touch of make-up. For a fleeting moment, I do feel like a princess. Like someone who has stepped out of a fairy tale and into a beautiful reality.
But this isn’t a fairy tale, and I know it.
This is real life.
My life, and today is the first day of a new chapter. A chapter I’ll be sharing with Luka, the complex, intriguing man who’s brought so much joy, change, and even a bit of turmoil into my life.
“Thank you, Yulia,” I say, kneeling down to her level. “You make a pretty fantastic flower girl, you know? Almost like a little fairy.”
“Really? A fairy?” Yulia’s eyes sparkle as she takes in the compliment. She clutches Max’s leash a little tighter; the dog is also dressed up for the occasion, looking rather dashing in his miniature tuxedo.
Max barks as if agreeing, and Yulia giggles. “Look, Sophia, even Max thinks he’s all ready for the wedding!”
“I can see that,” I say, chuckling at Max’s adorable little outfit. “You both look amazing. Max is definitely the most handsome dog at the wedding.”
“Max is the only dog at the wedding,” Wren interjects, adjusting my veil, her eyes squinting as if it’s the most important task in the world. “I can’t believe you are getting married, best friend.”
“I know, right?” I say, looking at Wren in the mirror. “I never thought I’d see the day. I mean, you and I used to have plans to grow old together – two crazy ladies with a house full of cats.”
“Speak for yourself, darling. My plan always involved multiple husbands, at least one of whom was a billionaire,” Wren retorts, her eyes gleaming mischievously. “But fine, for you, I’d have settled for the crazy cat lady lifestyle.”
“Multiple husbands? Really, Wren?” I raise an eyebrow, amused.
“What? I like variety. Is that so wrong?” Wren shoots back, grinning.
Nana shakes her head and mutters something about “young people these days.” I look at her, perched quietly in her wheelchair by the window. Beyond her, a tranquil lake mirrors the azure sky, its surface punctuated by the vivid greens of surrounding foliage. Nana is framed by nature’s canvas as if she’s a subject in a classic painting – beautiful, timeless, and regal.
Ekaterina had helped her to that special spot, and now the sunlight filters through the window, casting a soft luminosity on Nana’s face. It accentuates her lines of age, each one a testament to wisdom earned and love given. The room around us, filled with the buzz of preparations, forms a cocoon, a sacred space humming with the vivid hues of our dresses, the shimmer of jewelry, and the tangible yet unspoken expectancy that electrifies the air.
Ekaterina steps towards me, holding a velvet box reverently in her hands.
“Here,” she says softly as she opens the box to reveal a tiara. It’s not just any tiara; it’s an intricate, antique piece encrusted with diamonds that sparkle even in the soft light filtering through the large windows overlooking the serene lake outside. “This belonged to Luka’s mother. She would have wanted you to wear it today.”
I’m at a loss for words, touched by the emotional weight of the heirloom. I carefully lift the tiara out of the box, the diamonds catching light, twinkling like stars plucked from the sky. It’s elegance incarnate, with an arrogance that says, “I am here, and I am spectacular.”
“Wow,” is all I manage to say.
