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They’ll see the flowers, the cake, and the dress tomorrow.
My parents keep calling as well, asking about all sorts of minutiae that I can’t answer. I give them Peter’s number, as he’s the official wedding planner, but my mom still calls every hour with some kind of question or concern. I suspect it’s because they’re afraid I’ll disappear again, so I try to be patient, but by the fifth call, it’s all I can do to bring myself to pick up the phone and explain yet again that I have no clue if there will be chairs or benches at the ceremony.
It’s a busy day at work, too, with a twin-pregnancy C-section scheduled this afternoon, which means I barely have time to get lunch before I have to head over to the hospital to perform the procedure. To speed up matters, I grab a sandwich from a convenience store and consume it in the car.
One perk of having a driver is having both of my hands free for eating.
The patient has already been given the epidural by the time I get to the operating room, and after I examine her, I perform the procedure right away, as she’s starting to dilate and one of the twins is positioned the wrong way. The mom-to-be frets the entire time—she’s in her early forties and wasn’t able to conceive until her sixth IVF cycle—and when I place the two tiny but perfectly healthy boys in her arms, her face lights up with such joy that I have to blink away a few tears.
“Thank you, Dr. Cobakis,” she says fervently as the nurses take the babies for their tests. “Thank you so much for everything.”
“It was my pleasure, believe me,” I tell her as I check her bandages one last time and jot down some notes in her chart. “Some pain and bleeding is expected after the procedure, but if you start to run a fever or are in severe pain, call me, okay?” I give her a strict look. “I mean it. Any time, day or night.”
“Will do. You’re so kind.” Her teary-eyed smile is exhausted but full of joy. “Is it true what I overheard from the nurses? You’re getting married this weekend?”
Rumors certainly travel fast.
Stifling a sigh, I say, “Yes, I am. But you can still call me if anything. I’ll be around, okay?”
“Oh, thank you! And congratulations. I’m sure you’ll be a beautiful bride.” She beams at me, and I smile back, enjoying the uncomplicated interaction.
Unlike everyone else in my life, this woman doesn’t know that this wedding is coming out of nowhere, or that I’m marrying a man most of my friends haven’t met.
“Get some rest and enjoy your sons,” I tell the new mom, and then I head back to the office to wrap up the day.
Maybe Peter has the right idea about not dragging this out any longer than we have to.
With any luck, the wedding madness will be over by Monday, and then things will return to normal—or at least as normal as they can be when you’re married to the man who once kidnapped you.
59
Peter
I give Danny an evening off and pick up Sara myself, too eager to see her to wait the extra few minutes necessary for her to get home. I’m glad she’s neither volunteering at the clinic tonight nor has a performance, because even the hours she spends at work are too much time apart for me.
I need her with me. Always.
She comes out of her office building, her hazel eyes searching the street—looking for Danny, no doubt—when I open the car door and step out.
Her gaze immediately swings to me, and a smile lights her pretty face as she heads my way. It’s a warm summer day, and she’s wearing a sleeveless gray dress that hugs her ballerina-like frame. Her shiny chestnut waves bounce around her slender shoulders as she walks, and I’m again reminded of a fifties Hollywood starlet transplanted into modern times.
My beautiful ptichka.
I can’t fucking wait until she’s my wife.
“Hi,” she says breathlessly, stopping in front of me. “Did you get a new car? I didn’t know that was—”
I catch her face between my palms and slant my mouth across hers, kissing her deeply. I can’t help myself. I crave everything about her, from the sweetness of her scent to the way her slim body arches against mine, her hands clutching helplessly at my biceps. I want to devour that sweetness, drink it in until I quench this raging thirst—though I know there’s no quenching it.
I’m going to crave her until the day I die.
Becoming aware of some irritating giggling, I lift my head and pin the offenders—a pair of teenage girls standing a dozen feet away—with a harsh glare. They skitter away instantly, their faces paling under the heavy layer of their makeup, and I turn my attention back to Sara, who’s blinking up at me, her soft lips swollen and rosy from the kiss.
