Mikhail grinds his jaw, muttering, “That motherfucker…” at the mention of our father.
“Language,” I say lightly, trying to ease the mood.
Artyom pulls me into a tight hug, then Mikhail joins, wrapping his arms around both of us.
This is strange. I’ve never seen my brothers show this much affection to anyone besides their wives.
Growing up, we were taught never to display affection, even toward our siblings, and I’ve always known my brothers to be stoic to a fault. That softened a little after they got married, but still, a group hug?
They both finally pull away, their cold masks slipping back on.
“We’ll be with you as you walk down the aisle,” Artyom says finally, voice rough.
I smile through the sting in my eyes. “I know. Now please… go. The makeup artist needs to finish, and it’s almost time.”
They each kiss me on the cheek, Artyom on the right, Mikhail on the left, before reluctantly leaving the room.
Not long after they’re gone, the door opens again. Milana walks in already dressed as my chief bridesmaid, with the makeup artist trailing behind her. My sister’s eyes are already watery as she takes me in.
“You look like a dream,” she whispers.
“Thank you.”
Milana looks stunning in a soft sage-green gown that complements her hazel-gray eyes and golden-blonde hair perfectly. The dress is elegant, flowing, with delicate straps and a gentle A-line silhouette that makes her look ethereal.
The makeup artist resumes the final touches on my face while Milana stands beside me, fidgeting with the hem of her dress.
“What’s the problem?” I ask, watching her through the mirror.
She lets out an exasperated huff. “Konstantin is here. The first thing that man did when he arrived was get under my skin. I swear, if he pisses me off today, I’m going to throw him into the ocean.”
I can’t help but laugh. Konstantin Belov, our brothers’ close friend and a powerful ally, has always had this effect on Milana.
He enjoys taunting her, and she, bless her, falls for it every single time. They’ve never gotten along, not really. He pushes her buttons, and she gives him exactly the reaction he wants.
“Just avoid him during the wedding,” I suggest, still smiling. “Ignore his antics. The more you react, the more he’ll do it.”
Milana crosses her arms. “That’s what I’m trying to do. Believe me.”
Just then, the door opens again. Irina and Kira walk in, both dressed beautifully, Irina in a sleek champagne-colored gown,Kira in a soft blush pink that flatters her warm complexion. The moment they see me, their faces light up.
“Oh my God,” Kira breathes. “You look absolutely stunning.”
Irina’s eyes mist over. “A vision. Truly. Maxim is going to lose his mind when he sees you.”
They both hug me carefully, careful not to ruin the makeup or dress. For a few minutes, the room fills with laughter and compliments as they fuss over me.
Milana glances at her watch. “It’s time. We should head out.”
The makeup artist makes one final adjustment, then steps back with a satisfied smile. I stand up, heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Outside the suite, Artyom is waiting for me. The moment he sees me, his usual stoic expression softens. He offers his arm, and I hook mine through it.
“You look beautiful,” he says quietly. “Are you ready?”
I nod, even though my legs feel unsteady. “Yes.”
We walk out together, stepping down the wooden pathway toward the beachfront where the ceremony is set up.
