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I try to imagine my sister and father sitting there in the pews, probably joking about how uncomfortable I look being clean-shaven with my hair parted. My father would be messing with his tie, and my sister would be checking her makeup in a little gold pocket mirror.
The day I lost them both was the day my soul was burnt to ashes and swept away by the bitter winds of fate. I remember the sound of the bullets hitting the windshield of the car, the screech of tires and the screeching twist of metal as we slammed into the railing on the side of the road.
I escaped with my life, but I wasn’t able to save my father and sister, whose brains were painted across the dashboard, skin hanging off their faces like Halloween masks.
Suicidal ideation turned to thoughts of world domination, and here I am, marrying Taylor.
God knows she deserves someone better than me, but I will try to be the best man I can for her.
I smell the blood and burning oil one last time before I snap back into the moment, taking a deep breath as music from the organ begins to play. The sound is deep and visceral, welcoming and blessing the beginning of a new life.
My heart rate climbs when Taylor steps out with Olena, failing to hide her smile as she looks toward the stage where I stand with the priest. She’s so beautiful, like a rose in a vicious storm, gracefully gliding down the white carpet toward me.
I’m stunned by her unrivaled beauty, the careful porcelain features of her pale face. She is the definition of grace, and she barely even realizes it. She could have me at my knees if she ever knew how utterly obsessed I was since the moment I saw her.
I wipe the sweat from my pants onto the sides of my wool trousers, shifting myself to face the center of the stage as Taylor steps up to the other side. She’s close enough to smell her floral sweetness, but not enough to touch. I want to reach out and take her hand, but I will have all I want from her in a few hours. For now, we must commence with the ritual.
She’s stiff, smiling through her stress in an admirable way. I can tell she’s nervous, but I’d be lying if I said I was any better off. I’ve been shot at, stabbed, and followed home by police, and I’ve never been as nervous as I am now.
The priest begins droning on in Russian, and I can see Taylor’s brain shut off when she hears the words but can’t understand them. Her focus shifts fully to me, his eyes growing as we gaze into each other’s souls.
I wonder how such a flawless creature can exist in a world this cruel. Perhaps God made woman to remind man that there is such a thing as perfection. I certainly never believed it until now, but everything has come into question since meeting Taylor. Nothing is beyond belief anymore.
I tune out everything else, taking a moment to appreciate Taylor before I claim her tonight. She won’t be the same after that. Her innocence is only a byproduct of her naivety, and once she experiences the sweetest cardinal sins, she will no longer be so innocent.
Part of me wants to deny myself the pleasure and keep her the way she is, allowing her to exist in my space without ever being tainted by my filthy touch, but another part of me, the one clawing on my insides like a demon, longs to drag her down to my level and show her why pain and pleasure might as well be synonyms.
I think it’s my nature to destroy beautiful things, especially after witnessing the only beauty and love in my life taken from me by my enemies. They’ve since been dealt with, but that doesn’t change that I still seek revenge on the world.
If I cannot love, then I will ruin what is lovely.
The priest stops talking and makes a motion with his hand, and I wink at Taylor. It is time to kiss and seal our vows in front of everyone. She looks confused, perhaps a bit worried, but I take over, grabbing her hands and pulling her toward me.
“I have a ring for you,” I say softly, taking two gold bands from Olena, and handing one to Taylor. “You can put this one on my finger first.”
She takes it, her fingers trembling as she slips it onto the hand I have held out. In Russia, we wear our rings on the right hand, but she holds her left out for me like she did after dinner. I understand that’s where they put it in America, but we aren’t in America.
“The other hand,” I tell her, holding up the ring. “Remember?”
“Oh,” she says, putting her hand out that already has the engagement ring on it. It’s big diamond, almost awkwardly large, but people need to know she’s taken from a mile away. I’m not risking anyone thinking she’s another regular woman.
She’s my queen.
I slip the ring onto her finger and there’s applause from the pews.
“We can kiss,” I whisper to her as the music begins again.
Her expression changes immediately, melting down into a pouty look of awe. I tilt her chin up with my finger, closing my eyes as I lower my mouth onto hers. I feel electricity even before our lips meet.
And then, an explosion of warmth and sweetness, like golden honey on a late summer afternoon. I press myself into her, hunger surging inside of me to the point where I almost forget that we’re in church. I would strip her naked on the spot and take her in front of God if it weren’t for the people watching.
When the heat in my chest becomes unbearable, I pull away, leaving her leaning forward, wanting more but not getting it.
She blinks, pulling back and blushing so hard I can see it under the thick layers of makeup the girls have put on her. Women like to make themselves pretty like that even when they’re naturally beautiful. I understand it’s more for confidence than anything, but Taylor couldn’t look bad even if she tried.
I lead her off the stage, and people clap as we leave the church. Normally, we would do a tour of the city before the reception, taking some pictures at historical sites before the party, but we’re not having a traditional reception.
We’re going straight to the master bedroom.
