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“Who are you going to call?’
“Our government connection will be happy to know he’s rid of Nagy.”
“He must still be upset about the war that played out in the hotel.”
“He got not only Dimitrov, but also Filipovic. He’s happy enough.”
I’m about to go get Adami, but Mina steps up, wraps her arms around my waist, and buries her face in my chest. “I want to get away from all of this. Just for a while.”
Folding my arms around her, I gently stroke her hair. “How does Mozambique sound? The weather is warm year-round, and one can buy an island for next to nothing.”
“That sounds good,” she whispers.
“What about a Robinson Crusoe style house? On pillars on the water.”
“Sounds like paradise.”
“I’ll get you a nurse, and one for Hanna, too. I already checked with the researcher running the clinical trial. We’ll be able to do your treatment at home, as long as we check in at his lab in Europe once a month. I’m having everything prepared as we speak.”
“You planned it in advance,” she accuses, lifting her head to gaze up at me.
“Not adding on a lab that’s practically a small clinic. On stilts.” I smile down at her. “That part only happened yesterday.”
“Sun, sea, Hanna, you, and me. Yes, that sounds infinitely good.”
I kiss her lips. “Let’s clean this up, shall we?”
I want to wipe everything clean. I may not be able to take away what she’s suffered, but I’m going to damn well make it better.
“Oh, come on,” Ilya says, trying not to look guilty. “Admit it. I did a good job.”
Anton, Ilya, and I are standing in their room, wearing the shirts, ties, and suits my brother bought. The fit isn’t bad. Neither is the style. But when I look down at my borrowed Crocs—white, no less, with a black fucking suit—I want to slap Ilya on the head.
“It would’ve been almost all right if you hadn’t forgotten the shoes.” At least he and Anton get to wear their boots.
“You didn’t say anything about shoes,” Ilya complains.
Anton tries hard to smother his laughter. “It’s not so bad.”
“Yeah.” I adjust my shirt cuffs with a yank. “Right.”
“The cake is a winner.” Anton gives up and erupts in a fit of snort-laughter.
“Hey.” Ilya places a hand on his heart, his face pulled into an expression of indignation. “Yan said something white and fancy. That’s fancy and white, right?”
I glare at the cake, which is a marzipan square decorated with big-eyed bunnies climbing all over the sides. The fucking Lapin Cretin and his whole Raving Rabbids family.
“It’s white,” Ilya says defensively. “It’s all the bakery had in white.”
“If we pull off the rabbits,” Anton says, “it might not be so bad.”
A knock falls on the door. Adami pops her head around the frame. “It’s time.”
An attack of nerves like I’ve never had, not even on a job, tightens my gut.
“Here.” Ilya hands me the ring. “We better go. You don’t want Mina to arrive before us.”
I slip the ring into my pocket. At least this is the one thing Ilya got right. It’s a beautiful stone, deep red and perfectly cut, set in rose-gold and surrounded by smaller rubies.
My heart stampedes like a runaway bull as we make our way to the small chapel where visitors and patients go to pray. The chapel was Adami’s idea. I was adamant about bringing Mina there in a wheelchair, but my girl didn’t want to hear about it. She insisted on walking in by herself, gunshot wound or not. She’s a tough princess.
Hanna and the priest are already there. Hanna hugs me when I kiss her cheek. Since neither Ilya nor I had thought about flowers, Anton picked some in the garden—cornflowers and white violets tied with a blue ribbon one of the nurses provided.
I take my place at the small altar with Anton and Ilya flanking me. When Adami opens the door, I turn to face my bride.
Dressed in a short, white, A-line dress with a whimsical boa feather collar, Mina looks like a vision, the sum of my dreams come true. She’s perfect, down to her white clinic slippers. My throat goes dry, my chest feeling like it’s about to burst from the emotions inside. Ilya wouldn’t let me see the dress before this. I have to admit, he did great. Even if he forgot shoes for Mina, too. Not that it matters what she wears. A potato sack would’ve been perfect.
Anton rushes forward and hands Mina the makeshift bouquet before offering his arm to lead her down the aisle. As she walks toward me, straight and proud despite her injury, my past and future fall away. All that has been and will be turns inconsequential in the enormity of the moment, the moment in which she freely chooses to become mine.
