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“Grace...” I started, aware that all eyes were on us. “With all that I am and all that I have, I offer myself to you. I promise to stand by your side, to be your partner, and your friend, to love and cherish you in times of joy and times of sorrow. I vow to build a life of happiness and fulfillment with you, to support your dreams, and to honor the person that you are.”
I slid the ring onto her finger and watched her as she mentally prepared herself before opening her mouth to speak.
“Igor,” her voice quivered, and it was clear that she was pushing through her emotions with all her might. “I take you to be my partner in life, to laugh with you, in joy, to grieve with you in sorrow, and to grow with you in, um... in love.”
Her eyes turned glassy as she looked into mine. I knew Grace would have chosen to be anywhere else than standing on a podium, in front of a priest, getting married to me.
“... I promise to respect you...”
She swiped a tongue over her lips¸ like she considered and thought hard about her next words.
“...honor you and support you in all you do,” her head snapped up. To others, her reluctance wasn’t visible, but I could see her fighting spirit weaken with every word she uttered.
“I vow to create a home filled with love and laughter, where we can be ourselves... and find, um, solace in each other’s embrace. I will honor the person that you are.”
She concluded and slid her ring onto my finger, sealing her fate.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Mr., and Mrs. Igor Varkov,” the priest announced. “Igor, you may now kiss your bride.”
I leaned forward, lifted her veil, and cupped her cheeks. “You are officially welcome to the family, Mrs. Varkov,” I said, bowing my head and pressing my lips to hers.
I wasn't sure if Grace had meant her vows, or borrowed them from some book, but I had taken the time to scribble mine. If I was doing this, I had to do it right.
As I took her hand and faced the cheering crowd, I vowed to protect my wife with my life.
****
Dusk was fast approaching, the sun was low in the sky, and I was busy escorting the guests to their cars while we talked business and watched them drive away. I was standing with my legs slightly apart and my hands in my pockets when I saw a flash of white out of the corner of my eye, almost like a blur, as someone scurried past behind me, almost skipping the steps, and hurrying into the house.
A scowl crossed my lips. Fortunately, the guests went home, and no one looked as if they had time to notice her childish tantrums. I finished the last conversation just in time and nodded
goodnight to the last business partner who was still there. I turned on my heel, went into the house, and up the stairs to the bedroom where I knew she was waiting.
I opened the door and entered. In the middle of the room stood my bride in her flowing white gown, fiddling with the zipper on her back and swearing quietly to herself.
I sucked my teeth and started with the cufflinks, though eyeing her subtly. Then, I cleared my throat. “I’ve never been married before...”
“Neither have I,” she retorted sharply without looking at me. I arched a brow. She really was on edge.
I decided to continue and ignored her. “But I know that it is expected that the husbandandwife wait until the last guests leave.”
“We’re newlyweds, that doesn’t apply to us. The old folks can wait around until...Shit!
Stupid zipper!” she retracted her finger and stuck it into her mouth.
The sight of her thumb pressed between her pink, plump lips stirred something in me, like a trickle of whiskey on my tongue, flowing slowly down my throat. I unfastened the last button of my shirt and walked over to her. “I’ve never heard that before,” I said, pressing a hand to the small of her back as I pinched the cold steel zipper between my fingers.
She froze under my touch.
“I had something to do inside,” she sputtered, her breath catching in her throat. “What are you doing?”
“It’s kind of a tradition for the husband to help his newlywed bride out of her clothes on their wedding night,” I clicked my tongue over my lips. “You had something to do? Like getting your finger caught between the zipper.”
“I...”
“You ran away,” I whispered, lowering my head into the tantalizing crook of her neck.
Her sweet floral scent, mixed with her hint of champagne and cake, enveloped me. I liked it and wanted to smell it on her for as long as possible. It tickled deliciously. “You're always running away.”
