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Even after our paths inevitably part.
He’s dressed in a black suit that hugs him like it’s his own shadow. It hugs his legs, his tapered waist, and makes his broad shoulders look even wider. His ice-blue eyes seem lighter thanks to the rich material. That’s the only way to explain the glimmer in the stare that’s fixated on me.
He almost looks happy.
Suddenly I’m struggling to breathe. I forget to guide my horse, but people gather near me, halting it in place, and helping me off its back.
Seconds ago, I was surrounded. Now, I stand poised at the end of the aisle, entirely alone.
Go on, Emily ... walk.
My heel skids forward, crushing flower petals behind me as I go. Konstantin never once takes his eyes off me as I approach him.Gerasim is beside him, and though they wear similar outfits, they look nothing alike.
He’s watches me almost in the same way that Alla does.
Nobody here cares about you.Alla’s voice echoes in my head.
Nobody but Konstantin … I tell myself.
But even then, I’m not sure if that’s the truth.
I didn’t ask for this!I want to scream, but I can’t. It’s too late now.
You can do this. Just get to the end of that aisle and get this over with.Alla has already allowed this marriage to move forward, which means it’s almost over.
Right?
Maybe before we go our separate ways, Konstantin will hold up the promise he made me in Buric’s shop. My cheeks redden at the thought.
Leave me something to remember him by as I return to my normal life.
My miserable, fractured life, where I have no future, no sister.
And no Konstantin.
The music changes tune when I’m standing in front of him. It becomes slower, sweeter, until it fades with the final note extending out over the sea. Silence hangs like a fruit desperate to be picked before it falls to the ground. In that moment, Konstantin takes a breath.
Ihearit more than I see it.
Is he nervous too?
No. He can’t be.
Someone like him can’t be nervous.
I justwanthim to be because it would make him more human.
Because it might be proof that he cares about me.
“Emily Samovna,” someone whispers and reaches to take my bouquet. I hand it to her quickly before focusing on the priest in his heavy robes.
Feet shuffle behind us, and Konstantin moves until he stands beside me. Something glints overhead. I steal a glance upwards and see a pair of dazzling crowns being held over both our heads.
The priest begins, his voice carrying words that I can’t understand naturally over the valley as he drones on in Russian. The only words I recognize are our names.
Konstantin Yurevich Siderov.
Emily Samovna Sullivan.
