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Samovna,I think bitterly.That’s not even my name.
Have I made a terrible mistake agreeing to this? Was I really so foolish as to believe that he won’t break my heart? That just because he told me up front that he was going to use me, that this is all somehow okay?
Before I know it, the priest motions to Konstantin to speak, and asks something in Russian. I don’t need to understand to know what he’s asked.
Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?
To cherish and protect.
To love and hold.
Until death do you part?
“Da,” he says seriously, like he needs everyone listening to believe this ruse.
In that moment,Ialmostbelieve him.
The priest turns to me, and repeats the same phrase.
When he finishes, I glance at the sea. It’s bad luck to imagine drowning on your own wedding day, but I can’t resist.
“I—” I clear my throat as the word come out crunchy and soft. Konstantin takes my hand in his, and gives it a reassuring squeeze as if to comfort me. I stare into his icy-blue eyes, and for the first time, it feels like he sees me.
Like really sees me.
“I do,” I say.
The priest says something else, and motions his hand.
The crowns are lowered upon our heads, and their weight feels impossibly heavy on my neck.
Konstantin turns toward Gerasim, who reaches into his jacket pocket. He brings out a pair of small, thick rings on the flat of his palm. Konstantin takes both, and hands me one of them.
I drop it.
Someone in the crowd makes a noise of disapproval.
“Sorry!” I gasp, crouching on the ground, brushing aside flower petals as I frantically search for the ring. My face burns like fireside coals when I jump back up with the piece of metal pinched in my fingers.
Konstantin stares down at me, but unlike the angry energy rolling off Alla, he’ssmiling.He catches himself, smoothing the smile over, but the mirth still lives in his eyes as he looks at me.
“Careful, Kitty Cat,” he whispers under his breath. “That ring is extremely important.”
The priest bobs his head pointedly at me. I take my cue, and reach for Konstantin’s hand. I’m trembling violently and there’s no way to hide it. The ring with its ash-gray swirl glides into place over his long finger until it passes his knuckle.
He flexes his hand, his fingertips brushing mine. My stomach does a twirl.
“My turn,” he says, holding my wrist. He steadies my hand in his firm grip, pressing the wedding ring down my finger until it grazes the engagement ring. The jewelry on my hand is worth more than I could earn in five lifetimes.
But that’s not what I’m thinking about.
I wish it was.
Instead, all I keep thinking is a single thought.
Why does this feel so real?
My heart is dancing in my throat, and a blanket of heat hangs off my shoulders. The wedding dress isn’t heavy, but I feel it clinging to my skin. In the distance, the horses whinny louderthan the crashing waves. I could never picture a wedding as lavish as this for myself.
