46. Lacey
46
LACEY
ONE YEAR LATER
I push open the familiar door of Mrs. Klossner's dry cleaners, and the bell chimes above—exactly as it did that first day I met Vadim. My heart skips at the memory. The shop looks different now, renovated and modernized, but still manages to retain a part of its old charm.
Vadim's hand rests on the small of my back as we enter. I lean into his touch, drawing strength from his presence. The counter where I once struggled with Nathan's ring feels like it belongs to another lifetime.
"It feels strange being back here," I whisper, running my fingers along the polished wood. "This is where everything started."
"When you stole my suit," Vadim teases, pressing a kiss to my temple.
"In my defense, I was too flustered to realize what I was doing that day." I turn to face him, feeling that familiar flutter in my stomach when our eyes meet. "Four hundred thirty-five days, sixteen hours, and twenty-eight minutes ago." I tap my wrist where a watch would be. "But who's counting?"
"Not you," Vadim murmurs, his voice dropping to that dangerous octave that makes my knees weak.
"Not me," I agree, leaning into him.
The air between us charges with electricity, just like it did that first day. His eyes darken as they roam over my face, lingering on my lips. My breath catches in my throat as his hand slides from my back to my hip, pulling me closer. The familiar scent of his cologne—spicy and masculine—surrounds me. I reach up to straighten his tie, letting my fingers trail down his chest.
"How can I help you folks?"
We spring apart at the voice. A young woman stands behind the counter, a cheery smile on her face.
"Just picking up our dry cleaning," I slide our ticket over. "For Mr. and Mrs. Stravinsky."
"Of course!" The young woman types into the computer. "I'll be right back."
As she disappears into the back, Vadim's fingers trace lazy circles on my hip. "You enjoy saying that, don't you?"
"What?" I ask innocently.
"Mrs. Stravinsky." His lips brush my ear. "That sounds almost as good as zvyozdochka ."
Heat blooms across my cheeks. "We're in public," I whisper, though I make no move to pull away.
"Heading somewhere special?" the young woman asks, returning with our garment bags.
"Paris," I reply, watching her eyes light up. "A very delayed honeymoon."
"Oh, how romantic! I've always wanted to?—"
The bell to the door chimes again, cutting through the young woman's enthusiastic chatter about Paris.
"Lacey? is that you?"
My heart leaps at the familiar voice, and I turn to see Mrs. Klossner in the doorway, her warm eyes crinkling with delight, her hands clasped together as if she's just discovered a wonderful surprise.
"Mrs. K!" I rush over to hug her. "What are you doing here today?"
"Same as you, my dear," Mrs. Klossner says with a twinkle in her eye. "Coming to pick up my dry cleaning. But since you're here, I should double-check the tickets. Wouldn't want to risk any more mix-ups."
Heat rises to my cheeks as I catch Vadim's knowing smirk. Mrs. Klossner turns to him with a warm smile.
"And Mr. Stravinsky! Always a pleasure. The renovations you did for this shop are wonderful."
"Please, call me Vadim," he says, stepping forward to shake her hand. "And I was happy to do it."
Mrs. Klossner's eyes drift down to where my left hand rests against Vadim's arm, and her smile widens at the sight of my ring.
"I see you finally got that other ring off." She winks at me. "But if you ever need help getting with this one, you know the trick?—"
"Hand sanitizer not oil, I haven't forgotten." I reply, unable to stop my grin as I lean into Vadim's warmth. "But I won't need to do that. This one's staying right where it is."
"Forever," Vadim adds, his arm tightening around my waist.
Mrs. Klossner's eyes dance between us. "Good. That's exactly how it should be."
I bite my lower lip, studying Mrs. Klossner's knowing smile. "Mrs. K, I've been meaning to ask you something." My fingers intertwine with Vadim's. "That day with the mix-up... did you know?"
Her eyes twinkle with mischief, but she simply adjusts her cardigan. "Know what, dear?"
"About the suit. About..." I gesture vaguely between Vadim and myself.
"An old woman like me? Making mistakes with a dry-cleaning order after thirty years?" She tuts, but there's something playful in her tone. "What do you think, dear?"
I smile at her non-answer, and turn to look up at Vadim while my heart swells with emotion. "You were right, Mrs. K. He's not what I thought he was at all."
Mrs. Klossner's smile widens as she waits for me to continue.
Heat rises to my cheeks as I press closer to Vadim. "He's everything I never knew I needed and so much more. He makes me feel safe, cherished..." My voice softens. "He showed me what real love looks like, what it means to truly belong somewhere."
Vadim's thumb traces circles on my hip, and I feel his chest rise with emotion behind me.
Mrs. Klossner retrieves her garment bag from the counter, making an exaggerated show of checking the ticket number against her receipt.
"Well, we certainly wouldn't want another mix-up, would we?" She winks at us both. "It's wonderful to see you both again."
Vadim helps me into the passenger seat of his Ferrari, and my heart flutters at his touch. Even after all this time, the simplest contact with him still sends electricity through my body. As he slides into the driver's seat, I can't help but smile at how perfectly everything has fallen into place.
"What's on your mind, zvyozdochka ?" he asks, starting the engine.
"Mrs. Klossner knew, didn't she?" I ask, watching his lips curve into that knowing smirk I've grown to love. "She had to have known what she was doing that day."
The engine purrs as we pull away from the curb.
"Mistakes happen," Vadim replies. "Even for the most experienced professionals."
"Really?" I arch an eyebrow at him. "That's what you're going with? That after thirty years of running that shop, she just happened to make a mistake with your suit on the exact day I walked in?"
His hand finds mine across the console, thumb tracing circles on my skin. "Does it matter if she did?"
I study his profile as he drives, remembering how intimidating I once found him. Now all I see is the man I love, the father of my child, my protector.
"I suppose not," I concede, squeezing his hand. "But it's nice to think someone saw something in us before either of us did. That someone believed in our story before it even began."
"Maybe she just wanted some good entertainment on a slow morning." His voice carries that playful edge that makes my stomach flip "After all, you seemed to enjoy arguing with me that day."
"Or maybe." I lean back in my seat, watching Seattle's familiar streets slip by us as the airport comes closer and closer. "I just enjoy you."
THE END
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