Chapter 14 Taylor
TAYLOR
The first time I see Kon again is at Hayley’s wedding, about a month after I return home.
Payton and I are the Maids of Honour, and I tease her that she’s a matron now that she’s married too. I am very much the odd sister out, though they insist I’m not.
I spot him in the crowd as soon as I step into the church with my sisters, the organ playing.
There are flowers on every surface, and Payton and I are wearing matching but not identical dresses.
And amongst the sea of faces—mostly the London Maths Club, who have been so kind to us as newcomers—my eyes immediately single-out Kon.
He’s in a dark grey-blue suit with a waistcoat, and his pale-blue shirt is almost the same colour as Payton and my dresses.
And his eyes. It’s ice-blue like his eyes.
As I walk up the aisle, his gaze doesn’t leave me.
Even as everyone else switches—rightly—to admire Hayley, who looks amazing, his attention remains on me.
I smile, because that’s what you do at a wedding, but Kon doesn’t. He’s so serious.
And maybe it’s wishful thinking, but throughout the gorgeous ceremony where Hayley and Maxim make promises to each other, and there are poems about love, I feel Kon’s gaze on me. When I sneak a look over my shoulder, my eyes find his immediately.
I’m warm all over, despite the cold of the stone church and my thin satin dress.
I can’t speak with him, of course.
I follow the happy couple back down the aisle, laugh as I throw rose petals over them, and then we pose for photographs.
My cheeks ache from smiling, but part of my smile is for the thought that maybe I could find a way to talk to Kon today.
If he wants to. We sit at either end of the huge horseshoe-shaped tables for the meal.
I’m between my sisters in the middle, and he’s right at the end of one arm.
I’m opposite the kingpin of Canary Wharf’s wife, Adi, and the conversation thankfully doesn’t need anything from me, since I’m peeking around heads to see Kon.
We’re all drinking fancy fizzy non-alcoholic drinks because Payton and Hayley are hoping they’re pregnant, Adi is three months pregnant, and I don’t feel right downing champagne on my own. My decisions cannot be trusted, after all.
Though honestly, my stomach has been so sensitive since I arrived back in England, I wouldn’t risk it anyway. Must be the change in diet. I’ve been sick repeatedly, like my fussy tummy is refusing to adapt to English food.
“You had a baby last year?” Payton asks Adi, eyes wide.
“He was only very little,” Canary Wharf says innocently.
“Nine pounds is not little!” Adi giggles, and I join in when Hayley and Payton laugh too, although I really don’t know. I haven’t been doing the research they have. How heavy is nine pounds?
“It is given the amount of stuff the baby has. Every luxury. Blankets, clothing, breastfeeding,” Canary Wharf says dryly.
“Don’t listen to him.” Adi rolls her eyes fondly. “He spoils all the kids rotten. He has an app to keep an eye on them from the office, even though the nanny promises she’ll video call if they do anything cute while we’re both out.”
“Basic security,” Canary Wharf mutters and digs into his food.
“What are you eating?” asks Feliks, Payton’s husband, looking across the table in slight horror at Canary Wharf’s meal. Most of us have Russian fare, including me, which is mainly creative ways of mixing meat, soft cheese, creamy carbohydrates, broth, and dill, and actually delicious.
Since I’ve been in England I’ve had this weird craving for the herb dill. It just isn’t used that much in food here.
“Toad in the hole.” Canary Wharf shrugs. “With onion gravy, mashed potatoes, and vegetables.”
“What in the what?” Feliks demands, his Russian accent coming through. He looks, if anything even more concerned.
“Yeah, it does sound unhinged, doesn’t it?” Payton says thoughtfully.
“You eat this?” Feliks turns to my sister. “I thought it was only the French who did weird things with—”
“No amphibians were hurt in the making of this dish,” Hayley hastens to say. “It’s basically Yorkshire pudding with sausages in it. Maxim and I decided we would have some non-Russian options.”
I wish they’d stop talking about sausages. I might bring up what little food I’ve eaten so far.
“It’s sweet?” Feliks looks like this meal is personally offending him.
“Oh god, Yorkshire puddings aren’t like pudding-puddings, they’re not dessert.” Payton covers her face as she laughs. “It’s like roasted dough. It’s light and fluffy and also stodgy and delicious.”
“Sounds awful.” Feliks shrugs.
Payton giggles and nudges him with her elbow. “Says the man who I saw eat a whole pile of those deep-fried meat-filled pies! This is basically the same ingredients!”
“Who would want deconstructed cheboureki when the true version is so perfect?” he replies, as though it’s obvious.
I look away as Feliks grabs Payton’s chin and kisses her, and my heart lurches when inevitably I look at Kon, and he’s holding a baby.
Oh my god. I melt.
Kon has obviously asked to hold the child, and is jigging the little bundle in his arms. The big, scary bratva boss is all soft for the tiny baby. The mother and father of said infant are clearly seated to his left, distinguished by their looks of indulgence and annoyance respectively.
As though feeling the weight of my gaze, Kon glances up, and catches me watching him. His face remains impassive, but his eyes light, and he mouths a word.
It’s probably “Hey” but my brain fills in, “Come”.
I mouth back “Hi” or “Oh god I missed you,” or “Yes” as my cheeks flame. Something. I don’t know what.
The baby, apparently sensing Kon’s inattention, whacks Kon’s stubbled cheek, and Kon laughs wide, looking down. The baby reaches out and touches Kon’s front teeth. And it’s like seeing a lion play with his cub, as Kon bares his teeth, making the child burble and smack a podgy hand over Kon’s mouth.
Kon is so good with the baby, and I have feelings from watching him with a child that I had no idea were part of my make up.
Like, are my ovaries vibrating?
“Do you like piroshki, Taylor?” Adi asks me from the other side of the table, holding one of the deep-fried bread-covered pies and considering it dubiously. “Hayley says they’re great, but she’s in love with a Russian, and I am not so sure she’s reliable.”
Something catches in my throat, and I have to tear my head to the side to look at Adi. In love with a Russian? Is that what I am too? And former member of Volk, too.
“Everyone loves piroshki, Hayley’s right about that one,” I say lightly, and I’m immediately subsumed by the conversation again. By the time I glance back to Kon, he’s returned the baby to its father.
And he’s not looking at me.