48. Ofelia #2
Alexei leans against the sink, grinning, his arm still around his sister’s shoulders. It’s hard for me to look away.
I don’t know this version of him, the man so comfortable in a kitchen, laughing easily and casually affectionate. And going by Darya’s rather shy expression, neither does she.
“Alexei and Roman spoke in Miami,” she explains, when Alexei just grins and plucks an olive from a nearby dish.
“And now your father is in Spain, collecting the rest of the family. They’ll all be here in a few days.
And I do mean all,” she says, giving me a wary glance.
“Abby, Dimitry, Zin and Luke, and all the children. Plus Sergei and Rosa, and, well—everyone.”
“Gross,” Masha mutters again, this time looking genuinely peeved. “Boys.”
“You mean Papa is okay about the wedding?” I stare at Alexei, almost scared to hope. “You talked about it?”
“We did.” He grins at me. “Among other things. Why don’t I catch you up on it while we eat?”
Darya gestures to the terrace. “I’ve made pasta and salad, and there’s a beef dish in the oven. Why don’t you two go up to the terrace and talk, and I’ll bring it out?”
“You don’t want any help?”
She smiles softly at me. “Sweetheart, if we’re going to get you married in a week’s time, you’re going to need plenty of help. You might as well start accepting it now. Off you go.” She shoos us out of the kitchen. “Masha can stay and help.”
Going by the mutinous expression on Masha’s face, she’s less than impressed at that prospect. Suppressing an urge to smile, I let Alexei take my hand and lead me up onto the terrace.
“Is Papa really okay with this?” I ask nervously as he pours me a glass of wine. “You can tell me the truth.”
Alexei grins again. I wonder if I’ve ever seen him smile so much, at so many people. There’s almost no trace of his customary mask, his wary expression. It’s like all the strength inside him has found its way to the surface, while the tension has simply slipped away.
“He’s really okay with it,” he says, imitating my tone. “Although I think it’s going to take him a little longer to get used to Mickey running Miami.”
“Mickey?” I’m so surprised my glass stops halfway to my mouth. “Seriously?”
“Yup.” He looks like he’s thoroughly enjoying my shock.
“It’s worked out perfectly, if I do say so myself.
He’ll still be here for the wedding,” he adds, “but he’ll be flying in the night before it, then heading straight back afterward.
He’s got one hell of a mess on his hands after everything that went down, but I happen to think he’ll make a good job of it.
And if he doesn’t, he’ll learn from that, too.
Your father is having a difficult time making the adjustment, but he’s shifted from open hostility to bombarding Mickey with his opinions, which for Roman is as good as approval gets.
Not that it would have mattered if he didn’t approve.
” He gives me a dry look. “Your brother is just as stubborn as you.”
“Ha.” I throw an olive at him. “Look who’s talking.”
“I’m learning.” His smile fades, and he covers my hand with his own. “I’m sorry it took me so long, angel.”
I shake my head. “It’s all happening so fast. What exactly did you say to Papa to make him come around?”
Alexei tilts his head with a wry smile. “The short version is that I told him I’d already asked Luca to organize an expedited marriage license and that I wasn’t leaving Sicily until we were married.
I also told him that he could be at the wedding, walking you down the aisle, or else get photos of it after the fact. ”
I stare at him in shock. “And he took that?”
“His exact words,” he says, looking not at all concerned, “were that he hopes he lives long enough to see me have at least three daughters.” He lifts a shoulder. “I don’t think he meant it as a blessing.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. “That sounds like him,” I say softly.
“Whatever else he has to say I’ll leave to him,” Alexei goes on.
“But don’t worry, angel.” He touches my cheek, his grin fading, his lone eye deep and reassuring.
“He trusts you,” he says quietly. “And he knows this is real. He also knows that in the world we live in, happiness isn’t something you wait for. ”
I can almost hear my father’s voice in his words, and for a moment I find it difficult to speak. When I do, I ask the other question that’s been killing me.
“What about Lars?” I brace myself to be shut down. “I know you said you didn’t want to wait for him to wake up. But are you really sure about getting married without him?”
I meet his eye, expecting his customary mask to fall immediately.
Instead I find pain swimming close to the surface, dark but somehow calm, too.
“It’s difficult to imagine getting married without him at my side.
” He takes a deep, slightly ragged breath.
“But I also know what he’d say if he were here, because he’s been saying it in my head for weeks.
He’d tell me not to waste a single fucking day waiting for a future that might never happen.
” Pain, raw and sharp, crosses his face, and he breathes deep again.
But he doesn’t try to hide it. And that alone makes my heart sing.
“I don’t even want to think about a future where he doesn’t wake up.” His voice is rough and uneven. “And I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything worse than him lying on that fucking bed.” His composure cracks, and it takes a moment before he regains it.
I don’t try to touch him or offer comfort. I know that any hint of sympathy would only make this harder.