EPILOGUE
SLOANE
The Tsarina chapel glows under the amber light of sunset filtering through the stained glass windows. The space, usually reserved for the ostentatious weddings of wealthy clients, has been transformed into an intimate sanctuary where only those closest to the Morozov family are allowed entry.
My reflection in the full-length mirror is almost unrecognizable.
The dress, an ivory satin creation that slides like water over my body, seems to have been imagined by some deity of fashion with the sole purpose of making me feel like a queen.
It isn't overly ornate nor minimalist; it's exactly what I always dreamed of without knowing I was dreaming it.
"Breathe, for God's sake," Harper tells me, adjusting the cascade of wildflowers falling strategically from my side updo. "You're going to hyperventilate and faint before reaching the altar."
I look at her through the mirror. Harper is radiant in her aquamarine dress, designed to accommodate her nine-month pregnancy. The Morozov baby could decide to arrive at any moment, but my stubborn friend categorically refused to miss my wedding.
"How can you be so calm?" I ask, turning to face her. "I'm about to marry a man who, a few months ago, I considered my research target."
Harper smiles—one of those smiles that lights up her whole face and makes you believe that, yes, everything will turn out okay.
"Because I've seen you two together," she replies, taking my hands in hers.
"I've seen how he looks at you. Like you're a miracle he doesn't deserve but will protect with his life.
I've seen how you talk to him—without fear, without concessions, like no one has ever dared.
You're perfect for each other, precisely because neither of you is perfect. "
Her words act like a balm on my frayed nerves. She's right, of course. Dimitri and I aren't a conventional couple, nor is our story one that would be told in a fairy tale, but what we have is real. Intense. Ours.
It's perfect.
A soft knock on the door announces Viktor's arrival, as elegant as ever in his groomsman suit. His usual calculating expression has been replaced by something warmer, almost brotherly.
"It's time," he announces with that modulated voice that sounds like he's always about to reveal a state secret. "Are you ready?"
I take a deep breath, focusing on the sensation of air filling my lungs.
The scent of lilies and roses permeates the room, mingling with the perfume Dimitri gave me for this occasion: an exclusive blend of vanilla, sandalwood, and something indefinable that, according to him, "captures the essence of fire. "
"I'm ready," I affirm, and for the first time today, there's no tremor in my voice. Just an enormous desire to meet the man I love.
The hallway leading to the chapel is deserted save for the guards posted discreetly at regular intervals.
Viktor offers me his arm with an elegance typical of the Russian aristocracy he descends from.
Having no family to give me away, I chose the person I consider the most neutral Morozov to accompany me.
Dimitri had suggested Alexei, but I felt that would be too symbolic, as if I were being transferred from one brother to another.
Viktor, with his emotional distance and respect for my intellect, was the perfect choice.
"You look stunning," he comments as we move forward. "My cousin is a lucky man."
"We both are," I reply with a smile.
The chapel doors open, and the music—a Rachmaninoff piece specially chosen by Dimitri—floods my senses. Harper goes first, moving with surprising grace for someone in her condition, tossing white petals that contrast with the red velvet runner.
And then I see him.
Standing by the altar, Dimitri looks like he stepped out of another world.
His custom-made black suit accentuates the breadth of his shoulders and the leanness of his waist. His hair, usually unruly, has been tamed into a style that highlights his angular features without subtracting an ounce of fierceness.
But it’s his expression that steals my breath: a mixture of awe, pride, and that savage intensity that always lurks beneath the surface.
Our gazes connect, and the rest of the world fades away. I don't see the guests, I don't hear the music, I don't feel anything except the magnetic pull drawing me toward him, as if every cell in my body recognized its home.
Viktor guides me down the aisle, but I could have floated there for how my feet barely seem to touch the ground. When he finally hands me to Dimitri, there's a moment of silent communication between the two men, an unspoken promise sealed with a solemn nod.
Dimitri’s hand envelops mine, warm and firm. His fingers squeeze slightly, an intimate gesture conveying everything he can't say right now.
"You're beyond words," he murmurs, so low only I can hear.
"So are you," I reply, allowing myself to absorb every detail of his face, memorizing this moment.
The officiant begins the ceremony, but his words seem to float around us without really penetrating the bubble that surrounds us. Only when we reach the vows do I fully reconnect with reality.
Dimitri speaks first, his voice deeper and more resonant than usual, with that Russian accent that intensifies when he's emotionally affected.
"I, Dimitri Mikhailovich Morozov, take you, Sloane Rebecca Murphy, as my wife.
" He begins, his gray eyes anchored to mine as if they were his salvation.
"I promise to protect you with every breath, honor you with every action, and love you with every beat of my heart.
Before you, I knew power, I knew loyalty, but I didn't know peace.
You are my home, my redemption, my worthier half.
I give you my life, my name, my future. I am yours until my last breath is extinguished. "
The tears I've been holding back threaten to spill over. I swallow hard, trying to find my voice.
"I, Sloane Rebecca Murphy, take you, Dimitri Mikhailovich Morozov, as my husband," I say, grateful my voice sounds clear despite the emotion.
"I promise to walk beside you in the light and in the dark, to be your partner in battle and your shelter in the storm.
Before you, I sought truths in the shadows; with you, I found the truth in the way you look at me.
I give you my trust, my strength, my vulnerability.
I am yours, without conditions or reservations, until my last breath is extinguished. "
Something shines in his eyes, something so raw and exposed I almost have to look away. Dimitri, the man who rarely shows emotion in public, is on the verge of tears.
"The rings," the officiant requests.
Viktor steps forward, offering the rings on a black velvet cushion. Mine is a delicate platinum band with a solitaire surrounded by small diamonds; Dimitri's is a wider band of the same metal with Cyrillic inscriptions reading "My soul, my life."
Dimitri takes my ring, holding it as if it were the most precious relic.
"With this ring," he says, "I wed you."
He slides the band onto my finger with a reverence that shakes me to the core. When I take his, my fingers tremble slightly.
"With this ring," I repeat, "I wed you."
The metal seems to heat up upon contact with his skin, as if recognizing its destiny.
"By the power vested in me by the State of Nevada," the officiant declares, "I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Dimitri doesn't need a second invitation.
His hands cradle my face with a delicacy that contrasts with the intensity of his gaze, and his lips find mine in a kiss that is both a promise and a declaration.
He tastes of fine whiskey, mint, and that indefinable flavor that is solely his.
His arms wrap around me, pulling me against his solid body, and for an instant, the entire world reduces to this point of contact, to this perfect fusion.
Everything is perfect.
A collective gasp breaks the moment. I turn to see Harper, looking down with an expression of absolute surprise. There's a puddle at her feet, expanding over the red carpet.
"Oh my God," she exclaims, her huge eyes fixed on mine. "I think my water just broke."
Chaos breaks out instantly. Alexei, normally the very image of control, seems momentarily paralyzed before springing into action like a coiled spring. Viktor is already on the phone, presumably alerting the hospital and security. The guests murmur, some alarmed, others amused.
Dimitri looks at me, a silent question in his eyes. The answer is instinctive.
"Let's go with them," I say, squeezing his hand.
And that is how, less than twenty minutes after becoming husband and wife, we are in a convoy of black SUVs speeding toward Sunrise Hospital, with a police escort secured thanks to Viktor's connections.
Me, still in my wedding dress, holding Harper's hand in the back seat while she breathes through contractions arriving with alarming speed.
Dimitri and Alexei in the front seat, the latter barking orders in Russian over the phone while driving like he's in a chase.
"This isn't how I planned your special day," Harper apologizes between ragged breaths. "I was supposed to wait at least another week."
"It's perfect," I assure her, and I mean it. "What better way to celebrate a new beginning than with another new life?"
Harper smiles, though the expression transforms into a grimace as another contraction hits her.
"Morozov babies don't respect anyone's schedule," she pants.
"Like their fathers?" I joke, trying to distract her from the pain.
The arrival at the hospital is another study in Morozov efficiency. In a matter of minutes, Harper is being transferred to the delivery room, with Alexei by her side, transformed from fearsome Pakhan to nervous father-to-be.