Chapter Fifteen #2
I can’t help feeling a bit sorry for him, because standing next to Dmitri is a thankless task.
It's got to be hard when your best man is so much hotter.
Dmitri is tall and beautiful, his dark hair brushed back with a few strands of hair hanging rakishly over his forehead, a look I'm sure models take countless hours to achieve.
He's sporting just a hint of stubble, giving his jaw a sharper definition and even from here, I can see his icy blue eyes scanning the crowd until they land on us.
One corner of his mouth goes up in the hottest smirk I've ever witnessed.
Damn him! Is there anything unattractive about this man?
While we’re waiting for the bride, I stare at the decor and wonder how much the silk cost they used to create the fancy snowbanks.
After a few minutes of pondering fabric costs, I notice a woman two rows in front of us wearing a fire engine red dress.
She’s making one hell of a fashion statement, and she keeps glancing over her shoulder, alternately smiling at Roman, then her eyes narrow at me.
She must think I'm Roman's date and that's pissing her off.
Not subtle, sister. Not subtle at all.
Finally, the bride floats down the aisle on her beaming father’s arm, and I feel a funny twinge of awareness.
When she sees Adam standing next to the priest, her face lights up like she’s illuminated from within.
During the whole time I’d planned my wedding with Kevin, I never imagined wearing this look, this whole-hearted joy of walking down the aisle to see him there waiting for me at the end.
Did I really love him at all? Or did I just think this is what people did?
Kevin was always yapping on about ‘power couples,’ and how together we were an ‘unstoppable combination.’ I think he just liked the idea of having one more thing to put next to his fleet of expensive sports cars, his beach house in the Hamptons and his apartment in London.
Looking back at Dmitri, I can see a smile there, genuine pleasure as he watches his best friend make his vows to his bride. As they both say “I do,” for some reason, Dmitri's icy blue gaze returns to me, and I stare back, lips parted, unable to look away.
“It was a beautiful ceremony,” Ella sighs as we walk into the reception hall, which is even more cavernous and stuffed with more winter trees. They've even got a series of tall potted pine trees in the corners, all dusted with fake snow and crystals.
“At least we can move around in here,” I say, rubbing my hands. “Keep the blood flowing, huh?”
“Solnyshka,” a deep voice comes from behind us. “I'm sorry I missed the wedding.”
Turning around, I see the man who could only be the father of all of these unspeakably handsome guys. Maksim, Pakhan of the Morozov Bratva.
Okay, I did a lot of reading the other day.
I know the tattoo peeking out of the cuff of his shirt - a rosary with blood red beads - means he’s destroyed or taken over as many rival criminal organizations as there are beads on the rosary.
He has dark eyes, and he is forbidding, aloof, until he bends his head to kiss his wife.
Both their faces transform, their love for each other is palpable.
Now that kind of passion gets the blood moving.
“Father, how was St. Petersburg?” Dmitri’s behind me, his hand resting very lightly on my back, giving me a chance to step forward if it makes me uncomfortable.
His thoughtfulness is so sweet that I lean back into it, just a bit.
He and his father do that manly shoulder clapping thing that I don't understand, but know that it indicates masculine fondness and appreciation.
“It was good, son,” Maksim says with his chilly smile, though there's genuine warmth in his tone. “We'll be having visitors next month to apologize and offer reparations.”
Dmitri smiles back and it's almost sinister. “Excellent. There are so many grand gestures I'm looking forward to demanding from them.”
Maksim’s cool gaze turns to me. “And this is your guest?” he says. He doesn't offer his hand, but he nods. “Maksim Morozov, and you are Ava Blue."
Even if I wasn't Ava Blue I think I still would've nodded just as obediently. “Yes, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Morozov…” Shit, am I supposed to call him something else? Should I have said Pakhan? I'm not sure I know how to pronounce Pakhan even if it is required.
He seems to be guessing my thoughts, because the corner of his mouth curls up into an almost smile. I see where Dmitri gets his smile, now. “You are much admired by my wife and son,” he says. “I'm pleased to see you looking well.”
“Thank you. I believe that Ella saved my life. I certainly know that Dmitri did.”
Some wintry-sounding chimes ring, and the guests migrate toward their seats. Dmitri takes my hand. “I'm sorry, I’m required to sit at the head table, but I will see you after the toast."
“Go,” I chuckle, “do your job. It's not like I'd be going anywhere, even if I tried.”
His gaze darts back to Roman and Alexsey, who are both hovering over me like a mother sending their toddler out for their first trip on the playground.
“I see your point,” he says, leaning down to kiss me.
Not just a polite brush on the cheek, but the three cheek kiss I saw him give his mother.
The left cheek, then the right, and the left again, and the feeling of being included in his Russian tradition gives me a huge shot of something.
Belonging? Happiness? Security?
Maybe a little bit of all of those things rolled together and I take my seat with Ella and the others at their table with a smile. I'm pretty sure since I wasn't on the guest list that some name plates and seats have been switched around, but nobody seems to mind.
***
Solnyska - A Russian endearment that means “little sun.”