Chapter 8 Aleksandr
ALEKSANDR
Everything is falling into place exactly the way I wanted.
From the moment I opened my eyes this morning, there hasn’t been a single crack in the day.
Ziggy and Mariana—Lily’s old college friends who flew in and stayed out too late—were the first to stumble out of the guest house, sunglasses already on, looking like they had barely survived the night.
Good. They’re here, alive, and I don’t have to worry about them disappearing before the ceremony.
Gwen’s group is here too—Kelsey, David, Taylor—the people she swore could keep a secret as long as I made them sign on the dotted line.
Every last one of them signed the NDA without a blink, which means no one outside these walls is going to hear a word about today until I want them to. That part was non-negotiable.
And while they move about the property like it’s a resort, I stand in the middle of the living room and take in what I built for her.
I stripped this room down to its bones for today.
Every stick of furniture, every rug, every painting—gone.
The walls are hidden now beneath draped fabric, soft and light, so the entire space feels like it has been remade into something unrecognizable.
Hanging from the vaulted ceiling are garlands of wisteria and roses, the whole place dripping in lilac and dusty blue.
Hints of gold catch the light where the chandeliers have been wound with silk ribbon, and the floor beneath my feet will be covered in pale petals that lead in a clear line to where she’ll stand with me, once Mia, our flower girl comes down the aisle.
It looks like a spring wedding, like the wedding she once described when she thought I wasn’t listening, only I’ve forced it to bloom in winter.
She deserved April, the warmth and the blossoms she wanted, but certain sacrifices had to be made.
I could not risk a public venue, could not risk a day that was not under my absolute control.
If she ever hates me for that, I will carry it, but I will not let danger touch her.
So I gave her this, a private garden grown out of walls and determination, a fortress built from faux flowers that would withstand the chill of a New York December.
Every chair, every stem, every second of this day has been bent to my will. No surprises. I won’t allow it. I built this so Lily could walk into it without a single shadow from her past following her in, so there’s nothing left for her to worry about but me.
And watching it all move like clockwork around me—her friends laughing in the courtyard, the staff moving like a machine, the air itself still and waiting—it’s the first time I’ve felt that calm settle in my chest in months.
I wanted everything to be perfect for her. And for once in my life, I think I have it.
A single note of a guitar engulfs the room, soft and tentative, and then the familiar melody of “A Thousand Years” from one of Lily’s favorite movies, Twilight, threads through the air like silk.
I had it played acoustic, slow enough to feel like every note was suspended, stretching out the moment for as long as it could hold.
From the corners of my vision, gold ribbons tremble faintly in the drafts, wisteria sways from the ceiling, and the entire space glows like spring caught in a jar.
Mia is first.
She comes skipping in a little cloud of pink, her puffy dress bobbing with every step, a halo of curls bouncing behind her.
She grins the whole way, clutching the bouquet I gave her like it’s a prize, and I hear a few guests laugh under their breath, charmed by her complete lack of composure. It’s perfect. It loosens the room.
Then come Toni and Gio, small hands clasped together, each one of them in little penguin-tail tuxedos with periwinkle accents stitched in neat lines.
Their jackets are too long, their polished shoes almost tripping them, but they’re determined.
They carry the rings like it’s life or death, and I watch them walk, utterly serious in their duty, and for one sharp, strange second my chest aches.
And then there is Nik.
Against his will, he is my best man. He fought me on it, more than once, telling me I should pick someone safer, someone steadier, someone who wasn’t him.
But there was never anyone else. No one else has been beside me in every battle, through every wound, holding the weight I couldn’t.
If I am here now, steady enough to do this, it’s because of him.
He walks down the aisle with Nadia.
They move in sync, a perfect balance of danger and grace.
Her gown is periwinkle satin that flows like poured water, the fabric graceful under the light.
It clings to her hips and falls in a clean line to the floor, and when she passes, the back of it reveals skin in a plunge so deep it stills the entire room.
Heads turn. No one dares to whisper. Nadia doesn’t so much as flinch; she has always walked like the ground belongs to her.
She is exactly what Lily has always needed at her side—her fiercest shield and her sharpest blade.
Nik’s suit is cut to precision, every line clean, with the periwinkle bow tie I forced on him sitting neatly at his throat. He hated it. Told me I was trying to make him look like an idiot. And still, he wears it for me, for her, because he knows what today means.
As the two of them pass, the music swells around us. The guitar line curls upward, soft and slow, and for the first time since dawn, I feel my lungs open. This part of the plan, the most fragile piece of the entire day, is exactly where it should be.
They take their places, Nadia like a sentinel, Nik just off to my right. The aisle stretches empty in front of me now, petals unmoving on the floor. The room holds still, waiting. I know the next sound I hear, the next footsteps that break this silence, will be hers.
“Are you nervous?”
Nik’s voice slips in low and close, breaking through my thoughts. He leans just enough that I feel his breath brush my ear, a solid weight of a hand settling on my shoulder, like he’s bracing me for the answer.
I don’t take my eyes off the room. “No.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh, disbelieving. “You’re getting everything you ever wanted, you know that?”
That pulls me out of my head for a second. I glance at him, and there’s nothing teasing in his face. It’s just truth, laid out plainly, the way only a brother can say it.
“I know,” I admit, softer than I intend. The words almost catch in my throat.
His mouth curves. He pats me on the back, steady and firm, like he’s putting the last piece in place. And then his gaze shifts past me, up, a flicker of movement I feel more than see.
I follow it.
Lily is at the top of the stairs, and the music fades from “A Thousand Years” to the more traditional “At Last” by Etta James.
She stands there for a single, suspended heartbeat, one hand sliding along the carved banister like she’s grounding herself before stepping into this new life.
Earlier, just in the dress alone, she was beautiful—breathtaking, even.
But right now? Right now she looks like something beyond reach. Immaculate. Untouchable.
Her hair has been coaxed into wide, loose curls, the kind that catch the light with every turn of her head.
A few strands frame her face, softening her features, while the rest are pinned up, leaving the curve of her neck exposed.
Her makeup glows against her skin—warm pinks, soft gold, and the faint shimmer of sparkle at her eyes that makes her look like someone brushed stars across her cheeks.
I cannot believe she is real, not when she stands there like this, not when every inch of her feels like something I dreamed and never thought I’d touch.
And then she starts to move. The confidence in her steps is quiet but unshakable, and it is the exact opposite of the way she yelled at me four hours ago—her voice breaking over how I knew too much about her favorite things, how I made her feel exposed, how she swore she wouldn’t let me get that close.
I saw the fear in her then, and I feared it too—that she would run, that she would leave, that she would choose a world without me in it.
I want to say that if she had run, I would have let her go.
That I wouldn’t have hunted her down, dragged her back, made her see exactly what I feel.
I want to say that, but I know myself too well.
I know I would have burned everything in my path until she had no choice but to stand here and see it—the truth of what I want for her.
As long as she is mine, I will give her everything.
The life she used to dream about in secret—the house, the kids, the safety, the quiet.
I will crush every demon inside me so deep into the dark that they will never climb high enough to touch her.
She will never see them. They will never lay a hand on the girl who is pure sunlight.
I won. I fucking won the jackpot. She is mine, and she’s here of her own will. She has seen me at my worst—seen what I am capable of, watched me take a man’s life, seen just how far obsession has already carried me—and she still wants me. And that is the difference.
The first step she takes toward me cracks something open in my chest. It’s slow at first, measured, like she knows exactly how painful it is for her to be so far away from me, when she is moments from being everything to me.
Her dress skims over the petals Mia laid down a few minutes ago, the fabric whispering across the floor, and the world narrows into that sound, into her.