Chapter Thirteen
SCOTTIE
The ceremony itself is a blur—Corey crying, his bride crying harder, the pastor making jokes about fishing season like it’s a universally understood calendar marker. I hear some of the words, but most of my focus is pointed directly at the woman next to me.
I keep catching myself glancing sideways at Katerina and thinking things a man in a fake marriage probably shouldn’t be thinking. Like how impossibly gorgeous she looks today. And how she somehow looks even more married than she did on our actual wedding day.
She holds herself with an effortless, elegant control that only comes from years of being trained to be perfect in public.
Her posture is flawless, her expression a little harder in that Russian ballerina way she has about her, but it’s softer now than when we first met on that tarmac.
Her fingers curled lightly around mine as if we’ve been doing this forever.
Every time someone walks past us after the recessional, they do a little double-take. At her, then me, and then us. Probably wondering what the hell someone as gorgeous as her is doing with me.
I stand straighter without even meaning to. Having a woman of Katerina’s caliber on your arm does that to a man.
As the guests file toward the reception hall, her eyes sweep over the crowd as if she’s cataloging every detail of the day.
She’s naturally composed, walking into a room like she owns it.
Like everyone in it owes her money. But today?
There’s something softer underneath. Something I’m seeing in flashes—the real her.
The one I get only glimpses of, like breakfasts in the penthouse, or when she’s stretching in the living room, or how she looked in the kitchen with my mom yesterday.
Even the way she stared out at the stars last night on the balcony of the honeymoon suite.
The path to the reception hall winds through a garden, and she glances back at me again.
“You’re quiet,” she says softly.
“I’m thinking.”
“About whether this will count as brunch, lunch, or first-dinner?”
I grin. She’s being sassy, and I like it. “Cute…” I say. “No, though that is a good question now that you bring it up. But I was thinking about how I’m glad you’re here… with me. And not because I need to scare off the sourdough bread lady.”
She laughs, and seeing her throw back her head just a little when she does it makes me want to wrap her in my arms and carry her off somewhere so we can be alone. So I can have her laugh and her smile all to myself. I’m realizing that the more time I spend with her… the more time I want.
“I’m really glad I’m here too,” she says back and then blinks, like the words surprise her.
And maybe they surprise me too. My family can be a lot, but she handled them like a pro yesterday.
The reception hall looks like someone’s Pinterest board exploded—in a good way. Twinkle lights. White draping. Candles flickering on every table. The kind of wedding aesthetic Juliet could pull off with a blindfold on and one arm tied behind her back in a hurricane, but still really nice.
We weave through the tables, and I spot our place cards immediately. My name, then Katerina Easton… then Anika Jeeter.
I stop mid-step.
“Oh,” I say under my breath. “Great.”
Katerina follows my gaze, then lifts a brow. “Anika?”
“My mother’s Hail Mary matchmaking attempt before you,” I say dryly.
“It will be fine. I’m sure she will be lovely,” Katerina offers politely, probably from her years of etiquette training. I could probably use a little of that myself.
“Just so we’re clear, she was my seventh-grade girlfriend… for three months until she dumped me. There’s no real history. I just want you to know.”
She slides her hand down my arm like she’s trying to soothe me. I like that she touched me first. “It’s going to be fine. This is what I’m here for, right?”
“Right.”
Before either of us can dive deeper into that, Anika materializes beside our table like she’s been summoned. Same bright blonde hair I remember, same sunshine smile, same energy of someone who genuinely believes the world is a good place full of good things.
“Scottie,” she says with a bright smile, pulling me into a hug I wasn’t prepared for. “You made it. Your mother said you were coming, and then the last time I saw her, she seemed unsure since you just got married.”
I’m relieved at least to know that my mother told Anika that I got married.
Otherwise, if she thought I was coming alone with my mother’s intentions of still getting us together, this could have been awkward.
“Would’ve been weird to skip Corey’s wedding.
You remember how his mom holds a grudge. ” I joke, patting her back.
She laughs and steps back—and then she sees Katerina.
“Oh my gosh, hi.” Anika extends both hands like she’s greeting royalty. “You must be Scottie’s wife. Katerina right?”
Katerina takes her hands, polite and composed, her accent softening her words. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Anika beams. “You’re stunning. I mean—whoa. No wonder he practically vanished off the face of the earth after meeting you.”
“I didn’t vanish,” I say. “I was at practice.”
“Uh-huh.” She smacks my arm playfully and turns back to Katerina. “Seriously, though. I’m so happy for you two. This must be so awkward for you. Sitting next to the girl Scottie’s mom tried to set him up with. But I promise I’m harmless.”
Katerina’s lips twitch. “It’s not awkward.”
I choke on nothing, she lies beautifully… an absolute natural. It must be all that ballet training for when people ask if her shoes are too tight or if having a leotard wedged up her perfect ass is comfortable.
Anika leans between us. “Honestly, I think his mom was just desperate. I was single, he was single… she didn’t want us to die alone. But as soon as she showed me your pictures, I was like, whelp, I’m outmatched. Good for her.”
Katerina actually laughs, soft and warm, and the tension in my shoulders loosen at the sound.
We all take our seats as the DJ announces dinner service in that announcer voice that makes everything sound like a sports broadcast. Anika is still talking animatedly, Katerina is engaging with all the ease of a politician’s daughter, and I sit there watching the two of them and thinking:
Maybe this was supposed to be awkward. Maybe it should have been awkward.
But instead, the only thing I can think is how right it feels having Katerina at my side in my hometown, in my family’s orbit, in this world that built me.
Like she’s the missing piece of a picture I didn’t know was incomplete until she walked down the aisle towards me and I slipped my ring on her finger.
Dinner comes out in waves—salad, rolls, chicken or steak, mashed potatoes with enough butter to clog an artery. Typical Montana wedding fare. Every plate looks like something my mom would serve on a Tuesday night because she “felt like feeding the neighborhood.”
Conversation hums all around us. My aunts argue about which cousin is going to get engaged next. My uncles are already three beers deep and debating elk migration patterns like it’s a life-or-death matter. Kids run between tables because parenting at Montana weddings is a group project.
And right in the middle of it all sits Katerina.
She’s answering questions with that perfectly polite way of hers, but she’s not rigid or stiff; she actually looks like she’s enjoying herself. When my aunt Barb asks where we met, she leans into my arm just a little, the touch light but sure, and says,
“Through my brother Luka. He introduced us.”
And she says it with such quiet sincerity that even I almost forget we didn’t stumble into each other in a grocery store or bar or something normal.
I watch her while conversation swirls around us, and every few seconds she does this little thing: she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, or she laughs under her breath, or she looks up at me when someone asks a question neither of us expected.
Corey’s best man tells a long-winded story about fishing accidents, beer explosions, and why Corey’s bride deserves an award for “taking one for the team by marrying into this family.”
Everyone roars with laughter, but I’m not watching the toast. I’m watching Katerina.
She leans into me during the funny parts, her shoulder brushing mine. When the bride’s father gets emotional talking about family, she blinks quickly, looking down at her hands like she doesn’t want anyone to see her reaction.
And I think—God. She deserves moments like this. A family like this. A life like this. Real and loud and messy and happy. Not the cage she grew up in. Not the fear she lives under now.
The DJ calls out something about “inviting all couples to the floor,” and before I even have time to think, my hand is already reaching for hers.
“Dance with me?” I ask.
Her eyes flick to the crowd, to the packed dance floor, to the open space waiting for us.
Then back to me.
“Yes,” she says softly.
I take her hand and lead her out, and the moment I pull her into my arms, something in my world clicks into place with ease.
The song is slow and familiar. The same one Juliet played for our first dance at our wedding.
I feel it, the moment she realizes this is “our song” too, and then I feel her fingers tighten just a fraction at the back of my neck.
Her body fits against mine like I was made for this exact purpose. Her hand rests against my chest, right over my heart, like she’s grounding me… or maybe like she’s feeling how fast it’s beating.
“You’re a good dancer,” she whispers.
“I warned you about that,” I tease softly. “Grew up getting dragged to weddings. You pick up a few moves whether you want to or not.”
“It’s not that.” She swallows. “It’s the way you hold me.”
My throat goes tight.
“How’s that?” I ask quietly.
“Like you know exactly how to.”
I tighten my arm around her waist, drawing her in closer.
“Maybe I do.”