20. Daphne
20
It’s the night before my wedding.
Breathe, Daphne. Breathe.
Oh, wait. That’s not me talking to myself—that’s Hazel.
“Breathe, Daphne. Breathe.” She flashes me her signature, I’m-up-to-something grin. “Go sit down. We got this.”
I hate feeling useless. But I hate feeling overwhelmed even more, so I do as she suggests and sit my dazed ass down in one of the overstuffed chairs.
People are bustling around the penthouse, getting everything set up and ready for our rehearsal dinner that’s also a pseudo-combined bachelor and bachelorette party. Lots of birds, very minimal stones. Just the way I want it.
I catch Pasha’s gaze as he turns the corner. He winks at me, then continues making his way into the kitchen to direct the caterers.
Moments later, some random person I don’t recognize sets a mug of coffee down on the end table next to me. “Compliments of the host,” she explains.
“Thanks.” I sip the coffee and hum to myself. Somehow, the man always knows exactly what I need—even before I do.
That’s my issue, though. It’s the problem that’s been weighing on me since he just announced we’re getting married instead of asking me if I wanted to even consider spending the rest of my life with him.
Are we doing this because we want to?
Or because he thinks we “need” to?
“There she is! Queen of the weekend!” Sofi beams at me and plops herself down on the ottoman I’ve currently propped my feet on. She scoops them into her lap and, like the angel that she is, starts rubbing them.
“You look like you could use a little extra pampering,” she says as she rubs my toes.
“On top of all the other pampering?” Because of course, Pasha’s kept me massaged and smoothied and on a regular sleep schedule. With hot baths and mandatory nap times to boot.
Sofi cocks a brow. “Tell me that dress fitting wasn’t stressful as hell. Between the eighty different pairs of heels and—how many gowns did you actually try on?”
“A thousand, give or take.” It sure as hell felt like it, at least. But with the rush of the wedding, we didn’t have time to go shopping at different boutiques.
Of course, Pasha made sure we had personalized access to the best designers. In the end, I went with the designer who didn’t have dollar signs in her eyes but did have a stunning gown that looks like it emerged from my dreams.
I just wish I felt like I was in a dream.
At least I don’t feel like I’m in a nightmare. That’s good.
… Right?
Asya comes into the room with Taty on her shoulder. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, darlings. I’ve got this little one ready for her bedtime, but Arlo said if she wakes up later, we’ll give her a nice, warm bath to settle her back down.”
My heart squeezes, watching her glow as she talks about her boyfriend. It feels like a weird term to call such a distinguished gentleman, but what else is he to her? Even more endearing is the way Arlo has stepped in as the loving, doting grandfather Taty needs. Without being asked to, I should add. It’s like something instinctual kicked in and he became enamored with her on Day One.
“Thank you so much,” I gush. “But are you sure you want to watch her tonight? We can?—”
“I know what you’re about to say, so I am going to tell you this right now, malyshka.” Mama points a scolding finger at me. “You have one duty tonight and tomorrow and the rest of the weekend: relax, and be my son’s beautiful bride.”
“That’s, like, three duties,” I groan.
Mama mutters something in Russian under her breath, but the twinkle in her eye and the way she squeezes my shoulder as she carries Taty makes me feel the warmth of her affection.
And when she opens the front door, that warmth spreads as my sister and her family burst through.
I’m on my feet to sweep up my niece and nephew and smother them with kisses. Mel does the same to me, followed by Jameson. “You made it! How was the trip?”
“I wanna ride the ‘copter again!”
“Too loud! Too loud!”
Jameson wrangles his excited children and Melanie rolls her eyes with a laugh. “Gremlins! Please tell Uncle Pasha ‘thank you’ for the ear plugs.”
“You’re very welcome.” Pasha chooses that moment to stroll in and join us. His face lights up when he sees Max and Gentry, meeting their excited squeals with a giant bear hug. He spins them around once and drops them back down at Jameson’s feet. “The babysitter just texted me; she’s on her way. You guys get settled in okay?”
“Where are you staying?” I ask because I’m just now realizing how out of the loop I am on… well, everything.
Not because he never included me. I just chose to zone out half the time.
“Next door.” Pasha tucks me close to his side and kisses my brow. “I bought the nearest apartment and had it furnished for guests. This way, our family can stay close and safe?—”
“And Mommy can get drunk without feeling guilty about it!” Mel grins and beelines for the kitchen. “Love you, new brother!”
He just chuckles and shakes his head. “Come, moya plamya. We need your thoughts on the dessert.”
I take his hand and follow him into the kitchen. For all that I’m overwhelmed right now, dessert is the one area where I still have some expertise.
The next few hours are spent laughing and talking with our family while tasting a huge array of foods and sipping down a litany of wines.
We eat our appetizers and main meal with the kids, who are obsessed with their baby cousin. As small as she is, Max insists on trying to hold “da bay-bee” and pouts when we try to explain why Taty is too little. Gentry has done a complete one-eighty from resenting Taty to being overprotective, declaring himself her “big brother” since she doesn’t have one to protect her.
This earns him an appreciative ruffling of his hair from Pasha, who thanks him for being such a good little man.
With the main course done, and small desserts fed to the little ones, we bid them goodnight and Jameson ushers them to the apartment next door for the babysitter to take over. As we wait for him to return, the rest of us adjourn to the living room with glasses of wine and a few as-yet unopened bottles.
Personally, I’m sticking with sparkling grape juice for now. I still haven’t given up on trying to breastfeed, so I don’t want to mess up any chances of feeding Taty by tainting my milk.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look?” Pasha murmurs in my ear as he settles into the chair and nestles me onto his lap.
“Not yet.” I blush and nudge him with my hip. “But feel free to wax poetic.”
One of the caterers wheels in a cart of chocolate truffles arranged in an elegant pyramid. Chocolate-covered strawberries line the base, with a fanned border of delicate wafer cookie sticks completing the spread.
I want to be able to fit into my gown tomorrow, but damn. I need that in my mouth, stat.
Mel greets her returning husband with a full wine glass and a dessert plate piled with truffles. “Helen said she’ll text us when they’re in bed so you can say goodnight,” he explains.
“Perfect.” Mel snuggles into his side on the couch. “Now, sit your ass right there and hold me.”
For a moment, we all sit together in comfortable, loving silence. Jameson and Mel take up the middle section of the couch, with Hazel munching on a strawberry next to them and Sofi happily sipping her wine on the very end. Asya and Arlo share one end of the wraparound, nestled in together with his arm draped around her. Makari sits in the corner next to them, periodically casting glances at Arlo that vary between uncertain, suspicious, and… relieved? Admiring? Hard to say for sure.
“I want to thank everyone for coming tonight.” Pasha raises his glass with his free hand. The other is busy anchoring me to his lap. “I know this was on short notice, but it means a lot to both of us to have you here. And a special thanks to Hazel—” He tips his head in her direction. “—for twisting my ear until we got this done.”
She raises her glass to him with a proud smile. “Anything for the two of you.”
“I’m feeling especially grateful for this beautiful woman right here.” Pasha hugs me closer to him and kisses the corner of my eye. “She ran into my life, literally, and shook up everything I thought I once knew. Like how I knew, for a fact, that I was never going to get married. Not in a million years.”
My stomach twists just a little.
“I also ‘knew’ I was never going to have kids. I was never going to settle down and have a family of my own. My life was my work. I didn’t…”
I glance at him when I hear his voice catch. I don’t know if anyone else notices, but I do.
“I didn’t deserve any of these things.” He clears his throat and takes a tiny sip of his wine. “I’d like to say I was just married to my work, but the truth is, I just didn’t think I’m the kind of person who deserves that kind of happiness.”
Arlo’s brow pinches a bit. Again, I’m not sure if anyone else notices. But it’s there—a flash of concern. Maybe even sympathy.
No. Empathy.
I don’t know how I know, but it’s there: this feeling that there’s far more between Arlo and Pasha than either of them is letting on.
“And then comes Daphne.” Pasha grins fondly. “Witty, beautiful, incredibly intelligent, with an eye for art and a heart of solid gold. I don’t know what I’d do without her in my life.”
“Suffer,” Makari says in a dramatic drawl. “Loudly.”
Everyone laughs, and so does Pasha, but he nods in agreement. “Yeah, that sounds about right. I know with absolute certainty that I wouldn’t be smiling half as much. Or enjoying life as I do now. Daphne is… well, she’s my everything. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure I deserve every second with her.”
The cheers, the congratulations, the “awws”... how could I not kiss him? Especially when Mak starts a “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” chant and they all clink their glasses until we do.
I should feel elated.
I should be choking up from Pasha’s kind and loving words.
I should be wanting to climb on his lap and ride him like a pony.
But I don’t feel any of that. I don’t really have words to describe how I feel, really. So I smile and pretend and put on my best show.
It’s what I’m good at, after all.
Mak claps his hands together and broadens his smile into a wicked grin. “Alright, enough with the mushy-mush. Time for games!”
“Oh, no,” groans Sofi.
“Oh, yes.” He hops up from the couch and grabs for a bag he’d brought in earlier. “And since these two are total prudes who don’t respect the honor and dignity of bachelor and bachelorette parties…”
Pasha rolls his eyes with a chuckle. “I hardly call getting drunk at a strip club ‘honorable’ or ‘dignified.’”
Mak spins around, holding a slim box in his hands. “Because you don’t know how to have fun, dear brother. Behold!” He lifts the box up like that one cartoon movie. “Pin the Dick on The dancer!”
“The Who on the What?!”
Asya nearly chokes on her wine. Hazel’s hand flies to her mouth, and Jameson doubles over with laughter.
Pasha just shakes his head in disgust. “Even you are better than that, Makari.”
“See? Total prude.” Mak marches over to the far wall of the living room and proceeds to set up the game. It’s a large poster of a muscular naked man with no genitalia, flexing hard enough to cause some cardiovascular concern.
“You know the game. Put the junk on the hunk. Tail on the whale. I could keep going if you want.”
“Please, for the love of God, don’t.” Sofi rolls her eyes, but laughs and rolls off the couch to join him. “I’ll go first!”
And that is basically how the rest of the party guests end up spinning around with their eyes closed and blindfolded, paper penises in hand and the whole lot of us cackling at the stumbling attempts to get anywhere close to the model’s groin.
Sofi attaches a penis to an arm. Hazel lands on the face, and Jameson refuses to even touch the thing. Arlo gets somewhat closer, firmly sticking the dick to the model’s navel before whipping off the blindfold. His proud harrumph becomes a choked wheeze of laughter, which earns him a sympathetic pat on the back from Makari.
Mama gets surprisingly closer to the target than anyone else in line. She gasps with surprise when she sees how she did. “So close!”
Arlo wraps his hands around her hips and kisses her neck. “You always know exactly what you’re doing around there?—”
The chorus of fake gagging from all three Chekhov siblings spares us from hearing the rest of whatever he was going to say. Mama blushes bright red, and Arlo laughs as he kisses her.
Sofi clasps her hands together. “And on that vomit-inducing note, why not switch gears into the gifts? Daph, I know there’s a few things you may find… shall we say, useful?”
“Oh, no…” I reluctantly accept the small gift bag she hands me while everyone else fetches their gifts. When I reach in through the tissue paper, my fingertips touch silky lace. “Oh. Oh! Oh, wow.” My face instantly heats. “Is this something I can pull out?”
“It’s something that’ll make it difficult for him to pull out, if you know what I mean.”
“Sofiya!” Mama lightly smacks her arm. “Be a lady!”
Pasha rubs my sides. “Come on, let’s see. Enough foreplay.”
I ease the lace out. “Oh my…”
She wasn’t lying—Pasha instantly hardens under me at the sight of the wispiest lace thong and garter set ever constructed. There are more straps than actual fabric. Dental floss companies would look at this and weep at the artistry.
I hold it up for Pasha to examine. “What do you think?”
“Hmm…” His voice is a raspy, low growl meant only for me. “I think if you wear that, we’ll be on our way to a second child in no time.”
I gulp, suddenly burning up with more heat than my skin knows what to do with. Everyone else is kind enough to pretend they didn’t hear it.
More presents follow. Ties from Jameson, cologne from Mak. Arlo gives Pasha an engraved box of cigars that make him pause and run a finger over the golden hinges, deep in thought.
“One’s for Tatyanna’s birth,” Arlo explains. “It’s a tradition in my family. Another is for your wedding tomorrow. The third is for the day you find out you’re having another child.” He looks to me and bows his head. “If that is something you both desire.”
Pasha is still silent. Finally, after clearing his throat, he gives Arlo an appreciative nod. “Thank you. This really means… Thank you.”
I don’t know what time it is. All I know is I’m exhausted and extremely grateful the wedding isn’t until the late afternoon. Not like I’ll be able to sleep, though.
Pasha closes the bedroom door and heads for his dresser. “The kids are finally out.”
“Who?” I suppress a tired laugh. “Sofi and Mak?”
“Yep. Passed out cold on the couch.” He tugs his shirt off and treats me to a rather tantalizing view of those washboard abs.
If only I had the energy to enjoy them.
Hazel’s name pops up on my phone; she’s just gone home and wanted to let me know she arrived safely. Lev drove her there, and Pasha confirms with a grunt that he checked on Mel and her family as well. Asya and Arlo are in the guest room with Taty asleep in her bassinet there.
Everyone is accounted for and resting for tomorrow.
My body is exhausted.
My mind won’t stop reeling.
This is it. This is my last night as a single woman. Twenty-four hours from now, I’ll be Mrs. Chekhov.
Pasha’s wife.
He climbs into bed with a sigh. “Sleep well, moya plamya. Tomorrow is a big day for both of us.”
I need to ask him. I need to know, before I sink myself into a life neither of us wants.
Not that I don’t want him. Hell, I want him like I want air to breathe.
I just…
I don’t want to spend the rest of my life knowing I’m his biggest regret.