Epilogue - Elisse
One Year Later
“If you drop her, I will actually shoot you.”
“That feels excessive,” Fyodor replied calmly. “I am not going to drop my very own daughter, Elle.”
I didn’t even have to turn around to picture his expression because I already knew it would be mildly offended, entirely unbothered, while he would be holding our daughter like she was made of glass and iron at the same time. I stepped out onto the terrace and found exactly that.
He was standing under the old sycamore tree in the courtyard, dressed in a dark tailored suit that made him look less like a former Bratva strategist and more like a man who belonged exactly where he was. Our daughter was tucked securely against his chest, her tiny hand fisted into his lapel.
He was talking to her like she could understand geopolitics.
“I am not going to drop her,” he said, glancing at me.
“You once walked into this house alone and unannounced,” I reminded him. “Your judgment is historically questionable.”
“That was different.”
“How.”
“I wasn’t holding her.”
I crossed my arms.
“That’s not comforting.”
Ilana, standing beside him, rolled her eyes. “Both of you are rather insufferable.”
“She started it,” Fyodor said while I glared at him. Our daughter made a soft, offended sound, and we both froze instantly. He softened first.
“See?” he murmured to her. “Your mother is so dramatic all the time.”
“She gets that from you,” I replied.
Ilana snorted beside us, sipping from a glass of champagne in her hands.
“She gets that from both of you. God help us and our darling little girl. She has to survive a lifetime with the most annoying parents in the world. You two should let her live with me once she is old enough so she can have someone sensible around her.”
I walked closer and gently brushed my finger across my daughter’s cheek. She was barely three months old, and yet she already felt like the axis of our world.
“Yeah, right,” I scoffed, making a face at Ilana.
The courtyard behind us was almost ready. Almost. White flowers climbed the stone pillars. Soft ivory ribbons moved in the late afternoon breeze. Rows of wooden chairs formed a quiet semicircle beneath the tree. It wasn’t grand or performative but intentionally small.
Just ours. It was nothing like the first wedding. That one had been strategy and silence and too many unspoken things, but this one was deliberate.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this again,” I murmured, resting my head on Fyodor’s shoulder.
“We are doing it all properly this time,” Fyodor corrected.
“And publicly,” Ilana added.
“And willingly,” I finished with a chuckle.
He met my gaze, both of us growing serious. “Yes.”
The courtyard filled slowly. Iosif and Avgust stood near the front, speaking in low tones that likely involved contingency plans even on a wedding day.
Lukyan and Timofey were debating something pointless and stubborn, because they could not exist in the same space without competing.
Misha was simply sitting on one of the white chairs and admiring the flowers while also instructing servants on how to do things, and Zhenya was pretending like she was not already emotional.
Clara moved like quiet grace between everyone, adjusting flowers and whispering reassurances.
This was what peace looked like for us. Guarded and measured. Earned.
Ilana carefully took the baby from Fyodor and handed her to Clara when she came towards us.
“Don’t cry,” Clara warned her.
“I won’t,” Ilana said firmly.
She absolutely would. I knew that already. Fyodor stepped towards me, pulling me into his embrace. Ilana and Clara left the two of us alone and walked back to the garden, where everyone was already sitting down.
“You are staring,” I told him, turning crimson.
“I am allowed to stare.”
“You look like you are about to negotiate a treaty.”
“I am.”
I smiled faintly. “Don’t ruin this with your intensity.”
He didn’t answer, but his gaze softened.
“I will see you there,” he said, winking at me as he walked towards the aisle, taking his place right by the officiator.
The music began playing, subtle strings.
Neither of us had wanted anything dramatic.
Everyone rose from their seats, and I suddenly realized something.
I was not nervous. Not the way I was the first time.
It did not feel as if I was walking towards obligation.
It felt as if I was walking towards a choice I had made.
I took a breath and started forward. Alone.
Not because I lacked family. But because I wanted to walk to him on my own.
The sunlight caught on the embroidery at the edge of my dress.
I had chosen ivory with soft gold thread.
It had strong lines, but it was not restrictive.
I had designed it myself, and it fit my body exactly; it was right now, with soft pregnancy weight still clinging to me.
I no longer had a problem with it, especially because Fyodor made sure I loved myself as I am.
He watched me like I was something sacred and improbable.
I stopped right in front of him.
“You’re glaring,” I murmured quietly.
“I’m memorizing.”
“That’s worse.”
His mouth almost curved. The officiant began speaking, but the words blurred into background warmth.
All I really heard was the sound of my own heartbeat and the faint shift of wind in the trees.
When it was finally time for vows, I didn’t reach for paper.
I reached for his hands instead, realizing how warm they were. And steady.
“I didn’t choose you because it was easy,” I began speaking softly. “I chose you because you stood in this house and told my brothers I was not leverage. I chose you because you let me decide in front of everyone instead of stealing me away in the dark.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“I chose you because you walked away from power when you didn’t have to. Because you came back when you thought I betrayed you. Because you looked at our daughter like she was the only thing that mattered.”
A faint laugh trembled through the guests.
“I choose you,” I continued, “not because I belong to you, but because I want to stand beside you. I promise to argue with you when you are impossible. To remind you that stepping away from the empire was a strength. To build a life with you that feels honest, even when it’s fragile, and to be with you forever. ”
My voice softened.
“I promise to love you openly. Not as a strategy. Not as survival. But as a choice I make every single day.”
Silence wrapped around us, and he swallowed once before speaking.
“I once believed control was the only way to survive,” he said evenly. “I believed love was weakness disguised as distraction.”
“That tracks,” Ilana muttered quietly, which was followed by a ripple of laughter.
“You dismantled that belief,” Fyodor continued. “You stood between your brothers and me and chose me in front of them. You came back when you didn’t have to. You told me you were pregnant, like it was both a challenge and a miracle.”
I couldn’t help it. I smiled as tears began to fall down my face.
“I choose you,” he said quietly. “Because you are not easy. Because you do not bend. Because you looked at me at my worst and demanded better. I promise to never assume when I can ask. To never doubt your loyalty again. To raise our daughter in a home built on choice.”
His voice lowered slightly.
“I promise to love you in daylight. In front of anyone who questions it. And to remember every day that you are not mine to own, but mine to honor.”
My breath caught, and the officiant wisely kept his speech brief.
When he declared us husband and wife, I didn’t wait but pulled him in instead.
The kiss was not desperate or explosive, but it was steady and certain.
Warm. Applause surrounded us. Clara brought the baby forward, and I took her first. She blinked at the sunlight, unimpressed by the ceremony.
“She’s judging all of you,” Misha said dryly.
“She’s mine,” I replied
“She’s ours,” Fyodor corrected gently.
Fyodor took her from me and held her close in one hand while his arm draped over me from the other side.
Everyone around us looked at us with a smile on their faces, even Iosif and Avgust, the two people who had been against this from the very beginning.
But nothing mattered anymore. Later, at the reception tables beneath the trees, laughter echoed all around us.
Clara adjusted the tiny lace band in my daughter’s hair while Ilana still pretended not to cry.
Zhenya absolutely cried while Misha claimed her tears were just allergies.
I sat beside Fyodor and watched the people who once nearly destroyed my love for him finally share wine and cheese beside him. It felt surreal. Not perfect. But real.
“You’re quiet,” he said softly.
“I am thinking.”
“About what?
“About how close we came to losing this.”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“We didn’t,” he said finally.
“No,” I agree. “We fought for it.”
He reached for my hand under the table. It was not possessive. Just present. As dusk settled, lanterns flickered on around the courtyard, and the baby fell asleep against my shoulder. He wrapped an arm around both of us.
“This is fragile,” I murmured.
“Yes.”
“But it’s ours.”
“Yes.”
I looked at him for who he was now. Not the Romanov strategist. Not the man who once held me in a penthouse like leverage. But the man who walked into this house alone and asked to be judged by his intention instead of his name and power.
“I would choose you again,” I said quietly.
“I know.”
“You’re arrogant.”
“I am simply observant, and I have faith in the love you have for me.”
I leaned into him. Months ago, this felt impossible, but now it only feels earned.
Not stolen. Not forced. Chosen. And as the night deepened and our daughter slept between us, I realized something simple and steady.
We did not win by overpowering each other.
We survived by choosing each other. And this time, there were no doubts.
*****
THE END