Epilogue
R eader, I married him. - Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre
Emma
It was dark and stuffy inside the closet where I was hiding.
The crack of splintering wood broke the silence, then a loud crash.
“Where is she?”
A shiver coursed up my spine as I pressed a fist to my lips.
Dimitri had arrived.
Through the closed door, I could hear the sounds of a struggle, then another awful bang.
I covered my mouth to keep from crying out.
Mary yelled back, “You can’t have her!”
Pressing my ear to the wood door, the sound of shattering glass obscured what the shouting voices said next.
There was the scrape of furniture across the floor then another terrible crash.
“Tell me where she is now!” roared Dimitri.
I jumped a foot as there was another terrific crash that sounded like a door being kicked in.
“Not until you pay! Hand over the ransom,” challenged Vaska, Dimitri’s oldest friend.
Straining to hear, I could only make out several grunts and the sound of a scuffle.
“There’s your payment. Now where’s my bride?”
Deafening silence.
A moment later, the closet door swung open.
My eyes adjusted as I gazed at his towering form standing there on the threshold.
Dimitri held out his hand and pulled me from the darkness into the light.
He looked so devilishly handsome in his tailored tuxedo.
He lifted me into his arms and carried me out of my bedroom, my champagne-organza wedding dress train trailing behind us.
“Are you ready to become Mrs. Emma Katherine Kosgova , моя крошка?”
It had been a Herculean task convincing Dimitri to wait till after I had graduated from my Master’s program to get married, but now the day was finally here.
First he had to rescue me from my kidnappers by getting past obstacles thrown in his path and paying a ransom.
A fun Russian wedding tradition.
As we crossed into the living room, I gasped at the destruction on display. The sofa was turned on its side, the apartment door was hanging by only a hinge, and there was shattered glass all over the floor.
These Russians really took their traditions seriously.
In the middle of the chaos stood Mary and Vaska, both beaming with pride. Mary held a bottle of cheap tequila while Vaska held an equally cheap bottle of vodka.
My bridal ransom.
My eyebrows rose. “Is that all I’m worth? Two cheap bottles of liquor?” I teased.
Vaska stepped forward. “Actually, just one bottle of cheap tequila, I brought my own.”
“I refuse to buy that swill,” said Dimitri with a sardonic twist to his lips.
“A toast to the bride and groom before we head to the church,” called out Mary as she held up four shot glasses.
Dimitri put me down while Vaska turned a table back onto its legs. Mary placed the four shot glasses in the center and filled two with tequila. Vaska filled the other two with vodka.
Mary and I reached for the tequila.
Dimitri and Vaska reached for the vodka.
Vaska held up his shot. “За жениха и невесту! To the bride and groom!”
“To the bride and groom!” repeated Mary.
We all drank.
“ Gor’ko! Gor’ko! Gor’ko! ” chanted Vaska and Mary together.
Mary really was embracing the Russian wedding traditions along with me. They were both chanting bitter . Tradition held a kiss from the bride and groom would sweeten their drinks.
Dimitri pulled me into his arms for a passionate kiss.
“Я тебя люблю, моя крошка.”
“ Ya tozhje tebya lyublyu ,” I answered.
Telling him I loved him too, in my imperfect Russian.
It was okay; I had a lifetime to learn.
Curious to know how Dimitri proposed to Emma?
Click here.