21. Aurora
21
AURORA
The office of Julia Delacroix, who has handled a number of celebrity weddings in L.A., screams elegance, all cream and gold with tasteful photos of happy couples I recognize from magazine covers.
"Mr. Dragunov! A pleasure." Julia floats toward us in a cloud of expensive perfume and professionalism. Her eyes flick to me with practiced interest. "And this must be your bride-to-be."
"Aurora." My voice comes out steadier than I expect. "Aurora Castellanos."
Ruslan's thumb traces a circle on my hand, and heat blooms beneath my skin.
"Now, I've found that it's always best to start with locations." Julia opens a sleek leather portfolio. "I understand this is happening quickly, so I've prepared a few options that can accommodate your timeline with such short notice."
Ruslan leans forward. "Let's see the options."
"Of course." She flips through photos of breathtaking cliffside venues. "I have three properties available. Exclusive, private, and with security that can be easily controlled."
I catch Ruslan nodding absentmindedly at Julia's mention of controllable security.
Of course a bratva wedding, even a wedding of convenience like ours, will have these things. Airtight security. Carefully vetted guest lists. Guards posted at every entrance.
"Now, about your guest list." Julia continues as she slides a paper toward me. "Typically, I start with family members and close friends..."
Friends.
Hannah would want to be there. My thoughts drift to her teasing smile, and how she'd squeal with excitement if I told her to come. But then I remember that this isn't a normal wedding, and that she shouldn't get involved in this world more than necessary.
"I won't be inviting friends," I say too quickly.
Julia's professional smile doesn't waver. "That's perfectly fine. We can focus on only family seating arrangements then, Ms. Castellanos. Your parents can be?—"
The word "parents" might as well have slapped me clear across the face.
Suddenly I'm staring at the wall, the metallic smell of blood everywhere, those words painted on the wall. Look what you made me do.
"I... they won't..." My voice shrinks. "My parents won't be attending either."
"That's okay, dear." Julia's voice softens with practiced sympathy. "Many couples have complicated family situations."
I feel Ruslan's eyes on me, his gaze heavy and searching. A lump forms in my throat, expanding until I can barely breathe.
Seven years of running and looking over my shoulder. Seven years of being Aurora instead of Jamie.
Not once did I ever dare to imagine a wedding day.
Now it's happening, along with the realization hitting me that I'm alone in this world.
An orphan without roots.
And when the thought hits, it fucking hurts.
My throat tightens at the thought of charts and family arrangements. A pair of empty chairs where my parents should sit, and the solitary one next to them for my little brother.
Mom would have cried the moment she saw me in a wedding dress. Dad would have grumbled about the cost while secretly beaming with pride. My little brother would have tried to make fun of me. Maybe even stealing some champagne when no one was looking.
But they'll never see this. They'll never see anything again.
The guilt rushes through me. It's all my fault. If I hadn't gotten involved with Kristofer... if I'd listened when they warned me about him... if I hadn't tried to break it off...
"Aurora?" Ruslan's voice cuts through the fog, his fingers squeezing mine gently.
I blink rapidly, willing the tears not to fall. "I'm fine."
But I'm not. In this moment, sitting in this plush office with wedding plans spread before me, I'm Jamie Fields again.
The girl who got her family murdered because she made a terrible choice.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself back into Aurora. Jamie Fields is dead , I remind myself. But the grief remains, a constant shadow no matter which name I use.
"Excuse me," I whisper, but it's too late.
The tears come anyway, hot and unstoppable, pouring down my face in silent streams. I press my hands against my mouth, but can't contain the sob that tears from my chest.
I try to wipe the tears away, but more just keep coming. For the first time in seven years, I've finally been able to look back on that horrible day and grieve. To fully process what happened that night.
To not spend every waking moment hiding in plain sight, hiding from cameras, and searching every room for escape routes, terrified that Kristofer would find me.
"Julia, a moment, please?" Ruslan's voice is gentle but carries the authority of someone used to being obeyed.
"Of course." Julia nods professionally. "I'll go get some cake samples. Take your time."
Once we're alone, Ruslan turns to me and takes both my hands in his. He doesn't speak immediately, just studies my face as I try to compose myself.
"What is it, zarechka ?"
His thumb brushes away a tear from my cheek. The tenderness in his touch makes it harder, not easier, to stop crying.
In Ruslan's protective presence, I finally feel safe enough to shatter, like my body knows it's okay to break.
Because someone else will keep the pieces together until I can put them back together.
"Last night..." I begin, my voice wavering. "In our game of truth and dare, when you asked for a secret I'd never told anyone. I didn't lie, but I didn't tell you the truth either."
Inside my head, a voice screams at me to shut up. To remember that Jamie Fields is dead. That the moment I tell him who I really am, this fragile protection I've found might disappear.
But something in those golden eyes tells me I can trust him.
"The secret I chose to tell you was convenient and safe." I take a shaky breath. "But it's not the secret that keeps me awake at night. It's not the reason why I feel like I'm going to throw up every time I see a camera pointed at me. It's not why I ran from that club when Sienna took my picture."
Ruslan's jaw tightens slightly, but his gaze never wavers from mine. He doesn't push, doesn't demand.
He simply holds space and waits for me to fill it.
"I can't tell you everything. Not yet. Maybe not ever," I whisper, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it. "But I needed you to know that before I came to Los Angeles, I made a terrible mistake that got people killed."
The words hang between us, suspended in air thick with tension.
"My parents and my little brother." My hands tremble in his as I confess. "They were murdered seven years ago by the man stalking me."
Ruslan doesn't flinch or look away.
His grip remains firm, anchoring me as I'm forced to recall the worst memory of my life.
I close my eyes but can't escape the images branded into my memory.
"He wrote this awful message on the walls to me in their blood. Like he needed me to understand it was my fault." My throat constricts and my voice breaks, but I can't bear to say those words out loud.
Look what you made me do.
Ruslan's grip tightens, and a storm of emotions is brewing behind his eyes. But he doesn't interrupt.
"The police couldn't protect me. He—" I catch myself before revealing too much. "He knew how to get to me. So I did the only thing I can do. I ran."
I look into Ruslan's eyes, hand twisting in his as I search for judgment or disbelief.
Instead, all I find is a steady compassion. Warmth pours from him and keeps me in place.
"That's why I ran from the club." I can barely hear my own whisper now. "That's why I panicked when Sienna took that picture. Because I'm terrified that if my face appears anywhere, then that's how he finally finds me.
Ruslan pulls me against him, his protective embrace like unyielding steel.
There's something else there, something I haven't felt before. His chest rises and falls against mine as his arms tighten, and one hand cups the back of my head as I dampen the front of his expensive shirt with my tears.
"Let it out, zarechka ," he whispers into my hair. "You're safe now."
I collapse into his warmth like I've been waiting my whole life for this shelter.
Part of me feels pathetic, falling apart like this.
But another part is just grateful to finally let the grief pour out.
When my breathing finally steadies, I pull back just enough to look him in the eyes.
"But that's not why I ran after Mikhail was killed. I ran because…" I continue after a while, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Because I know what happens when he finds me. He'll hurt the people I care about. He'll destroy everything again. And I—" My voice breaks. "I can't let him do that again."
Ruslan's jaw tightens. Something dangerous flashes in those golden eyes, but not directed at me.
"Aurora." His voice is low, almost a growl. "Look at me."
I do, and feel my heart steadying when his gaze locks with mine.
"Your stalker will never touch you." The intensity of his voice steals my breath. "He will never see you. And if he dares to come anywhere near you, I will destroy him. I swear it."
He cups my face, and his thumb traces my lower lip, as gentle as his words are fierce. "I'll burn down the world before I let anyone hurt you."
I stare into Ruslan's fierce golden eyes, stunned by the intensity of his promise. The way he said he'd burn down the world to protect me tells me that it's more than just a line.
I can feel the truth of it vibrating in his chest against mine.
"Thank you," I whisper, my voice still thick with tears. "For being willing to protect someone you barely know."
His thumb brushes across my cheek, wiping away the last of my tears. The gentleness of his touch contrasts sharply with the dangerous energy flowing through him.
"I know enough," he says softly. "I know you're going to be my wife."
"A wife of convenience, remember?"
"But still my wife, Aurora," he says. "You'll still stand with me on that altar. And I'll still make a vow to have and hold you. To care for and protect you. Whether in joy or sorrow, in failures or triumph. Our wedding may be fake in all but name, but my words and vows to you? Never."
His protectiveness feels way more intense than before. Like he's transformed from a shield into a fortress around me.
I can tell he doesn't just want to keep me safe, but truly claim me as his to protect.
I take a deep breath, drawing strength from his steady presence. His scent of mahogany and cedarwood fills my lungs, calming me in a way that nothing else has been able to calm me before.
I pull back slightly, smoothing down my dress and running a hand through my hair.
"I'm ready," I tell him, squaring my shoulders. "Let's call Julia back in."
Ruslan studies me for a moment, as if assessing whether I'm truly okay. His hand lingers on my arm, unwilling to break the connection between us.
"Are you sure?"
I nod, straightening my spine. "Yes."
He lifts my chin with one finger, making sure our eyes meet. "You are stronger than you know, Aurora Castellanos."
The way he says the name I stole from another dead girl fills me with a strange mix of guilt and gratitude.
Someday, I might tell him everything about me.
About Jamie.
But for now, this is enough.
Ruslan calls Julia back in, his hand still gently resting on my lower back as the door opens. The contact grounds me, gives me something to focus on besides the knot of emotions still tangled in my chest.
"I hope you're feeling better, Ms. Castellanos," Julia says with polished sympathy as she enters carrying a silver tray laden with an array of miniature cupcakes.
Each one is topped with different colored frosting, and Julia points them out from left to right.
"We have vanilla bean with buttercream, red velvet with cream cheese, lemon with raspberry, chocolate with ganache, and espresso with salted caramel."
One by one, I try them all, but the moment the espresso with salted caramel touches my tongue, an unexpected wave of nostalgia washes over me.
It tastes like home .
It reminds me of Mom making the caramel by hand on special occasions, and asking me to pour it over coffee ice cream before putting it in the oven. It reminds me of Dad sneaking into the kitchen, dipping his finger in the batter, and then winking at me before he darts away.
I always winked back at him, treating it like I was helping him keep a secret. But looking back on it now, I recall Mom always had a knowing smile whenever she saw that smear of caramel on the edge of the bowl.
"This one," I say softly. "It's perfect."
"An excellent choice," Julia nods approvingly.
Ruslan watches me intently. "You seem quite taken with it."
"It reminds me of home," I whisper. "It reminds me of baking with my mom."
"Then that settles it," Ruslan says decisively. "The espresso with salted caramel. No need to try the others."
Then, he reaches out, thumb gently brushing the corner of my mouth.
"There's a little..." he explains, a tiny smile playing at his lips as he shows me the dot of caramel frosting on his thumb.
Without thinking, I catch his wrist and bring his thumb to my lips, taking the frosting with a quick kiss. His eyes darken instantly, and I feel the slight hitch in his breathing.
"Couldn't let it go to waste," I murmur.
The rest of our appointment flies by in a blur of flower arrangements, reception layouts, and discussions about color schemes. I settle on midnight blue and silver. The venue discussion takes longer as Julia and Ruslan opt to change the venue from the original locations she suggested to the gardens of his family mansion.
By the time we're wrapping up, I'm emotionally exhausted but strangely peaceful. Julia hands us a folder of preliminary plans, promising to email a detailed timeline later today.
"Thank you for everything," I tell her, genuinely impressed with how efficiently she's orchestrating this shotgun wedding.
"Wait in the car for me?" Ruslan asks as we step outside, handing me his keys. "I just need a quick word with Julia before we leave."
Curiosity piqued, I slide into the back seat of the car, watching through the tinted windows as he disappears back into the office.
Five minutes later, he emerges carrying a white box tied with a blue ribbon.
"For you," he says when he settles behind the wheel, passing me the box.
The ribbon slides away easily, and when I lift the lid, the rich aroma of espresso and caramel hits me instantly. Inside are at least two dozen miniature cupcakes.
Exact replicas of the one that transported me home.
"How did you...?" My voice trails off as my fingertips hover over the perfect little swirls of salted caramel frosting.
"I bought their entire stock," he admits, watching my reaction carefully. "I can't change what happened to your family, zarechka . I can't bring them back. But I can give you something to remember them."
My throat tightens with emotion.
"Because you deserve to have good memories," he says softly.
I look up at him, this dangerous, gentle man who's becoming something I never expected.
"Thank you," I whisper, leaning across the console.
When our lips meet, it's different from any kiss we've shared before. Not driven by lust or necessity but by something deeper. A genuine connection I never thought I'd feel again. His hand cradles my face, thumb stroking my cheek with such tenderness it makes my heart ache.
I pull back slightly, studying the golden flecks in his eyes, and wonder.
What if this arrangement, this marriage of convenience, becomes something real? What if, somehow, we both find what we never thought we'd have again?
The thought is terrifying.
But for the first time in seven years, terrifying doesn't mean I want or need to run.