23. Aurora
23
AURORA
THE NEXT DAY
I can't decide if it's easier or harder to play dress-up when the stakes are this high.
"Nervous?" Ruslan asks, his voice pulling me from my thoughts.
I smooth my hands over my jeans. "Is it that obvious?"
"If you keep tapping your fingers on your legs like that, you're going to wear a hole in those jeans."
My hands freeze mid-motion. I hadn't even realized I was doing it. "I guess I am. A little nervous," I admit. "It's not every day a girl gets fitted for a wedding dress after agreeing to marry a man she barely knows."
His golden eyes soften. "You have nothing to be nervous about. Lauren Brooks is both an excellent dressmaker and very discreet. She's done many dresses for bratva weddings."
"By 'discreet,' do you mean she won't tell anyone that the bride looked like she might throw up?"
The corner of Ruslan's mouth twitches. "I meant that she won't leak your identity."
"Right." I take a deep breath and lean closer to him. "Thank you, by the way. For last night with Mikayla. I know it wasn't easy."
"It was your suggestion that worked." There's genuine warmth in his voice. "Giving her space instead of demanding obedience."
Pride blooms in my chest. It felt good standing up for someone. Even better that Ruslan actually listened.
"Did you..." I hesitate, uncertain if I want to open this particular door. "Did you ever think a day like this might come? For you, I mean."
The shadow passes over his face. It's the same darkness that appears whenever I edge too close to his past. I expect him to change the subject or offer some vague deflection.
Instead, he surprises me.
"I did." His voice is quiet, almost reverent. "A long time ago."
My heart skips. "What happened?"
His eyes meet mine, and the raw pain I see there squeezes my heart.
"She died."
Two simple words that carry the weight of mountains. I recognize the look in his eyes because I've seen it in my own reflection. That haunted knowledge that someone was taken from you, and there was nothing you could've done to stop it.
I slip my hand into Ruslan's and give it a gentle squeeze. His large palm engulfs mine, warm and strong, and I'm struck by how natural this gesture has become between us.
"I'm so sorry, Ruslan," I whisper.
His golden eyes find mine. "You have nothing to be sorry for, zarechka ."
The words hang between us. Loss recognizes loss.
"I am just sorry that she had her life stolen from her," he says, his thumb tracing small circles on my hand. "Because of me."
Guilt twists through me like a knife. He doesn't know just how closely his words touch my truth. Jamie Fields stole someone else's life as well. The real Aurora Castellanos died alone on that road in the Eastern Sierras, and I stole her name, her future, her everything.
All so that I might selfishly stay alive.
I focus my gaze at our interlocked hands. And that's when my eyes land on the small tattoo on the back of his hand that I've noticed before.
A delicate bird with broken wings, nestled among the bolder designs that cover his skin.
I remember thinking it seemed out of place when I first saw it, too fragile compared to the rest. And now, with just a small bit of knowledge regarding his past pain, I can't help but wonder…
"That bird tattoo." I run my finger gently over it. "Did you get it to remember her by?"
Ruslan's eyes widen slightly, a flicker of surprise that's quickly replaced by something like admiration.
"I continue to underestimate your perceptive skills, zarechka ." He turns his hand over, examining the tattoo himself. "No, I got this when I was sixteen. We both did. Matching tattoos. It was her idea."
My throat tightens. "Childhood sweetheart?"
"Yes." The word carries the weight of a thousand memories. "Before she was murdered for the sin of being with me."
My head spins as pieces click together. His disownment, his visceral reaction to Tamara, the haunted look in his eyes whenever his past is mentioned.
"Tamara," I whisper before I can stop myself. "She had something to do with it, didn't she?"
His face hardens, muscles tensing beneath his skin.
The silence that follows is answer enough.
I reel at the implications, at the sheer horror of it. Tamara orchestrated the murder of an innocent girl just because she wanted Ruslan for herself. Is it all because she wants to have him?
The thought makes my stomach turn.
No. I can't believe that. It's too awful.
Really? Jamie Fields asks in the back of my head. You think that's too awful? Have you forgotten that the world is filled with awful people?
But slowly, everything else shifts into focus.
Now I finally understand.
The way he watches over me. His fierce protectiveness. The shadows that haunt him. He understands what it means to have someone ripped away in the most violent way possible.
I swallow hard, processing the weight of what Ruslan's just shared with me. The brutal truth of his past. His silent admission that Tamara played a part in his childhood sweetheart's murder. All of it sits heavy in the space between us.
"Thank you," I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "For telling me."
Ruslan studies me, those golden eyes searching mine as if looking for judgment or pity. He won't find either. Only understanding.
A soft smile touches his lips. "Maybe it's because you've given me enough space to accept that I can tell you."
My heart flutters at his words.
"Maybe that's why we're drawn to each other," he continues, his voice low. "We recognize the same darkness haunting each other. And we want to save each other from it."
I want to comfort Ruslan. The thought feels so natural in this moment, like breathing or blinking or the way my hand fits perfectly in his. This pain he carries mirrors my own so completely that it physically hurts inside my chest.
"Come here," I whisper, not giving myself time to second-guess.
What little distance remains between us closes in an instant. His body radiates heat, solid and real against mine. I reach up, placing my palm around the nape of his neck, feeling his warmth pouring into my fingers.
"We're quite the pair, aren't we?" My voice comes out raw, honest. "Both scarred by people who believe they can lay claim to us."
His eyes lock with mine, molten gold filled with surprise at my boldness. I see desire there too.
Not just physical, but something deeper.
A need to be understood.
"And in the process, they took so much from us," I continue, my thumb tracing the hard line of his jaw. "But they don't get to take everything."
I lean forward and press my lips to his in a kiss so tender it makes my own heart ache. His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me closer until I can hardly tell where he ends and where I begin.
"No one will hurt you again, Aurora," he murmurs against my skin. "I swear it."
"And no one will hurt you either," I whisper back, surprising myself with how much I mean it. "Not while I'm around."
His fingers thread through my hair, tilting my face up until our lips touch. We breathe each other's air, suspended in this fragile moment of recognition. Two broken people finding something whole in each other's damage.
Just then, the doors of the mansion swing open and we break apart.
Lauren Brooks strides in with the confidence of someone who knows her worth down to the penny. Her dark hair is pulled back in a severe bun that accentuates her sharp cheekbones and watchful eyes.
Despite her age, she carries herself with the posture of a much younger woman, movements precise and deliberate. She's dressed in an understated black pantsuit with a measuring tape draped around her neck.
Ruslan's hand slips from mine as we both transition seamlessly into our roles.
The intimate moment between us dissolves into the air like morning mist.
But not forgotten.
"Ms. Brooks." Ruslan's voice shifts to that charming, public-facing tone I first heard at the launch party. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
I pull my shoulders back and arrange my face into what I hope passes for bridal excitement. "It's wonderful to meet you."
Lauren's dark eyes assess me with clinical precision. I feel like she's already taking measurements just by looking at me.
"Mr. Dragunov." She gives a respectful nod to Ruslan before turning to me. "And the future Mrs. Dragunov. The pleasure is mine."
Her handshake is firm and businesslike.
"Well then." Lauren claps her hands together. "Shall we begin? Do you have any preferences for your dress, Ms. Castellanos?"
I hesitate, my mind suddenly blank. What would Aurora Castellanos want? What would Jamie Fields have dreamed of wearing on her wedding day? The two identities blur in my mind, and I'm not sure which one should answer.
When Lauren notices my hesitation, she waves it off with practiced ease.
"Not to worry, dear. Most brides need visual inspiration." She steps toward the door and gestures sharply. "That's why I've brought options."
Two assistants wheel in multiple racks of wedding dresses, each covered in protective plastic that rustles as they arrange them in a semicircle around us. I stare at the sea of white with a mixture of intimidation and wonder.
"Go on," Lauren encourages. "Walk around. Touch the fabrics. See what calls to you."
I glance at Ruslan, suddenly uncertain. This feels impossibly real now that I'm choosing the dress I'll wear when I marry him.
He steps closer, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "This is your moment, zarechka . Choose whichever one speaks to you."
His golden eyes hold such genuine warmth that my chest tightens. I nod and begin browsing through the racks.
The first dress that catches my eye is a showstopper. Strapless with a dramatic mermaid silhouette and intricate crystal beadwork that manages to catch every point of light in the room.
It's the kind of dress that demands attention, that says look at me . I run my fingers over the beading, imagining how it would feel to be that bold, that visible.
But visible is the last thing I want to be.
Even if Ruslan is standing next to me.
The second dress is the opposite. It's a simple, flowing A-line with a boho feel. Delicate lace adorns the deep V-neckline and open back. It's dreamy and ethereal, something you'd wear for a barefoot beach wedding.
For a girl who never has to hide.
I sigh and move to the next rack.
That's when I see it. An elegant high-necked gown with three-quarter sleeves in soft ivory. The bodice is covered with delicate appliqués that continue partway down the skirt before giving way to smooth satin that pools slightly at the bottom. It's classic without being old-fashioned—beautiful without being ostentatious.
Most importantly, it calls for attention but doesn't demand it.
And whenever I look away from it, I can't help but turn my eyes back towards it.
"This one," I say, surprising myself with how certain I sound. "I'd like to try this one."
Lauren smiles knowingly. "Excellent choice. It makes a bold statement but still holds many secrets."
Just like me.
* * *
Lauren snaps her fingers and her assistants move with practiced efficiency, setting up a portable changing area complete with multiple angled mirrors. I clutch the ivory dress to my chest and feel its weight in my arms, both literal and symbolic.
Ruslan leans against the wall, watching the transformation of the room with amused interest. His eyes never leave me, even as people bustle around us.
"You know," I say, finding my voice, "isn't it bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress before the wedding?"
A slow smile spreads across Ruslan's face, the kind that makes my insides feel like melting honey. "I always thought it was because if a man sees his fiancée in her wedding dress, he won't be able to keep himself from tearing it off her."
His words send a delicious shiver down my spine.
Lauren makes a tsking sound, though I catch the hint of amusement in her eyes. "And that's exactly what we're trying to avoid, Mr. Dragunov." She brushes imaginary lint from her sleeve. "Unless you plan on purchasing all these dresses after you've wrinkled them."
Ruslan's laugh is warm and rich. "Is that a challenge?"
"Jessica," Lauren calls to her assistant. "Set up the partition, please."
The assistant quickly unfolds a privacy screen, shielding the makeshift dressing area from view. I step behind it, still holding the dress like it might dissolve in my hands.
I carefully lay it across a chair and begin removing my clothes. The room is warm, but goosebumps rise on my skin anyway. As I stand there in just my underwear, I catch a flash of something in one of the mirrors.
A hairline crack where two panels don't quite meet.
And through this tiny opening, I see Ruslan.
He's still leaning against the wall, but his posture has changed. It's more alert and focused. As if sensing my gaze, he looks directly at the mirror and gives me a small, deliberate wave.
My heart stutters in my chest.
He can see me.
I should feel exposed and vulnerable. All the things that usually send me spiraling into panic. But strangely, what floods through me instead is a heady sense of power. There's something intoxicating about knowing he's watching, and about knowing that I'm choosing to be seen.
By him. Only him.
I don't cover myself. I don't hide.
Instead, I stand a little straighter, feeling emboldened by his gaze.
I slip the ivory satin over my head, letting the smooth fabric slide down my body. Lauren's assistants move to help, but I wave them away with a small smile. I want to do this myself.
The weight of the dress settles around me, cool against my skin. I focus on Ruslan's eyes through that tiny crack in the mirror and hold his gaze as I adjust the sleeves, smoothing them over my arms.
His golden eyes darken as I run my hands over the fabric, pulling it into place across my chest. The high neckline hugs my throat, modest yet sensual in how it frames my collarbones. I turn slightly, watching how the light catches on the delicate appliqués.
Would he tear it off me on our wedding night? Or would he take his time, savoring each revealed inch of skin?
The thought sends heat rushing through me. I imagine his tattooed fingers slowly working the buttons at the back, his patience fraying with each one.
Maybe he'd start slow and reverent before he loses control halfway through.
My breath quickens as I recall the dining room table. The way his mouth felt between my thighs, his eyes locked on mine as he devoured me. How he commanded me to watch him as I came apart.
It wouldn't matter if he was gentle or rough with this dress. I'd love however he chose to claim me.
"Stand straight, please," Lauren instructs, circling me with pins between her lips. She tugs at the waist, marking areas that need taking in. "The bodice needs adjustment here, and here. And we'll need to hem the bottom."
I nod absently, barely hearing her. My focus remains fixed on the sliver of mirror where Ruslan watches me. His jaw is clenched tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek.
I bite my lower lip, letting my teeth drag slowly across it.
His nostrils flare in response, his posture shifting as he crosses his arms over his chest. The movement makes his shoulders look broader, more imposing.
A familiar warmth pools low in my belly. I can almost feel his hands on me again, the weight of his body pressing me against that table. The memory is so vivid I have to suppress a shiver.
"Please don't fidget," Lauren scolds, misinterpreting my reaction. "These pins are sharp."
"Sorry," I murmur, except I'm not sorry at all.
I catch Ruslan's eyes through that slender gap in the partition. His lips move silently, forming two words that send a shiver of excitement racing through me.
" Bad girl ."
The thrill of being caught—of being watched —isn't what I expected. Instead of panic, I feel a rush of delicious power.
For once, I'm not the prey. I'm not helpless.
I'm the one in control of how much he sees, how much he wants.
I flash him a wicked smile and run my tongue over my lips, slow and deliberate.
His reaction is immediate. Even through that narrow sliver of mirror, I can see the way his body tenses, how his jaw clenches just a little tighter. His golden eyes darken to amber, tracking my every movement like a wolf tracking a deer.
But this wolf is mine .
Lauren continues adjusting the fabric at my waist, oblivious to our silent conversation. "Turn slightly, please," she murmurs, pins between her lips.
I comply, angling my body just enough to give Ruslan a better view while still maintaining eye contact through the mirror. His hand flexes at his side and I know he's fighting the urge to reach for his cock.
God, I feel naughty . Not scared, not desperate, just... wickedly, wonderfully alive.
Through Ruslan, through his desire, and through and his protection, I'm reclaiming something I thought was stolen forever.
My sexuality. My power to choose. My right to want and be wanted.
For seven years I've been running, hiding, erasing myself. Now I'm deliberately being seen. But only by him. Only by the man who makes me feel safe enough to be visible again.
"I think that's everything I need for now," Lauren says, stepping back to admire her work. "The adjustments will be complete in three days."
"Thank you," I say, my voice sounding huskier than intended. "Would you mind giving me some privacy while I change?"
Lauren nods, professional as ever. "Of course. Call if you need assistance."
She steps out, leaving me alone with my reflection and Ruslan's eyes through that tiny gap in the partition.
I turn fully toward the mirror now, no longer pretending I don't see him watching. A devilish smile spreads across my lips as our eyes lock and my hands slowly begin to peel off my beautiful wedding dress.