30. Emily
30
EMILY
I’ve never worn a dress so beautiful as this one.
“You look unbelievable, Emily Samovna!”
I pucker my mouth at how they’re addressing me. My desire for more information about this castle and its people has dwindled as the wedding approaches. Now, with the ceremony only an hour away, I’m expending all my energy on not fainting.
The young woman who called me beautiful moves around to view me from every angle. Her dark hair is cut short, enhancing her soft features.
“Yes,” she says. “I think he will be delighted.”
He. She means Konstantin. The group of women—six in total—have been giggling all day as they get me ready for my wedding. They speak almost entirely in either Russian or Croatian, but I can always pick out his name.
They practically swoon every time they say Konstantin Yurevich.
And every time I hear the adoration in their voice, I get annoyed.
Annoyed? Or jealous?
Exhaling, I study myself in the large, circular mirror. The dress fits me like I was born to wear it. I turn from side to side, eyeing the way it dips along my back in an inverted heart. It really is perfect.
I trace the thin shoulder straps, remembering the way he stood behind me that other night, his skin caressing mine, his cock digging into my thigh. But right now, I have another memory … one where I allowed him to hear my dark confessions.
“Are you alright, Emily Samovna?” One of the girls frowns. “You’re all red.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, flapping my hands to fan my face.
The door to the bridal suite—a sunroom in another part of the castle—swings open.
“We have to get to the stables,” Ivica says urgently at the girls. “ Toropit’sya! Toropit’sya! ”
The group of girls attending me leaps to life, rushing around to grab flowers, extra makeup, and a few last sips from their glasses of champagne. I haven’t touched a drop. I’m worried that if I start, I’ll be tempted to polish off the bottle.
With me in the middle of the line, they usher me from the room and out of the castle. It’s a sunny day, easily the most picturesque weather a bride could pray for. I stare at the clouds and wish they’d turn black as ink.
But I doubt even a thunderstorm would dare delay Konstantin.
Hiking up my dress as we cross the grass to the stables, I catch a whiff of hay. The scent relaxes my rapidly pounding heart. The sight of a familiar horse helps even more.
I rub Hamlet’s muzzle. He snorts, tail flicking. “Well, look at that,” I say softly. The bandages around his rear leg are clean and crisp. “You’re healing nicely.”
“Emily Samovna?” A young woman, one of my entourage, hovers by my elbow. “Your ride is this way.”
Giving Hamlet a final loving pat, I lift my dress hem and hurry after the girl. When I see the massive white stallion with flowers woven in his hair, I let out a silent gasp. He’s stunning— no two ways about it. His clean hooves, large enough to crush a pumpkin, are draped in long white fur. Someone has wrapped silver circlets around all four ankles.
The other women stare at me uneasily. One of them clears her throat. “Is it alright?”
“Is what alright?” I ask.
Each of them shares a look. “Can you sit on such a big horse?”
Their wary faces draw a giggle out of me. “I’ll be fine.”
Gripping the pommel of the elaborate saddle with filigree curling over the edges, I haul myself up onto the horse. The stallion whinnies quietly, holding steady as I adjust.
“Sitting on a horse in a wedding dress is … a little complicated,” I announce.
A woman rushes over, helping to bustle the gown in a way that leaves my legs free without exposing my upper thigh. Another girl drapes some layers of chiffon over my lap, adding to my modesty.
“Take these too.” Someone holds up a bouquet of white and yellow roses. I accept it with some resistance. They match the flowers woven into the horse’s mane and tail. “Are you ready?”
Cradling the bouquet between my legs, I grip the reins tight.
“Let’s go get married,” I say with a grin, trying to ease the tension in the air. Except the tension is inside of me there’s not a single joke in the world that can reach it.
We ride in a group through the cypress trees. He said these were supposed to be calming. I suck in a big gulp of air.
It does nothing for my nerves.
When we reach the top of the hill overlooking the venue, I nearly fall off my horse. What the hell? How many people are down there? Multiple helicopters and boats—no, yachts—are parked like giant bugs in the distance. There have to be at least three hundred people in the valley. One of the girls with me claps. The others copy her. It’s meant to draw attention—and it succeeds.
A wave of heads turn until everyone is staring at me.
I’m going to black out. If I do, will they cancel the wedding?
“It’s time,” someone whispers at my elbow.
Sitting up as tall as I can manage, I tap the stallion with my heels. Music serenades the valley as my horse begins the descent. I can’t help but remember the last time I was here—how Konstantin chased me down, hoisting me onto his horse.
The way he made me come apart …
Clenching my thighs around the burst of wet heat, I can feel the emotions warring inside of me as I look at the sea of faces. Some are smiling happily, while others judge me in their cups.
Alla, sitting at the front of the row of benches, doesn’t bother hiding her disdain for me.
Don’t be intimidated by her. Just get this over with. Jutting out my jaw, I do my best to look as regal as I think someone marrying a man like Konstantin should look.
It’s funny, I think, as I trot over the layer of yellow flower petals someone has laid out. All these people ... and I don’t know a single one of them.
I wish Nadia is here.
Nadia …
I’m overcome with shame as I think about how I’m getting married before her.
What kind of friend pulls a stunt like this?
Nothing about this wedding has anything to do with me. I remind myself. It’s all so that Konstantin can get what he wants.
Even if he kisses me like he cares, even if he touches me like he cares, and even if he wipes my tears away gently. I can’t forget that fact.
But sometimes, I dare to imagine otherwise.
My heart thuds against my chest at the thought and I shake my head sharply.
I just have to smile and play my part.
Look convincing.
Make them all believe it’s real.
After all, I’m already starting to believe it is.
I lift my eyes and sees Konstantin standing at the end of the natural path that forms the aisle, and I feel my hands tighten against the reins. My horse snorts, retreating and starting to rear.
“Easy, easy,” I soothe him .
The sight of Konstantin left me dazzled.
I don’t think that will ever change.
Even after our paths inevitably part.
He’s dressed in a black suit that hugs him like it’s his own shadow. It hugs his legs, his tapered waist, and makes his broad shoulders look even wider. His ice-blue eyes seem lighter thanks to the rich material. That’s the only way to explain the glimmer in the stare that’s fixated on me.
He almost looks happy.
Suddenly I’m struggling to breathe. I forget to guide my horse, but people gather near me, halting it in place, and helping me off its back.
Seconds ago, I was surrounded. Now, I stand poised at the end of the aisle, entirely alone.
Go on, Emily ... walk.
My heel skids forward, crushing flower petals behind me as I go. Konstantin never once takes his eyes off me as I approach him. Gerasim is beside him, and though they wear similar outfits, they look nothing alike.
He’s watches me almost in the same way that Alla does.
Nobody here cares about you. Alla’s voice echoes in my head.
Nobody but Konstantin … I tell myself.
But even then, I’m not sure if that’s the truth.
I didn’t ask for this! I want to scream, but I can’t. It’s too late now.
You can do this. Just get to the end of that aisle and get this over with. Alla has already allowed this marriage to move forward, which means it’s almost over.
Right?
Maybe before we go our separate ways, Konstantin will hold up the promise he made me in Buric’s shop. My cheeks redden at the thought.
Leave me something to remember him by as I return to my normal life.
My miserable, fractured life, where I have no future, no sister.
And no Konstantin.
The music changes tune when I’m standing in front of him. It becomes slower, sweeter, until it fades with the final note extending out over the sea. Silence hangs like a fruit desperate to be picked before it falls to the ground. In that moment, Konstantin takes a breath.
I hear it more than I see it.
Is he nervous too?
No. He can’t be.
Someone like him can’t be nervous.
I just want him to be because it would make him more human.
Because it might be proof that he cares about me.
“Emily Samovna,” someone whispers and reaches to take my bouquet. I hand it to her quickly before focusing on the priest in his heavy robes.
Feet shuffle behind us, and Konstantin moves until he stands beside me. Something glints overhead. I steal a glance upwards and see a pair of dazzling crowns being held over both our heads.
The priest begins, his voice carrying words that I can’t understand naturally over the valley as he drones on in Russian. The only words I recognize are our names.
Konstantin Yurevich Siderov.
Emily Samovna Sullivan.
Samovna, I think bitterly. That’s not even my name.
Have I made a terrible mistake agreeing to this? Was I really so foolish as to believe that he won’t break my heart? That just because he told me up front that he was going to use me, that this is all somehow okay?
Before I know it, the priest motions to Konstantin to speak, and asks something in Russian. I don’t need to understand to know what he’s asked.
Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?
To cherish and protect.
To love and hold.
Until death do you part?
“ Da ,” he says seriously, like he needs everyone listening to believe this ruse.
In that moment, I almost believe him.
The priest turns to me, and repeats the same phrase.
When he finishes, I glance at the sea. It’s bad luck to imagine drowning on your own wedding day, but I can’t resist.
“I—” I clear my throat as the word come out crunchy and soft. Konstantin takes my hand in his, and gives it a reassuring squeeze as if to comfort me. I stare into his icy-blue eyes, and for the first time, it feels like he sees me.
Like really sees me.
“I do,” I say.
The priest says something else, and motions his hand.
The crowns are lowered upon our heads, and their weight feels impossibly heavy on my neck.
Konstantin turns toward Gerasim, who reaches into his jacket pocket. He brings out a pair of small, thick rings on the flat of his palm. Konstantin takes both, and hands me one of them.
I drop it.
Someone in the crowd makes a noise of disapproval.
“Sorry!” I gasp, crouching on the ground, brushing aside flower petals as I frantically search for the ring. My face burns like fireside coals when I jump back up with the piece of metal pinched in my fingers.
Konstantin stares down at me, but unlike the angry energy rolling off Alla, he’s smiling. He catches himself, smoothing the smile over, but the mirth still lives in his eyes as he looks at me.
“Careful, Kitty Cat,” he whispers under his breath. “That ring is extremely important.”
The priest bobs his head pointedly at me. I take my cue, and reach for Konstantin’s hand. I’m trembling violently and there’s no way to hide it. The ring with its ash-gray swirl glides into place over his long finger until it passes his knuckle.
He flexes his hand, his fingertips brushing mine. My stomach does a twirl.
“My turn,” he says, holding my wrist. He steadies my hand in his firm grip, pressing the wedding ring down my finger until it grazes the engagement ring. The jewelry on my hand is worth more than I could earn in five lifetimes.
But that’s not what I’m thinking about.
I wish it was.
Instead, all I keep thinking is a single thought.
Why does this feel so real?
My heart is dancing in my throat, and a blanket of heat hangs off my shoulders. The wedding dress isn’t heavy, but I feel it clinging to my skin. In the distance, the horses whinny louder than the crashing waves. I could never picture a wedding as lavish as this for myself.
Yet, if I’d thought it was possible, this is exactly the kind I’d have fantasized about.
The priest announces something to the crowd, and then motions at us once again.
My world shrinks as Konstantin takes my hands in his again. Gone is the wide blue water and the rows upon rows of attendees with their probing stares. His lips part and my knees begin to wobble.
Remember, it has to look real.
His mouth closes on mine, warm and tender unlike his hard kisses before. His hand rises to caress my back, tracing my skin through the materials of my wedding dress. My heart races as his tongue sweeps into my mouth just like it did in Italy.
My hand rises to grip him by his immaculate shirt, clinging to him desperately as if I’m begging him to never stop kissing me.
This is all supposed to be fake, I remind myself as my lips trap his, nudging harder, deeper, until I can’t tell where he ends and where I begin.
I desperately want this to be fake.
Because as long as this marriage is fake, it won’t break my heart when the terms of our arrangement is finally over and we go our separate ways. It won’t break my heart when I have to confront the reality that this was never going to be something that lasts.
As long as this marriage is fake, I can keep my heart protected and whole.
But as Konstantin pulls me closer, and swallow the moans pouring forth from the bottom of my soul to deepen the kiss, I know—even as my heart starts to splinter and crack—that this is the most real kiss I’ve ever had.