Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Charlotte
The Country Club of Virginia looked like something out of a dream — or, perhaps more accurately, one of those fantasies my mother used to whisper about, back when she still believed in debutantes and destiny.
All sweeping columns and polished white stone, with manicured lawns that looked like they’d been ironed into submission.
It was grand, ostentatious even, but beneath the pomp was a familiar rhythm: laughter echoing across the terrace, the clink of glasses, the trill of a string quartet threading its way through the early spring air.
Katya took it all in with wide eyes and a sly smile. She leaned closer to me, her breath soft on my ear.
“This rivals some of the grandest halls I’ve ever seen,” she murmured. “A palace masquerading as a country club.”
I glanced at her, and for a moment I forgot where we were entirely.
She looked breathtaking. The gown — a last-minute find from some designer boutique in Carytown—was a shimmering steel-gray slip dress that caught the light with every step.
The dress, elegant and fluid, clung to her perfectly, as if tailored exclusively for her.
She wore no necklace, only a single silver cuff on her wrist and a bold lip that dared anyone to meet her gaze and not be changed by it.
I had never felt more in love in my life.
My dress was midnight blue, tailored within an inch of its life, cut low in the back with a subtle flare at the hem. I felt regal, radiant, rooted in something new. Not a diplomat, not a Tyler daughter playing a part — just a woman who had chosen someone extraordinary, and been chosen in return.
We stepped inside, and all eyes turned to us.
There were the expected glances — the up-and-down sizing up from women in tasteful Chanel, the narrowed curiosity from men who’d once known me as “Senator Tyler’s girl,” or “Ambassador Tyler, wasn’t it?
” But there was no malice in the air. Only interest, and a flutter of gossip about the woman on my arm.
“Charlotte,” came a voice, warm and familiar.
My brother William.
He was striding toward us, his tuxedo a little rumpled, his bow tie undone like he’d just escaped from a prep school photo shoot. Handsome as ever — a taller, more relaxed version of me, with our father’s eyes and a boyish grin that had gotten him out of more trouble than it should have.
I didn’t think. I just reached out, took the silk tie from his collar, and began to loop it into shape.
“You’re hopeless,” I breathed, my fingers moving automatically.
“And you’re bossy,” he replied, smiling. “Hi, Katya.”
“Hi, William,” she said, grinning as she watched us.
“You two look incredible,” he added, then leaned in conspiratorially. “You’re definitely going to steal Anne’s thunder, you know that, right?”
“We’ll try to keep a low profile,” I said.
“Too late,” came another voice — raspier, older, with that unmistakable hint of bourbon and politics.
Uncle Gerald.
He stepped forward, his cane barely needed but theatrically used.
Tall and lean, with wisps of white hair and the commanding presence of a man who’d never stopped believing that his word meant something.
He wore a three-piece suit instead of a tux, and a pocket square that probably dated back to the Reagan administration.
“Uncle Gerald,” I said warmly. “This is Ekaterina Romanova. Katya, this is my Uncle Gerald Tyler.”
He took her hands gently in his. “Ekaterina,” he said with reverence. “I’m so glad you escaped from that godforsaken country.”
“Thank you,” she said, bowing her head slightly. “It wasn’t easy.”
Gerald didn’t let go. “I’ve been following what’s going on over there for decades.
People think the Cold War ended, but I say the chill never really left the air.
And now? Now we’ve got a bunch of people pretending Russia’s our friend — shaking hands, smiling for the cameras, signing papers that mean nothing. Nothing! It’s smoke and mirrors.”
William gave me a look, mouthing, here we go.
Gerald plowed on. “They’re not our partners.
They’re playing the long game, and most people in Washington are too blind to see it.
I sat on the Foreign Relations Committee, Vice-Chair, for fourteen years.
I know what I’m talking about. You don’t reason with wolves.
You keep your fences high and your weapons sharp. ”
William coughed politely. “On that note, I should probably go marry Anne. Don’t want to keep her waiting.”
I tied the last fold of his bow tie and gave it a last tug. “Go. We’ll be out there in a minute.”
He kissed my cheek and winked at Katya. “Don’t let my uncle scare you off.”
As he disappeared toward the garden, I slipped my arm through Gerald’s and led us toward the rows of white chairs on the lawn, Katya on my other side. The spring air was just warm enough, scented faintly with lilacs and old Virginia money.
Gerald was still talking. “Now, I don’t say this lightly, but I admire your courage. Both of you. The things you’ve done, the stances you’ve taken — that takes guts. And we need more of it. You hear me? More spine in Washington. Less compromise. I keep saying, if they’d let me run again—”
“Thank God they didn’t,” I muttered, earning a smirk from Katya.
We reached our seats and settled in, the string quartet playing a soft, lilting melody.
The guests hushed. A few rows ahead, my mother turned to smile at us — she looked radiant, her hair swept back, a tear already in one eye.
She waved at Katya like they were old friends, which, by now, they practically were.
Uncle Gerald turned in his seat, suddenly staring at Katya like he was seeing her for the first time.
He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Wait a minute…”
“What is it, Uncle Gerald?” I asked.
He blinked. “I just realized… I’m sitting at my nephew’s wedding with an actual Romanov.”
Katya’s cheeks turned pink, her smile modest. “I’m not an important Romanov.”
Gerald chuckled, that warm grandfatherly kind of laugh that came from deep in the chest. “You might be the most important one of all.”
The reception had just tipped from elegant to effervescent — that perfect golden-hour buzz when the champagne started flowing like water and everyone suddenly remembered they loved each other.
Katya and I were deep in the crowd now, seated at a long banquet table under a tent strung with soft Edison lights. The music floated through the dusk, jazzy and flirtatious, and the guests had turned from polite glances to outright gawking.
We were spectacle and statement and love story, all at once.
Anne McElroy — now Anne Tyler — was radiant in her after-dress, a strapless ivory number that flared around her legs as she perched on the edge of our table. Her laugh was girlish and breathy, but her eyes were sharp.
“I just want to say,” she said, waving her glass slightly, “you two are so hot together. I mean, like, actually stunning. You’re giving fairytale-meets-political-thriller vibes. Ya’ll should be in Vogue.”
Katya smiled indulgently. “We’ll settle for a little peace and quiet.”
Anne leaned closer. “You’re way too poised to be real. You know that? But I guess that’s why you were an ambassador, and I was rejected from my college improv troupe.”
I laughed. “I thought you were a dance major?”
“I was. For one semester. Then I pivoted to sociology.” She sipped her drink. “Don’t let the Barbie voice fool you, Charlotte. I’ve got opinions.”
I believed her. Anne may have walked through this day with a smile that suggested she’d never once been inconvenienced, but she had the cool watchfulness of someone who was always, always paying attention.
I was just about to say something kind — or at least neutral — when a shadow fell over our table.
“Charlotte,” came a voice that made my stomach drop.
I looked up.
Edward.
Distant cousin, barely tolerated. He had the permanent smirk of a man who thought he was the smartest in every room, despite years of evidence to the contrary.
His dark brown hair was neatly combed, his wire-rimmed glasses perched like punctuation.
His suit was expensive, and his energy reeked of entitlement and Twitter arguments.
“Edward,” I said tightly.
He didn’t acknowledge Katya. Just slid his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels like he owned the lawn.
“Had to come over and say hello. Didn’t realize you were back in circulation. Thought maybe you’d still be licking your wounds after the resignation.”
I kept my smile icy. “It’s been a busy few days.”
“Mmm.” He glanced toward Katya, then back at me. “You know, not everyone agrees with what you did. Undermining the administration like that. It’s not just undiplomatic. It’s reckless. Dangerous.”
I tensed.
Edward’s voice dropped, as if he were sharing a confidence. “There’s nothing wrong with Russia. Or Belaruska. If they helped keep this country from slipping into total degeneracy, then God bless them.”
Katya’s spine straightened, just slightly.
“Excuse me?” she said, her accent thickening.
He raised an eyebrow. “I’m just saying. Everyone acts like Russia’s some big villain. But they’ve got values. Strength. Pride. Maybe it’s America that should be taking notes.”
Katya’s eyes flared — not just anger, but something older, deeper. Grief wrapped in iron.
“As a Russian,” she said evenly, “my government is horrible. They jail dissenters, kill journalists, and they beat queers in the street and call it patriotism.”
Edward laughed, sharp and cruel. “You people exaggerate. America has plenty of problems, too.”
“Don’t—” she started.
I stood abruptly and grabbed Katya’s hand, threading my fingers through hers.
“We’re going for a walk,” I said coolly. “Enjoy the open bar, Edward.”
We left him sputtering behind us as we crossed the lawn. Past the tent, past the tables and the buzz and the carefully arranged centerpieces. Past the curious stares and the soft wash of evening music.
Katya was silent beside me, but I could feel the tension radiating off her. The air was cooling now, but the grass beneath our feet was lush and warm, damp with the fading heat of the sun.
Without a word, we both slipped off our heels, dangling them from our fingers as we stepped barefoot across the green.
It felt decadent. Rebellious. Free.
Only when we were out near the edge of the golf course — far from the lights and the voices, just the horizon and a few scattered stars beginning to peek out — did Katya stop.
She turned to me, and there was something in her expression I hadn’t seen before. Or maybe I had — but only in flickers, in moments. Now it was full, clear, vulnerable.
She took both my hands and pulled me gently into her arms.
“I have never loved anyone the way I love you,” she whispered. “Not even close.”
I didn’t speak. My throat was too tight.
She kissed my forehead. “And I have never been prouder of anyone. The way you carry yourself, Charlotte… the way you stand up for people, even when it costs you everything. You are the bravest person I’ve ever known.”
My heart cracked open.
I reached up, cupping her cheek, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw.
“I feel the same,” I whispered. “I’m proud of you. And in love with you. And—”
I glanced toward the tent, where the sounds of laughter rose again. I could see William and Anne dancing, her arms flung wide, his head thrown back with laughter.
A lump caught in my throat.
“Katya,” I said, my voice trembling. “Do you think one day we could…” I gestured faintly toward them. “Have that?”
She didn’t hesitate.
She kissed me — deep, slow, sure. A kiss that felt like a promise, a vow, a sunrise in human form.
When we finally pulled apart, she rested her forehead against mine.
“Hell yes,” she said. “All I want is to spend the rest of my life with you, Charlotte Jason Tyler.”
My heart was thumping so hard when I heard those words. I brushed my lips across Katya’s again and murmured, “You’ve made me the happiest woman in the world.”