Chapter Twelve #2
"None," he says, shrugging. It's no secret that there's no love lost between my brothers and Yefim. He clung to his position like a leech, far past the time when Nikolai, as the oldest son, should have stepped into the role. No one in our family will be shedding a tear for that disgusting troll.
"Good," I say. "I mean, for you and Nikolai, of course. You're finally getting the positions you were meant to have all along."
"We're getting tight on time," he says, checking his watch. He sweeps out an elegant bow. "Ladies. A pleasure to bask in your beauty."
"I'm guessing Yefim is not popular?" Iris asks as the door shuts behind him. She'd been watching my expression closely as I'd been listening to Maks.
"He's a pig," I say bluntly. "None of us, aside from Father, thought he was worthy of even stepping foot in our house, much less taking the role of Sovietnik. You'll forgive me if I don't mourn his exit."
"Well, then good," Caroline says. "A toast!" She refills everyone's glass. "To the well-timed retirement of Yefim, Sovietnik of… ex Sovietnik, rather, and to the ascension of your brothers."
I tap my glass with the others, then I pause before I drink.
Well-timed.
Could someone have specifically timed this attack? Who would benefit? My brothers are both too afraid of Father to have done it. But someone wasn't.
One of the most beautiful bits of history that Moscow has managed to maintain in the middle of its gallop toward the future are the magnificent old cathedrals, lovingly preserved, saved from being erased to make way for steel and glass skyscrapers like so many other old buildings were.
I would have liked to have had our Orthodox Crowning in the Church of the Ascension, an exquisite white stone building that's slightly humbler than some of the others.
Mr. Maurice, however, had set his sights on the largest and tallest church in Russia, the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour, glittering gold and white in the sun, magnificent, and overwhelming.
Everything he and Mother could want.
The end of October is sending icy winds tearing around the building; sending petals from the lavish flower arrangements flying everywhere and ruffling through my elaborate updo as we emerge from the armored Dartz Prombron.
The car was Mr. Maurice's choice, of course.
"It is trimmed with diamonds, you see," he'd said when he went through the day's schedule in the Power Point presentation. "Simply perfect."
"A diamond-trimmed car?" Anka murmurs as she holds up my skirt. "Your family must have out-spent Valentina Lebedev's wedding budget, she only had a diamond-encrusted bodice on her dress."
"Mother must be so happy," I sigh, shaking my head.
As we stand in a sheltered alcove by the enormous, gold-covered entryway to the cathedral, I wonder what it will be like, seeing Vadim again.
I'll bet he looks spectacular in a tux.
And just like that, everything south of my waist starts tingling.
What is wrong with you? You're in the House of the Lord!
Still tingling.
"Are you nervous?" Anka whispers as we are directed to process.
"No," I murmur. "I don't know why, but… no."
In the Russian tradition, I walk into the cathedral alone, with Anka behind me. I'm grateful I don't have to endure Father walking me down the aisle.
Mother was wrong about the Six Families.
Whether it was because of sheer curiosity, or because that's just how things are done, the cathedral is full of the obscenely wealthy and offensively powerful, all watching avidly as I make my way to the altar in the careful 1-2-3 step Mr. Maurice had demanded.
Vadim is waiting there for me.
I did not think he could be more handsome than he had been in his suit that night, and I was incorrect. His tuxedo makes him look just as god-like. He's no pretty Instagram boy, or a rugged American cowboy-type model. He is sleek lethality in a tuxedo.
He's so beautiful that I slow my steps to better admire him. Embarrassingly, Anka has to poke me in the back to get me moving again. For one moment, I swear, I saw a flash of humor go across his polar gaze, but I could be wrong. I must be wrong. What would the Angel of Death find amusing?
Vadim takes my hands in his huge ones, holding them more gently than I'd expect. The warmth of his grasp is soothing, his calloused fingertips brushing my skin as he slides the ring onto my finger.
Calloused fingertips… There's the slightest flash of a memory, his fingers touching my skin, before it disappears under the onslaught of his sheer physical beauty.
I'm on autopilot, acutely aware of this man standing next to me as our rings are blessed by the priest. We take our lit candles and our attendants Stepan and Anka place the crowns on our heads.
When we drink the sour wine from the common cup near the end of the ceremony, his sleeve brushes my bare shoulder, and I shiver.
Then, it's official. I am married to this beautiful, terrifying man.
When Vadim's finger lifts my chin gently, I feel a surge of…
something from him. Something that encloses us from all the avid, greedy stares of the wealthy and powerful watching this union.
His mouth presses over mine in the softest of kisses, before he sharply bites my lower lip, and I barely control my yelp.
He runs his tongue along it quickly and leans back, expressionless, as always.
I stare at him. Eyes wide, jaw dropped, no doubt looking like an utter simpleton. Because one kiss from my new husband was better than any self-administered orgasm I've ever had. As he takes my hand and leads me back down the aisle, there's only one thought left in my dazed brain.
I am already down in the Underworld with my dark God, and I have no desire to leave.