Chapter 29
Elena
"If he makes you shed one damn tear today, I swear I'll break his other shoulder."
Olga stood behind me in the mirror, twisting a handkerchief in her fist, looking like she was about to walk someone to the gallows.
The makeup artist's brush froze against my cheek.
"His shoulder has already healed."
"Perfect. Makes it easier. I can break both."
"You can't take him."
Olga snorted. "He would dare hit back?"
I pictured Kiryan getting chewed out by her and almost laughed, but the burn hit my eyes first. Everyone had acted like they were waiting for me to crack. Even the schedule Feodor had sent over had said: if the bride loses control emotionally, they can delay fifteen minutes.
Three weeks ago, I had said yes at my art show.
After that, the venue, the guest list, the music, the dress, all of it had been mine to pick.
He had only asked about the number of guards.
I had said it was enough, and he had pulled half his men anyway.
For Kiryan, that had been the same as taking off a bulletproof vest and walking into a crowd.
I had chosen a gown that didn't scream for attention. I had slipped on the ring Kiryan had given me.
Olga stared at the dress, her lip trembling.
"You're gonna cry again."
"Bullshit." She mashed the handkerchief to her nose. "Wind is strong."
A knock sounded at the door.
"Seamus Rossi."
My smile faded.
The second I heard my father's voice, my shoulders still tightened on instinct.
Olga didn't open the door. She just looked at me.
She waited for my call.
That tiny pause straightened my spine.
"Let him in."
My father walked in alone. His gray-white hair looked like it had taken on another layer of frost. Isabella's death hadn't made him kinder. It had only cracked the stone, just a little.
He saw me and stopped.
Before, he always found what was wrong with me first, like me simply standing there could damage the Rossi name.
Today, he looked for a long time.
"You look beautiful."
My fingers curled.
That praise came too late. It still landed anyway.
"Thank you."
Before Olga left, she reminded him in a voice loud enough to shake the walls. "The bride goes out in ten minutes. Today, nothing matters more than her."
My father's jaw tightened. "I know."
After the door shut, he kept pressing with silence. I didn't break it. In the end, he did.
"The Rossi family only has one daughter now."
My chest cinched hard.
Gun barrels and blood in that warehouse flashed through my head. I didn't miss Isabella, but I couldn't feel happy she was gone either. She had turned her whole life into a competition she had to win against me, and in the end she had bet her life on it.
"I know."
My father watched me in the mirror. "I used to think she was more suited to inherit everything."
"So you gave her everything you could. You only remembered I existed when you needed a replacement."
His face tightened. "I've made a lot of wrong calls."
"The first time you shoved me up those wedding steps, you didn't think it was wrong."
"I didn't."
He didn't argue.
"And now?"
"Now I know you're not anyone's substitute."
Tears surged up so fast it almost scared me. I bit my tongue and forced them back down.
He didn't comfort me. He didn't scold me for it either.
"I can walk you down that aisle," he said. "At least I'm still your family."
I turned to face him. "You can walk me to the doors. After that, I finish the rest myself."
His pride fought in his eyes for a few seconds.
"Fine."
He held out his hand. I hesitated a beat, then took it. The past didn't disappear because he'd softened today. But I could feel it, sharp and real: his guilt wasn't a performance.
Music rose. Olga waited in the hall, broad shoulders squared like a wall meant to block winter from a kid. I hugged her. She hugged me back and still told me not to ruin my makeup.
The church doors opened slowly.
The first thing I saw wasn't flowers. It wasn't the guests rising.
It was Kiryan.
Black formalwear cut across his broad shoulders like a weapon. His dark gray eyes didn't move off me. The weakness from the gunshot had burned away. Only a faint stiffness lingered in his left shoulder.
Heat ran up my spine.
At my first wedding, his gaze had been ice, like he was judging me. Today it wasn't appraisal or possession. It was a man who had bled, who had fucked up, who had finally gotten to the thing he valued most.
At the mouth of the aisle, my father let go of my hand.
"Go."
I walked toward Kiryan alone.
I wasn't being handed over.
I chose him.
His rough thumb brushed my palm, hot as sin.
"You're late by twenty-seven seconds," he murmured.
"You timed me?"
"Habit."
"I can still turn around."
His fingers clenched instantly, then loosened with control. "You can't."
"Bossy."
"Average performance."
I laughed because it echoed what he'd said when he proposed at my show. He leaned in, his warm breath grazing my ear.
"You look dangerous today."
"Only today?"
"Today, especially."
"Dangerous for who?"
His gaze dropped to my mouth, then lifted back up slowly.
"Me."
My heart slammed once, hard.
The priest cleared his throat. Kiryan straightened like nothing had happened, but his thumb kept stroking the back of my hand.
The ceremony began.
Olga sat in the front row, handkerchief over her mouth, eyes red. Feodor looked so excited he could've burst. Yegor stood farther back and nodded at me. In the back rows, there were my curator and kids from the community studio.
They were all blessing us.
When it came time for vows, Kiryan took the ring, but he didn't slide it on right away.
"Elena."
"I treated marriage like punishment. I treated your love like a plot. I treated your silence like consent." His voice stayed low and steady. "I can't ask you to forget, and I won't use today to excuse the past."
The tears finally fell.
He lifted his hand, then stopped before he touched me.
I leaned into his palm on my own.
The hand that had never shaken around a gun trembled, just a little.
"I swear I will respect your choices, protect your freedom, and back you while you become whoever you want to be.
I will be a father our child can lean on.
" His throat worked. "And I will be a husband worthy of you.
I don't promise I will never screw up again, but I won't hide my mistakes behind pride anymore.
Every day I have left, I will choose you again. "
The custom ring slid onto my finger like it belonged there.
I picked up his ring.
This name had once been a secret, then it had been a wound. Now I can say it out loud, in front of everyone, and not feel ashamed for loving him.
"Kiryan, I loved the version of you I made up in my head. After I married you, I met the real you." I swallowed. "Stubborn. Controlling. A shitty temper."
His mouth twitched. "That doesn't sound like a vow."
"Don't interrupt the bride," Olga said from the front row.
Laughter rippled through the church.
I laughed too, even with tears still sliding down my face.
"The real you hurt me. The real you took a bullet for me. You made me feel unlovable, and then you reminded me I get to decide what my life looks like."
I pushed his ring over his knuckle.
"I don't marry the man you used to be. I don't marry a fantasy. I choose the man standing in front of me right now. If you respect me, trust me, and love this baby with me, I'll keep choosing you."
The priest said we could kiss.
Kiryan's hand locked on my waist, and his mouth came down on mine.
He kissed me softly at first, like he needed to be sure it was real. My hand climbed to his shoulder. His breathing turned rough, and the kiss deepened. That familiar cedar-and-cold-air scent filled my lungs, and my knees went weak.
Applause and cheers exploded.
"Everyone's watching," I whispered against his mouth.
"Let them."
Olga cried so hard her shoulders shook. She pulled both of us into her arms like she used to hold that boy who never knew how to ask for comfort.
Kiryan stiffened at first, then he bent and kissed her forehead.
"Thank you."
Olga sobbed harder.
The reception didn't turn into a power show.
The neighborhood kids brought a painting.
I laughed when I saw it: me with a brush, Kiryan holding a parenting book, and the biggest thing in the picture was the baby between us.
He immediately had Feodor take down a route map in his study and hang it there.
Yegor walked over with two drinks. He handed me a non-alcoholic sparkling water and lifted champagne for himself.
"Congrats."
Kiryan's hand went straight to my waist. Yegor's eyes flicked to it. "Relax. I'm not here to steal the bride."
"You'd better not be."
"Thanks for coming," I said.
"I said I would bless you."
"If it weren't for you, I might not have had the guts to leave."
Yegor shook his head. "I only opened a door. You're the one who walked through it."
He turned to Kiryan. "Take care of her. Not because she's your wife. Not because she carries your kid."
Kiryan didn't bristle. He just looked at me.
"Because she's Elena."
Yegor lifted his glass. "That's the right answer."
When the guests finally left, I hadn't touched alcohol and still felt buzzed. What had set me on fire was Kiryan's stare, the way it never drifted all night, like he couldn't afford to blink.
The car door shut. The world went quiet.
When we turned a corner, Kiryan steadied me, his palm pressing warm through my dress at my waist. Heat shot up my spine.
"The doctor told you to watch your shoulder."
"The doctor didn't ban me from using other parts."
My face went hot. The privacy partition rose without a sound.
"You planned that?"
"I planned everything," he murmured against my ear, voice rough. "The moment you walked into that room wearing white, I knew I wasn't letting anyone else look at you the way I do."
I turned my face toward him, breath catching. "Possessive tonight."
"Always." His mouth brushed the corner of mine. "You're mine. Pregnant or not. Especially pregnant."