Epilogue
Briony
The sky stayed gray from dawn on the wedding day. When Winnie pulled back the curtains, I sat at the mirror while the stylist worked through my last strand of hair. Rain crawled down the glass. Trees in the distance bent in the wind.
"Don't look." Winnie blocked the window immediately. "Rain on your wedding day means luck."
"You looked that up last night?"
"Five minutes ago."
My stomach tightened.
Not because of Varlam.
I'd already decided I wanted to marry him.
What made me nervous was that I'd designed every detail myself.
I'd planned the path to happiness for countless people, knew when flowers should arrive, what second the music should start, who should hand over the rings.
But when I became the one at the finish line, all my professional experience suddenly meant nothing.
I couldn't schedule my own heartbeat.
"You can't run, sis."
Rory poked his head through the door in a dark gray suit. His bow tie hung crooked, almost by his ear, hair slicked with way too much gel.
I turned the chair.
"Who said I'm running?"
"Makar said all brides want to run before the wedding."
"Since getting dumped, Makar suddenly thinks he's a relationship expert." Winnie rolled her eyes.
Rory nodded seriously.
"He said if you run, I should hide the car keys."
"Whose keys?"
"Varlam's. He said your husband has the fastest car."
I couldn't help laughing. The tightness in my chest loosened a little.
"Come here."
Rory walked over. I wiped excess gel from his temple and straightened his bow tie.
"Nervous today?" I asked.
"Not nervous." He paused. "Just a little."
"Me too."
He looked at me in the mirror. His eyes suddenly went red.
"I wish Mom could see this."
The words hit like a needle, straight into the softest part of my heart.
I squeezed his hand.
"She can."
Winnie sniffled and immediately turned away.
"Nobody cries," she said. "Mascara's expensive."
"You're already crying," Rory pointed out.
"The air's too dry."
"It's raining outside."
A knock at the door. Makar leaned against the frame in a sharply cut black suit. He shared Varlam's coloring and eyes, but that edge hadn't yet been worn by time into real stillness. He looked at me for a few seconds, his smile cleaner than before.
"Ready?"
"If you stop teaching Rory about escape plans, I'll be more ready."
"I'm just giving him contingencies."
"Do all you Petrov men think weddings need battle plans?"
"My brother prepared twelve."
I stared at him.
Makar spread his hands.
"Don't worry. You didn't like them, so he scrapped every one."
The rain stopped ten minutes before the ceremony.
The clouds split open, and golden light pushed through wet branches, falling on the stone path lined with white flowers.
The glass conservatory had been abandoned for years—broken glass, rusted frames.
When I first visited, everyone said it wasn't right for a wedding.
But I loved it.
It wasn't perfect. The old frames still showed repair marks, and not every glass panel was new. But when sunlight came through, those cracks and seams split the light into countless tiny colors.
Like us.
Not without scars.
Just that the scars no longer decided the ending.
I didn't let anyone give me away to Varlam. When the ceremony started, I walked the first half of the stone path holding Rory's hand. His palm was sweaty, but his back stayed straight. At the center, he stopped and carefully kissed my cheek.
"His turn now," he said.
From the other end, Varlam walked toward me.
The guests' murmurs faded.
He wore a black suit, shoulders broad, silver-gray hair combed back.
His right hand clenched and released at his side, the stiff pinky slightly curled. This man who'd faced guns without flinching—two steps away from me, his breathing stumbled.
I extended my hand. He took it.
His palm burned.
"You're three seconds late," I whispered.
"I was making sure this wasn't a dream."
"You'll still have those dreams after we're married?"
"Every day."
My nose stung.
He hadn't waited at the finish line for me to walk to him.
He'd come to the middle of the path.
This was the most important design in my entire wedding.
And his best answer to me.
Gleb sat in the front row, face still stern. Makar beside him raised his glass. Rory winked at me, as if the wedding's success was all his doing.
The officiant asked us to exchange vows.
Varlam pulled out a folded paper but didn't open it.
"I prepared something long," he said. "But she doesn't like bullshit."
"Correct," I said.
His thumb brushed my knuckles.
"Briony, I can't promise your life will never have danger. Can't promise to become someone else. I'll still worry, still get jealous, still want to solve problems before they happen."
The guests went quiet.
"But I promise to ask you before I decide. Promise to respect your no and treasure your yes. You don't belong to me."
His Adam's apple moved.
"I belong to you."
Tears fell instantly.
Winnie sobbed behind me, still complaining about her mascara. Rory sniffled. Makar turned his face away. Gleb looked down, pretending to study his glass.
I hadn't prepared paper.
Because I knew what I wanted to say.
"You crashed the first wedding I planned, bought my company, wrecked my orderly life, and almost made me believe you were my biggest mistake.
" I smiled through tears. "But you also stood in front of me again and again.
You shielded me from humiliation, from bullets, and finally learned not to shield me from my own choices.
I don't need a perfect man. I need someone willing to change with me, share consequences with me, come home with me. "
I tightened my fingers.
"So I choose you. Not because you saved me. Not because of what you can give me. Just because I love you."
Emotion surged in Varlam's eyes. Before the officiant could speak, he bent down and kissed me.
"The rings!" Rory yelled. "You haven't exchanged rings!"
Varlam stopped an inch from my lips.
"Too many steps."
"You insisted on keeping this step," I reminded him.
Makar handed the ring box to Rory. Rory solemnly brought it to us.
We exchanged rings. He gripped my hand like he'd finally caught hold of something he'd never dared hope for.
"Now you may kiss the bride." The officiant stepped back with a smile.
His hand cupped the back of my neck. The kiss was deep and restrained. Applause came from the guests. Rory cheered. Winnie whistled.
I heard nothing else.
Only his heartbeat. Over and over, steady against my palm.
Three months after the wedding, I resigned from Petrov Group and opened my own wedding planning studio.
Varlam didn't object.
My studio occupied the ground floor of a red brick building. The street-facing windows were huge—afternoon sun reached all the way to the conference table in back. I didn't use opulent gold or pile on expensive décor, just hung a few photos from my favorite weddings on the wall.
The first: Varlam's back as he walked toward me on the conservatory path. The second: Rory laughing, holding up the ring box. The third: Varlam and me kissing after the rain.
Opening day, Winnie showed up with a flower basket bigger than her torso.
"Your first employee reporting for duty."
"Who said I'm hiring you?" I raised an eyebrow.
"You need an honest, enthusiastic assistant with excellent taste."
"You forgot 'loves gossip.'"
"That's a complimentary service." Winnie grinned.
Rory hung the open sign by the door. Makar walked in carrying cake. Gleb followed with an absurdly heavy espresso machine.
"What's this?" I asked.
Gleb looked at Varlam.
Varlam stood outside, hands in his coat pockets, expression calm.
"Opening gift."
"I said no expensive gifts."
"Not expensive."
"That machine costs as much as a car," Makar scoffed.
Varlam shot him a cold look.
"You can shut up."
"It's your wife's turf today. You don't give orders here."
"He's right," I said.
Makar immediately smirked triumphantly.
Varlam walked over and looked down at me.
"May I ask you to accept it?"
I made him wait two seconds.
"Yes."
He kissed the corner of my mouth.
"Thank you."
The room suddenly went silent.
"He actually says thank you." Winnie clutched her chest.
"He also apologizes now," Gleb said flatly, setting the machine on the counter.
Makar's cake was neatly divided into six pieces.
"Congratulations, boss," he said.
The studio's first client wanted to get married in an old library. The second couple didn't want flowers—just the seventeen stray cats they'd adopted together. The third bride used a wheelchair and wanted an aisle she could navigate alone without anyone's help.
I made it happen for all of them.
Every wedding was different. Some needed grand lighting, some just wanted to exchange rings in a kitchen. Some walked toward love with complete families behind them, others had no one—but still chose to believe in the future.
I didn't design perfection.
I designed truth.
The studio walls quickly filled with new photos. Whenever Varlam came to pick me up, he'd stand there looking at them for a long time. He didn't critique floral arrangements or dresses, didn't ask how much each wedding earned.
He'd just say to clients, "She's the best."
His tone made it sound like indisputable fact.
Once, a groom recognized him and went white. Varlam simply picked up samples the client had knocked to the floor, then asked, "Not satisfied with the proposal?"
"Very satisfied." The groom nodded frantically and paid in full immediately.
When my pregnancy reached the later stages, Varlam suggested a trip. Actually, Rory suggested it—Varlam made the plan. He prepared two cars, three drivers, a doctor, six suitcases, and enough supplies to survive in the woods for six months.
I stood in the garage watching the last box get stuffed into the trunk.
Honestly, I should've been used to this kind of excess by now, but every time I still didn't know how to react.
"Let's go before I cancel this trip." I settled into the car, hand on my back.
Varlam leaned in to buckle my seatbelt. He was close, breath brushing my cheek, knuckles lightly touching my belly.
The baby kicked immediately.
He froze.
That face, which never faltered even facing death, showed something close to astonished tenderness.
He closed the door and walked around to the driver's side. I watched his profile and suddenly understood—this was the most relaxed he could manage.
I squeezed his hand.
"Let's go."
The coast was bluer than any photo.
We stayed in a wooden house near the cliffs.
Mornings brought the sound of waves crashing on rocks.
At night, only wind and starlight outside the window.
Rory's first act every morning was running outside—collecting shells, watching the lighthouse, trying to befriend seagulls.
Varlam's first act every morning was checking if I felt okay.
Morning light fell on his silver-gray hair and lit the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. He'd learned to hide desire earlier than me, was better at restraint when my body made things difficult. But I could still see the dark fire that flared quickly in his eyes.
"Briony! A seagull stole my breakfast!" Rory's shout came from downstairs.
I closed my eyes.
"Go rescue him," I said.
"Why me?"
"Because you're the scariest one in this house."
"Seagulls won't be afraid of me."
"All living things are afraid of you."
He kissed me hard on the lips before getting up. I watched him go downstairs. Seconds later, Rory's voice carried back up.
"You can't pull a gun on a seagull!"
I laughed until tears came, hand on my belly.
On the fifth day, we took a family photo by the lighthouse.
Rory stood in the middle holding a white shell he'd just found.
Varlam stood behind me, one arm around my waist, the other hand covering my belly.
The baby kicked right before the shutter clicked.
I looked down instinctively. So did Varlam.
The photo came out crooked. Nobody looked at the camera.
But I loved it more than anything.
Rory was laughing in it. So was I. Varlam's smile wasn't as obvious, but the way he looked at me was gentler than any smile.
That night, Rory fell asleep on the couch clutching his shell. Varlam carried him to his room and came back with a blanket. He tucked it over my legs and sat beside me.
Darkness filled the window. Waves crashed against rocks over and over, then retreated into the night.
"Do you regret it?" I leaned into him.
"Regret what?" His arm tensed immediately.
"Letting us into your life."
"No." He looked down at me, those steel-gray eyes still clear. "I regret making you wait so long."