Chapter 25
NINA
The church is lit with flickering candles. Soft music plays in the background, and a murmur runs through the crowd. The voices fall silent when I appear alone in the doorway.
I’m walking myself down the aisle.
Lily offered, of course, and so did half of my colleagues at Middlefield. They looked at me with unasked questions and sympathy when I announced I was going to do it by myself.
My father made it very clear what he thought when I got pregnant with Ava. I don’t know why I expected any different.
I don’t need a replacement. I’ve survived the last five years without him, or anyone.
I watched Ava walk down the aisle before me, sprinkling blood-red rose petals over the marble floor. Now she waits with the rings at the altar, reaching up to hold Art’s hand and pointing at me with wonder written all over her face.
My eyes filled with tears at the sight. My golden-haired child and my golden-haired man. She finally knows who her father is, she can finally have that part of her life.
The crowd can pity me all they like. It feels right to me as I step onto that polished marble floor, clutching a bouquet of white roses, the matching lace veil over my face sending the church into a cloudy haze. I have all the family I need, standing at that altar and waiting for me.
I’m supposed to step slowly in time with the music, but I can’t stop myself from rushing towards the perfect image that is Ava and Art standing at the altar of a church, a place I never thought we would end up in.
This is it. Art gives a warm smile when he sees how I’m rushing, only holding back from a run so that I don’t trip over the hem of this dress. He runs a hand through his tousled hair as he watches me , breathing out slowly through his mouth. Like his heart is racing as much as mine is.
I’ve never had a family before I had Ava. I didn’t even know that kind of unconditional love was possible until I felt it for her.
It’s the look in Art’s eyes that makes me realize that I might have it now.
Everything I’d wanted. A family. Not just for me, but for Ava as well.
“I guess this is the part where most people would have their families here,” I murmur to Art when we’re back at the reception, vows done, being wrangled into a million different photographs with different combinations of his relatives.
Art pulls me closer. “You have this family now. And you're not getting away from it.”
He's always saying that, like I’ll want to escape at some point. I make a face. “They’re not that bad.”
“No take-backs.” He squeezes my waist playfully. “Once they start drinking at this reception, you'll change your mind.”
“And will you be joining them?”
I glance over at the bar, where Nikolai is leading a group of large tattooed men with the same buzz cut as him. I have to crack a smile when I see that Lily is matching them drink for drink. If anyone can teach those Bratva boys a thing or two, it’s Lily.
“There's only one thing I want to do tonight, Nenoka.”
Art pulls me closer to him, his eyes blazing, but the tap of a cane against the marble floor interrupts us.
“Vanya,” I greet her, turning and bowing my head respectfully.
“Nina Petrova,” she says formally, taking my hand and brushing her lips over my knuckles. Suddenly I feel like I’m in a historical drama.
I choke out a laugh. “I’m not changing my last name.”
She just shrugs her frail shoulders. “This family is built on tradition, dear. Better get used to people calling you that anyway. And it suits you.”
She turns to Art, her face cracking into a wide smile. If there’s one thing that’s for sure, it’s that Vanya loves her golden boy.
“Now, can I have a dance with my grandson?” She glances at me with those piercing blue eyes.
I look at her with her cane and the determined expression on her face. The last thing I want is to be alone in this room without Art, facing his family, but there’s no way to say no to Vanya Petrova in her own ballroom. “He's all yours.”
The second they step away, I feel alone, and small. Ava is holding court in the corner with her cousins, and my heart aches to know that she has a whole family of children her age to play with now.
Art sways slowly around the ballroom, absurdly graceful even as he clearly has to support his babushka. They’re talking intently, his brows knitting together as he explains something to her.
The tutting of a tongue brings me back to reality.
“By yourself at your own wedding?”
Just from the way the words drip with venom, I know exactly who it is. My throat tightens.
I turn to see Polina approaching me. Graceful, but tense. Her hands grip her studded leather purse tight, like she’s worried someone will tear it away from her. She's dressed in black as though she's going to a funeral, though I suppose black florals are technically wedding attire.
I've had nightmares about seeing Polina again.
I suppose there's some satisfaction in the fact that it's on my wedding day, an occasion that she explicitly assured me would never happen.
And Ava, the child she said Art would reject and never support, is currently having a sword-fight with one of her cousins in the corner.
It's this thought that makes me lift my chin and turn to her with a smile plastered over my face. I have won this battle, and she can't take it away from me.
“Polina,” I say, keeping my voice sickly sweet. I use the tone that we’re taught to use when patients are being particularly difficult at the hospital. “How lovely to see you again.”
If she's taken aback, she doesn't show it. Her pale face has a permanently pinched expression, so it’s difficult to tell when she is truly annoyed. Today, her watery blue eyes are rimmed with dark makeup that stands out on her pale face with her white blonde hair.
“Welcome to the family, Nina,” she says, matching my tone. She shoots a look at where Ava is playing in the corner and gestures her metallic bronze nails towards the scene, where she’s currently wrestling with her cousins. “This is a first for us, you know.”
It’s hard to let her venom affect me. I’m barely holding back a laugh at the way that Ava is holding her own, wrestling her cousins to the ground.
“What is?” I know Polina is trying to bait me, but I can't help but be curious at what she's trying to say.
“The Petrovs don’t normally play with bastard children.” She drops the words like they’re a grave insult, her blue eyes hungry for my reaction.
I choke back my laughter. Is it the 1950s all of a sudden?
“I don't think it's contagious,” I say, as my laughter spills out.
I'm not the 20-year-old that Polina could terrify so easily, five years ago. And knowing what I know now, I wonder how I could have fallen for her transparent bullshit. She’s not even a good actress.
She looks almost crestfallen that I am not taking her bait.
A man appears at her side, his bald head so shiny that it looks like it’s been polished. “Denis,” she purrs, taking his hand. I don’t think I’m imagining the tinge of relief, as though she needed back-up to interact with me. “Meet Nina Petrova.”
“That’s not–“ I begin to correct her, but
“A pleasure,” Denis replies, taking my hand. Everything about him is slimy.
I fight the urge to pull away. This is Art’s family, so I should make an effort.
“You’re Art’s uncle?”
“And my husband.” Polina’s voice is a low purr.
I try to do the math on that in my head, but come up short.
I know Art’s father died before he was born, but I don’t understand where Denis fits into the picture.
His brother, I suppose. They offer no explanation, or small talk, both of them staring at me with an evaluating gaze, sipping their drinks.
Thankfully, Art rescues me from them, leading me away once his dance with Vanya is over.
I don’t understand his family.
“Your mother is married to your uncle?” I hiss at him as soon as we’re out of their earshot.
A strange expression passes over his face, then disappears. “Since my father died, they’ve been together.”
My family were – are, I suppose, though I’m not welcome there anymore – toxic as hell.
But they were also fiery as hell. They didn’t ooze the same strange, iceberg-like coolness that I get from Polina and Denis.
There are a million things going on beneath the surface that I’m unaware of, and it makes me feel out of my depth.
I am grateful to have Ava as an excuse for us to leave the reception early. We spend an hour trying to calm her down enough to go to bed, until finally, we wrangle her under the covers.
“Mischka said they get to go to weddings every weekend, Mommy. Every weekend!” Ava is overjoyed at the thought. It is her first time attending a wedding, after all. I can understand the excitement.
I shoot a look at Art. “I’m sure Mischka was exaggerating, honey. But you do have a lot of cousins now, and we’ll have to go to their weddings.”
She has to tell us about every child she met and the games they played, before I can finally get her to go to sleep.
When we’re finally alone, Art wastes no time in covering my mouth with his.
I don’t press him any further for an explanation of his strange family, or the way they acted like attending a wedding was a chore instead of a celebration. I don’t want anything to ruin this perfect moment.
We’ve been through enough that we deserve one perfect, uncomplicated kiss, where I push down my questions for long enough to just enjoy the feeling of being with the one person I want.