Chapter 36
EVGENY
Filipp has tied his necktie one-handed, and it shows.
I stop beside him in the hall. He reads my expression before looking down at the knot, already preparing to object.
“Don’t. I’m leaning too. We match.”
I straighten it anyway. His injured arm is supported for the afternoon, although he’s been cleared for more ordinary movement. He’s spent the last few days treating that as permission to argue with anyone who carries something for him. Today, there’s nothing he needs to carry.
Through the open doors, Edith and Janice are inspecting the flowers.
The chairs face the garden, where sunlight reaches across the grass beyond the shade.
There’s room between them for Antonella to walk without turning sideways, and nobody has to stand at the back.
She wanted to recognize every face when she reached me.
I check my watch, then take it off. Filipp notices.
“Running late?”
“For once, I don’t know.”
Putting the watch in my pocket, I leave him smiling in the hall. The ceremony is just inside the garden doors, where it’s cool enough to sit comfortably. Beyond them, late-August heat holds the smell of sun-warmed leaves near the terrace.
Edith has arranged cream roses in low bowls.
They leave us able to see the people we invited.
She brought the flowers herself this morning and accepted my thanks by asking me to keep my sleeves out of the water.
Then she wanted to know whether Antonella had eaten. I liked her more than I could explain.
Now she’s studying one stem with narrowed eyes.
“Leave it,” I tell her. “She’ll like it.”
“I know. I’d like it to stay where I put it.”
I leave her to it and take my place beside Viola. She has the ceremony folder open, ready to direct me to the same position she’s shown me twice. This time, I stay there.
Walter sits near the aisle, uncomfortable in a jacket that fits perfectly well. Vasily and Miron are behind him, their usual duties covered for the afternoon. I doubt either will stop noticing the doors, but at least they can notice from a chair.
Janice sits beside Edith, with nothing in her hands. Antonella insisted on a meal that wouldn’t require her to disappear before the first course or rise when someone needed a fork. I’ve arranged for other people to take care of it. Today, she’s one of our guests.
Filipp chooses the aisle at the back. At my look, he raises his good hand.
“It’s a chair. I’m sitting.”
The laughter steadies me more than silence would have. Then it fades, and I turn toward the doorway from the hall.
Antonella’s dress is ivory silk, simple at the shoulders and loose enough through the waist to move when she breathes. Its skirt brushes her ankles above flat shoes with narrow straps. She’s chosen no veil, leaving her face clear as she looks at the people waiting for her.
Her hair rests against her neck in soft golden waves. I can see the small freckle near her mouth because there isn’t a crowd between us. When she finds me, her smile changes, and I forget to notice anything beyond it.
My first clear memory of her is terror. There was a locked door and a ruined wedding dress, her body stiff in my arms because she had no reason to trust me to put her down safely.
Now she walks toward me with flowers held loosely in one hand. Nobody gives her away.
Halfway along the short aisle, she glances at Edith. Edith presses her lips together and nods, nearly making Antonella laugh. The distraction catches her skirt against a shoe for one step. I begin to move, but she looks up and shakes her head, still smiling.
I wait. She frees the silk and comes the rest of the way herself, bringing the scent of roses as she reaches me.
“Where’s your watch?” she asks.
“In my pocket.”
“Good.”
She gives Edith the bouquet and takes my hands. Her fingers are warm, the engagement ring resting against my knuckle. Viola begins while I’m still trying to remember what I expected to say when Antonella stood here.
The opening is brief. We’ve come because we choose to be here, to make promises before people who will remember them when we need reminding. Antonella listens closely, her shoulders easy beneath the silk.
There’s a slight fullness at her waist now, noticeable to me because I’ve watched her dress every morning. It hasn’t made the pregnancy less astonishing. We’ll have seven children if we’re fortunate enough to see it through, with appointments beyond today and decisions we haven’t reached.
I can secure gates and arrange rooms. I can pay for the help we’ll need. None of it lets me promise a painless future, and I don’t want to begin this marriage by pretending I can give her one.
Viola turns toward me. I know the words I wrote. I read them so often last night that Antonella asked whether I expected a hostile audience. I reach for the folded paper, then leave it in my pocket. I want to watch her face while I say them.
“Antonella, I want you beside me for the rest of my life. I want the mornings when we know what we’re doing and the ones when we don’t.
I’ll tell you the truth you need, even when I’m ashamed of my part in it.
I’ll listen before I decide for both of us.
I’ll care for you and our children, and I’ll let you care for me.
I love you. I choose you today, and I intend to keep choosing you. ”
Her grip tightens. I’ve made promises in rooms full of men who could kill me, but none required the effort of those last words. There’s no threat that will make me keep them, no document that makes saying them sufficient. She’ll know what they mean from living with me afterward.
I raise her fingers to my mouth before Viola can continue. Someone laughs softly, and Antonella lets out the breath she’s been holding. Her eyes are wet when it’s her turn, but she keeps looking at me.
“Evgeny, I love the life we’re making together.
I love that you notice when I’m hungry and remember what I say when I think you aren’t listening.
I promise to tell you what I want, even when I’m frightened you won’t want the same thing.
I want to hear about your day and tell you about mine.
I want you to come home knowing I’m glad you’re here.
I love you, and I choose you as my husband. ”
Her voice shakes near the end. She finishes anyway, holding my hands as though I’m the one who needs help staying where I am. I feel the words before I know what to do with them, especially the part about coming home.
Somewhere inside me, I still expect a person I love to disappear while I’m looking elsewhere.
Antonella can’t promise nothing will happen.
She’s promised to be glad I return, to let me belong in the life we’re making.
I want to come home to her enough that I have to swallow before I can answer anything else.
Viola gives us a moment. I hear someone sniff, then the silk move as Antonella steps nearer. We exchange rings when we’re ready, taking time to fit them onto each other’s hands.
Mine presses around my finger, new enough that I notice it whenever I flex my hand. Hers settles beside the diamond. I touch them together with my thumb, checking they’re seated without pinching her skin.
“Evgeny, do you take Antonella as your wife, and make these promises freely?”
“I do.”
Viola turns to her. “And do you, Antonella, take Evgeny as your husband, and make these promises freely?”
“I do.”
She says it to me. There’s nobody else whose response she has to watch, and she keeps her eyes on mine after she’s finished. When Viola pronounces us married, Antonella is already rising onto her toes.
I bend to meet her. The kiss begins gently, then becomes less suited to an audience when she catches the back of my neck. Someone laughs. Edith tells Filipp to behave, and Antonella smiles against my mouth before I can discover what he’s done.
Drawing back, I touch my forehead to hers. “My wife.”
“You can say it again later.”
“I intend to.”
We turn together into congratulations close enough to overlap. Janice kisses her cheek, then mine. Walter shakes my hand twice before assuring Antonella she can visit the restaurant whenever she likes and be certain of something to eat.
Edith returns the bouquet, letting her carry it at her side where it won’t hide the dress.
We step onto the shaded terrace for the photographs we requested, but the heat soon persuades everyone to move closer together and finish.
Antonella has no interest in standing still while every finger is arranged.
Filipp attempts to leave the group. She calls him back, taking his good hand before he gets beyond reach.
“My arm ruins the symmetry,” he says.
“Stand on the end, then,” she tells him.
I laugh hard enough that the photographer lowers the camera, then thinks better of it and takes the picture. Antonella is laughing too, with Filipp still beside her. I suspect we’ll like that one more than anything we stood properly for.
Inside, ten places wait at the table. Antonella chose the meal weeks ago and changed only the dessert. The chicken pie has a golden crust, and steam rises from the potatoes as dishes begin moving between guests. Butter shines on the green beans. The smell reaches me before I sit down.
Filipp is served first. He studies the plate, then looks toward us. Antonella lifts her glass before he can find an objection.
“While it’s hot.”
He takes a bite, making the table laugh without having to say anything. I sit beside my wife with our knees touching under the cloth, pleased by the sight of his full plate and his empty good hand between mouthfuls.
Antonella puts the bouquet into the vase Edith left near our places.
Then she sits back, looking satisfied with a plan that includes enjoying her own day.
I take a bite of pie too quickly and burn my tongue.
When she notices, she pushes my water closer without interrupting Janice’s story about yesterday’s trial pastry.
“The crust stuck to the dish,” Janice says. “I told her we’d have to start again, and she brought a spoon.”
“It tasted fine,” Antonella says.
“It looked like somebody had sat on it.”
“I wasn’t eating how it looked.”
Edith points her fork toward them. “Next time, call me. I have the same standards.”
Antonella laughs so fully that she has to put down her fork. She leans into my shoulder, and I rest an arm across the back of her chair. I want to remember this pressure against me as clearly as the vows, the pleasure that makes her forget anyone might be watching.
Janice returns to the problem of getting the ruined pastry out of its dish. She uses both hands to describe it, leaving her plate unattended for once. The staff bring what’s needed without waiting for her to notice. I watch her accept that, then turn back to Antonella as she reaches for water.
Her elbow brushes mine. We make room without moving apart. Around us, people who met through work or trouble are finding reasons to enjoy one another, and I feel an ease I used to dismiss as carelessness. Nobody needs a signal from me before joining the conversation.
At the other end of the table, Walter starts explaining a disputed reservation.
“He booked for three, but only two people arrived. When I asked if we should wait, he pointed under the table. There was a spaniel between his shoes.”
“What did you serve it?” Filipp asks.
“Water. The owner complained the place setting didn’t include a bowl.”
Vasily laughs first and has to put his glass down. While Walter defends the restaurant’s failure to anticipate every possible guest, Antonella leans nearer to me.
“Are you all right?”
I look at the crease the silk has taken from sitting, then at the flowers opening near her plate. Her ring catches the light when she rests her hand beside mine. I am happy, and the absence I feel has nothing to do with wanting this day to be different.
“I wish Ruslan could have met you.”
She takes my hand beneath the table. “What would he say?”
“Something that made me look foolish. Then he’d ask for more pie.”
Antonella looks at the serving dish. “We have enough.”
I laugh. It hurts for a moment before it feels good, and I’m glad she doesn’t let go of my hand while it does. I can miss him at this table without turning the whole day toward what we’ve lost.
She leaves her fingers between mine as Walter begins speaking again. I listen with her, keeping the little pressure of her hand beneath the conversation. If Ruslan could have sat here, he would have liked the woman who made sure there was enough pie for a person she never got to meet.
After the plates are cleared, music begins, low enough for conversation to continue. Antonella turns toward the open space near the doors.
“We can sit a little longer,” I suggest.
“I saved my energy for this dance. You aren’t leaving me here now.”
I stand and offer my hand, waiting while she slips off her shoes beneath the chair. She gives me a pleased smile before taking it, ready to enjoy the part of the day she kept for us.
The silk moves around her ankles as we reach the space near the garden doors. I put an arm around her, and she settles close without checking who can see us. When her bare toes touch my shoe, I shorten the next step.
She laughs softly into my collar. We move slowly, paying little attention to the music beyond having a reason to remain here. Behind her, Filipp has returned to his dessert. Edith is talking to Viola, and Janice stays in her chair while someone else pours the tea.
Antonella tips her face toward mine. “Hello, husband.”
I kiss her. When she rests her cheek against me, we keep dancing.