Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Now, as I handed her a leather portfolio, a gift, she clutched it tight and clung to me while my insides twisted.
“I didn’t know you’d come,” I said, dabbing at my eyes. I hoped my mascara stayed put instead of redesigning my custom white Oscar de la Renta gown with dark flecks.
“Miss your wedding? Nyet. Also, I’d not expected to receive pictures of …”—she smirked, leafing through the images—“fuzzy people. I will guard them with my life.”
“Hah,” I laughed, suspecting she understood the sentiment behind these images. “When you moved back home, I went through film. Screwed up a lot. But I couldn’t get rid of these bad photos. It’s the thought that counts.”
“I wouldn’t call it bad. I was …” Simona scratched her jaw. “What you’d call kidding. These are lovely.”
We stared at old, blurry shots—mostly crooked Polaroids from when she first moved in with us. I hadn’t been a pro back then. But after she left a few months ago, I kept collecting every old candid I could find. Chasing that feeling that even cousins could have.
Sisterhood. I swiped another tear.
“Chyort!” She swatted me with the portfolio I just handed her. “I don’t want to wrinkle your wedding dress. And my beautiful makeup on either of us.”
We hadn’t seen each other in months. Not since Scotland. She’d gone to Russia, relegated to a lonely, colossal apartment Rurik owned in Moscow, and the Mikhailovs’ most trusted lieutenants protected her. Fortunately, her fiancé allowed Baran to accompany her, and he stood near, regarding her as a daughter.
Lip curled, she glanced around the Dodgers’ clubhouse. “Here? You are getting married here?”
“You should’ve seen where Lach and I first exchanged vows.”
“Where?” Momma placed a hand on her hip. “What are you talking about?”
Across the room, Jordyn winked. Though she had just begun a series of appointments with the best baby-making specialist in the world, the diva was all smiles. Maybe she was already pregnant?
Momma cleared her voice again.
“Kidding, Momma, dang.” I played it off with a laugh.
“Well, you’ll have another wedding to attend soon, Aunt Zariah. Oh, and Lev sent a gift. My soon-to-be father-in-law loves giving gifts and telling others about said gifts, yet he couldn’t come. And Rurik doesn’t associate with commoners, so he’ll meet us at The Red Door later.”
I stared at Simona. When had she ever shared information without pulling teeth? Here she stood, a silk dress draped off one shoulder, the royal blue color complementing her skin tone, going through the motions. “Don’t give me that look, Natasha. Uncle Vassili’s vow to support Lev’s presidency was included in your expunged contract with Edik.”
My head shook at the situation. No one cared about my and Edik’s personal arrangement to never marry each other. They only cared that they’d rule Russia, I guess. Bad for Simona, but lucky for me. I got to experience my happily ever after in front of almost a hundred thousand people, during the World Series’ seventh-inning stretch.
I shot Baran a look of compassion—dude was still in mourning. I whispered, “Jake asked if you want to start an SS Robinson book club.” My eyes met hers, drawn to a love story concealed in her impassive, dark eyes. Dang. She was showing emotion all right. Happiness for my day? “Sima, what happened between you? His girlfriend—”
An attendant entered the door. “It’s time.”
With the length of halftime, I’d better marry this man—again—before Momma lost it. She’d had something to say about everything since we returned. Us moving in together. The house shopping and the gorgeous homes, I continued to pass on—since Simona wasn’t living her life. Not like me. Hell, even I knew Pop’s possessive behind didn’t wait for them to marry. But that was mothers.
Now, as I started toward the dugout, a soft evening glow flooded through the darkened area while Vassilievich took my hand. The cheers of thousands reached me. Weakened my knees. The crowd rose in a wave of blue and white, but all I heard was my own deep breathing and the steady click of my heels as I exited the dugout.
Sunset painted the sky in warm streaks of turquoise and fire, glowing behind the stands. My brother’s arm steadied me, strong but trembling, since he knew how shame once haunted me.
Though his presence helped, I murmured, “Tell me why Mia MacKenzie cut her eyes at you during our bridal shower.” Yep, deflection tactics are still strong.
“Shhh,” Vassilievich groaned, “millions of people are staring.”
Thanks, Boobie. Besides, he was himself again. Not the Russian kind of usual—no brooding, no plotting murder over tea. Just happy I got my revenge. Which, now that I considered it, was very Russian. Finding my father’s gaze near the edge of the field, I murmured, “Relax. They can’t see my lips from here.”
“Jumbotron.”
“Ugh, thanks, Boobie,” I muttered aloud, eyes flicking up to the massive screen.