Page 43 of Shackled

My nose feels all tingly, and my throat surprisingly tight.

I guess he maybe, probably, has to say something like that, but it doesn’t mean I’m not eating it up.

They all cheer, and we clink glasses. I lift my glass for Lev to refill.

But Mikhail is still standing up. “On a practical note,” he begins. “Our enemies will be on the prowl.”

We all know without him saying that said enemies are my family.

“They will be looking for you after word gets out that you’ve been married. I’ve decided it’s in everyone’s best interest for you two to take a honeymoon in an undisclosed location. When we’re done here, Aria will give you all the details. Even I don’t know where you’re going.”

“Heavily encrypted!” Aria says with a grin. “But I promise, I found a perfect spot. You’re gonna love it.”

Lev can’t disguise the look of surprise on his face. “A honeymoon?”

I shift in my seat, not making eye contact with him. I know what happens on a honeymoon. He knows what happens on a honeymoon. Whatever happened when he interrogated me in the basement only stoked my appetite. We’re going away?

“Yes, a honeymoon. You two will go away for a week, and in that time, we’ll keep a close eye on any developments.”

I don’t need him to tell me exactly what those developments could be. I know as well as he does.

“For now, a toast to the newlyweds.” He lifts his glass and pronounces something in Russian.

“What does that mean?” I ask Lev.

“It means may the happy couple have lots of babies and lots of practice trying.”

I stare, my mouth agape when I notice him smirking.

“You lied!”

He shrugs. We toast and drink, and the doors open, and staff pour in.

“In my family, weddings are practically acts of war.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Mmm. During my cousin Eduardo’s wedding, someone secretly poisoned the champagne used for the toast. Several guests were in agony after toasting. Another time, when I was a small girl, a bride’s brother was kidnapped and beaten before the ceremony was about to begin. We had to reschedule the wedding and negotiate his release. Another time, during a celebration, an older uncle who was kind of an asshole disguised himself as wait staff and launched a surprise attack.” I sip my wine. “My family’s fucked up.”

“Got it,” he mutters into his wine glass. “Don’t expect a wedding gift.”

I stare at the platters of food.

“You look shocked,” Lev says as I watch the staff mill about, serving salads and appetizers. They lay silver trays of decadent food in front of us. I blink in surprise.

“Lev, is that… bandeja paisa?” My throat is a little tight. Someone actually arranged for the traditional wedding feast of my homeland. The platter includes grilled steak, chorizo, fried pork belly, and a variety of other foods that make my mouth water—rice and beans, avocado, and fried plantains. Another platter of arepas, delicious little fried cornmeal cakes, accompanies the rest. They even have tamales and empanadas. “Wow.”

“I thought you could celebrate a day like today with some food you were familiar with.” He shrugs.

I stare at him. There are more layers to him than I expected.

“Thank you.” I don’t need to be asked twice and make a large plate of food then tuck in. Mikhail said we leave in an hour, so we probably have forty minutes left or so. He eats as well, and even though they’ve brought some more traditional Russian foods, he tries everything from Colombia.

“What do you think?” I ask.

Do I care what he thinks?

“It’s not Russian,” he says, his eyes twinkling. “But I could see how food like that puts hair on your chest.”

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