Page 110 of Mayflower

Crone checks his watch. “What’s the hold-up?”

I roll my eyes. “Bro, relax. Everyone is on time.”

He leans in to murmur, “At least you are in a better way than Raven. Check out his father-in-law.”

I find Tsariuk among the guests, in his white tuxedo and fedora, sunglasses, square jaw that can crack walnuts. Sonny is next to him. Raven, too, holding his twins.

“I swear, this looks surreal, Raven and the babies,” I say. “He says he actually enjoys carrying them around.”

“Maybe Tsariuk makes him at gunpoint.”

I chuckle. “When Maddy complains that she is tired?”

Archer snorts with laughter. “Right? Maybe Raven is learning how to cook borsch, too. God forbid he messes that up. Tsariuk will shoot him in the kneecap.”

I stifle my laughter, but a loud snort breaks out of me. “He can just slit Raven’s throat with his sharp R-r-r-r-ussian accent.”

Tsariuk is by now the local celebrity. There’s no denying that his security team is top notch. For the wedding, there are Apache helicopters on call at the nearby island, which is a tiny military base and the scientific research facility that was preserved from before. There are military powerboats anchored in the international waters nearby. IT monitors the airspace. Besides him, there are dozens of upper echelon people from all over the world here today. Maddy’s cousins flew in, two young cocky Belarusians. “Milena fucking Tsariuk, how are you, doll?” I heard them say during the dinner the other night. They are already assessing Zion as if it’s their new playground.

But what do we say to a man who is actually helping to make Zion an exemplary place? Sure, Tsariuk can bring anyone he wants here.

Suddenly, the orchestra stops playing. There is a commotion between the guests at the end of the aisle, and the orchestra starts playing the wedding song Callie and Kat picked out.

“Oh, shit,” Crone murmurs, his eyes fixed ahead. “This is it, bro. There they are.”

A row of little girls in white angel dresses and flower crowns start walking toward us, throwing plumeria petals in front of them. The aisle is wide enough for several people. And right behind the girls are our brides, Kat and Callie, led by Mr. Ortiz at Kat’s side and Bo at Callie’s. While Kat is wearing a slim strapless designer gown made out of slick silk, Callie’s wedding dress is a simple loose gown with a high waistline. She looks beautiful.

My heart thumps against my chest when I hear another, “Oh, shit,” next to me.

Oh, that’s a precious sight—I stare at Crone. I think Crone is hyperventilating, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Too rapidly as he licks his lips.

“Bro, you okay?”

“I think,” he says as the violin strings cut through my own emotions. He and I, both. His eyes are too glassy.

“You tearing up?” I tease him.

“Shut up.”

“Hey…” Oh, fuck he is. “Crone, look at me.”

He does, widening his eyes so as to suck back tears.

I know why he is like this. He lost his father only recently. And his mom always talked about his bright future. Crone comes across as an asshole, but at heart, he’s a softie, and he told me the other night he wished his mom was alive to see his wedding. Don’t we all?

“Listen. It’s all right,” I tell him. “We have beautiful brides. We are the luckiest guys here. And I’m so fucking lucky to have her and you.”

He exhales through puffed lips. “You are not helping. I’m gonna have a fucking meltdown.”

I chuckle, then wrap my arm around his shoulders. “It’s the best day of our lives. And there are a lot more to come. Look at us.”

“Yeah, four of us. That’s one hell of a wedding.”

“Well, five actually,” I murmur.

Crone’s head snaps in my direction, his eyes widening. “Wait, what?”

I shrug, grinning. “Callie is pregnant.”

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