Page 219 of Cashmere Ruin

“Sure. And they’re both in the kitchens, making sure no tart goes untasted.”

Petra mutters something about poison, but June’s already moved on to her dress. “Jeez, did someone shoot at you on the way here?”

“Askyourbride. It’s her design.”

Indeed it is. Once the Mallard’s exhibit was done, they reluctantly agreed to hand over my “Bulletproof Bride” piece. They even asked if I was interested in selling, but I told them no. This piece was made with one person in mind—it’s only fair that she gets to wear it on her big day.

Well.Thirdbig day.

“Swiss cheese effect aside, it’s definitely a good choice. You don’t even look pregnant in this one.”

“Say that again, I dare you.”

“What? It was a compliment!”

It’s kind of true: the skirt starts high and puffs wide, so even if she’s close to popping, you’d be hard-pressed to tell. Especially to her face.

I tune out their banter and look in the mirror. My own dress is familiar, but at the same time, it isn’t. It has the same ivory color, the same draping, the same shape on my body. But on the left sleeve, where embroidered leaves once were, something else has taken their place.

Blossoms.

“Girls!” Corey comes knocking. “It’s time.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. In and out, like my grandmother taught me. Then I step out.

The nave is big, brightly lit, with white flowers cascading from every wall. I let Petra go first—I’m way too nervous to take the first step down the aisle. Everything still feels so surreal. Like I might wake up at any moment.

But when I pinch myself, it stings like a motherfucker.

Good.I spent all my life dreaming. I’m ready to wake the hell up. I’m ready to make my dreams a reality.

I take my first step. Then another. As I advance, I spy everyone I’ve ever loved in this room: Corey and Rob, their eyes wet already. Charlie, beaming like a kid on Christmas. Elias, looking at me with pride, carrying the memory of my grandmother here for me. Through us, Maia is here, too.

And then June, leading my daughter by her tiny little hands, helping her scatter flower petals all the way down the nave. She’s stumbling with every step, not even one year old yet, but that’s okay. That’s how we all start.

Buttons trails after her, showing off the classiest bow tie in the room.

And then, on the altar, the rest of my family: Petra, the sister I never thought I’d find. Yuri, a brother beyond blood. Grisha, best man and loyal friend. And at the center, waiting for me…

Matvey.

The love of my life.

“Ready?” He holds out a hand.

For better and for worse. For richer and for poorer. In sickness and in health. Until death do us part—and it can damn well try.

“Ready,” I answer.

Then I take his hand in mine.

Admittedly, I haven’t been to many weddings in my life. And while I’m sure this has been the best, most kick-ass wedding on the planet, I can’t help but wonder one thing…

How long before it’s socially acceptable to drag your new husband to bed?

Husband.Such an unfamiliar word.

I try it on for size.Husband.Hus-band.I mouth it silently to myself while the guests party to their hearts’ content. Rivers of champagne are flowing, and the cake’s still receiving visits, especially from two hulking Russian bridesmaids in matching suits.

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