Page 126 of 10 Days to Surrender

We eat and drink and drink and eat—sparkling water for Ariel, though I think she’s drunk enough on the moment that the lack of alcohol doesn’t bother her in the least. Zoya truly outdid herself, and on a ridiculous lack of prep time, too. In the middle of the long table is the crowning glory: a sturgeon that could feed ten times the number of guests, flesh decorated with paper-thin cucumber slices and fresh herbs. Around it, mounds of black caviar glitter like bullet casings, cradled in delicate blini thatrelease wisps of steam into the perfumed air. Greek dolmades surround the centerpiece in concentric circles, stuffed with herb-scented rice and pine nuts. Belle swears that she’ll take the recipe to her grave. Spanakopita and moussaka, beef stroganoff with mushrooms and sour cream, gleaming buttered noodles, crimson borscht—it’s endless. Obscene. When Zoya dips into the kitchen and comes back with platters of dessert, everyone lets out a horrified groan.

The whole time, Ariel sits beside me, one hand resting on her belly while the other stays linked with mine under the table. She hasn’t stopped smiling since we said our vows.

When not a single person is capable of putting down a single calorie more, Jasmine stands. She’s got her violin in hand. We all fall silent. “Ariel asked me to make something for their first dance. Just… I don’t know,” she mumbles. “It doesn’t have a name. It’s just… well, it’s just the best I could do.”

I rise and help Ariel to her feet. She comes with me, lips parted in the softest smile. “I’m too huge for this,” she protests weakly. “Even if I wasn’t a billion months pregnant, I just had enough food to stuff an elephant.”

“You look beautiful to me,” I murmur.

She blushes and rolls her eyes. “You’re the one who has to watch me waddle in place.”

“Then let’s make it a first waddle to remember.” I kiss her neck, the sensitive spot just below the cliff of her jaw that she pretends not to love. She squirms, laughs, butts her head into my shoulder.

She is everything to me.

When I nod to Jasmine, she begins to play.

The first notes pierce the night air like silver arrows. I recognize the melody immediately—an old Russian lullaby my mother used to hum.

But then, as Ariel and I sway on the grass, it shifts, weaving into something else. A Greek folk song, maybe. Then the lullaby again. Russian, Greek, back and forth, melting into something altogether new.

Beside me, Ariel’s breath catches. Tears spill down her cheeks as she listens to her sister play. Jasmine’s eyes are closed, her body swaying with the rhythm.

I spin Ariel out, then reel her back in, pressing my lips to her temple. “I love you, Ariel Ozerova,” I whisper into her hair.

She melts against me, and I feel her tears dampen my shirt. But these aren’t the tears of fear or grief I’ve seen her shed before. These are the tears of a woman who has everything she ever wanted.

The song arcs into a crescendo. Melancholy transformed into something else. Alchemized. From grief to gratitude and then to something beyond.

One last note. It lingers, echoes, triples, fades… Then the cicadas begin to sing along.

Nothing has ever been more perfect.

From there, the dance floor fills in. Gina connects to a speaker and starts blasting music, and I’ve had enough wine to let Ariel keep me out there. Feliks twirls Gina, Marco has Belle dizzy with affection, and even Pavel is taking awkward with Lora, shuffling steps from side to side, somewhat in tune with the beat.

Ariel’s laugh warms the hollow of my throat as we dance—her hips cradled in my palms, my chin hooked over her shoulder.

But when I glance over at the table, I frown.

Because Zoya is sitting by herself.

I scan the garden as I sway with Ariel, keeping my movements smooth so she doesn’t notice my sudden tension. A quick headcount reveals one missing.

Where is Kosti?

My arms tighten fractionally around Ariel’s waist. She hums contentedly and nestles closer, completely unaware that anything might be amiss. Her pearls catch the fairy lights as she moves.

“Happy?” she murmurs against my chest.

“More than I deserve to be,” I answer honestly, even as my eyes continue their sweep of the perimeter.

Twenty minutes ago, Kosti was right there by the wine station, trading war stories with Feliks. It could be anything. He could’ve been sent to the kitchen to replenish the water pitchers. Hell, he could’ve stepped inside to take a piss.

But the space where he should be is glaringly wrong. Like a face savagely ripped out of a family photograph.

I press a kiss to Ariel’s temple, breathe in the familiar peach scent of her hair, and catch Feliks’s eye over her head.Kosti?I mouth.

His brow furrows. He does the same sweep I just did, then meets my eyes again.

---