Page 1 of Zafira

Prologue

The year 1979... The Cathedral of Christ the Saviour on the wedding day of Zafira Solovyov...

“Ostanavlivat’sya! Stop complaining. It is done, Zafira. Today is your wedding day. You will not dishonor this sem’ya, me, or your otets with your continued whining about true love.”

Zafira hardly heard her mother as she paced anxiously in the luxurious waiting room adjacent to the grand cathedral. The white lace wedding dress trailed behind her. The room was lavishly decorated for the special occasion. Beautiful bouquets of red roses and white lilies were arranged in crystal vases on mahogany tables. Silk drapes framed the large arched windows overlooking the Moscow cityscape.

Zafira was oblivious to the opulent surroundings as she wrung her hands while pacing across the plush Persian rug. Her heart felt heavy at the distress of being forced into a marriage not of her choosing.

“Mamochka, please!” Turning to face her stern-looking mother, she pleaded her case. “You always said I would be allowed to choose my own husband. This isn’t my choice!” She struggled to maintain her composure and blinked back tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.

Viktor Guzun was indeed a very attractive man—strong, powerful, and skilled at seducing women. At first, he had made Zafira’s heart flutter nervously whenever he entered a room. But that initial infatuation had faded quickly, replaced by an all-consuming love for his best friend, Bogdan Rusu.

Just one look from Bogdan—with his rough around-the-edges attitude, rugged features, and muscular frame—took Zafira’s breath away.

Sheer anguish at being forced to marry another tore through her soul. How she longed to run away with Bogdan against all obligations to her family. Her azure eyes pleaded with her mother to understand.

Over time, her feelings for him had grown steadily deeper until she treasured their secret love fiercely in her heart. She had been careful to hide it from everyone, scared of the consequences if it was discovered.

And her fears hadn’t been for naught. The day her father informed her that he and Viktor’s father had come to an agreement that she would marry him, she refused. It was also the day she had made the biggest judgment error of her lifetime. She had told her father of her love for Bogdan. The conversation she had with him echoed in her mind.

“Bogdan Rusu isn’t in our class, Zafira. He will never be able to offer you the kind of life you are used to. Most definitely not the life of luxury and wealth Viktor Guzun can.”

“Money isn’t everything and I have more than enough of my own, or did you forget my inheritance from grandmother?”

“I didn’t, but perhaps you should ask yourself if Rusu would be as interested in you if you weren’t a rich woman?”

“Bogdan isn’t like that!”

“Isn’t he? Well, let’s test that theory, shall we?”

“He isn’t like that! Nothing you do will ever make me believe it.” Zafira stormed off with tears of anger and despair running over her cheeks. Knowing her father, he wouldn’t back down. He had made a decision about her future, and come hell or high water, he would make it happen.

She was yanked back to the present as the heavy footsteps of her father came thundering down the hallway. Each step echoed off the vaulted ceilings of the lavish waiting area. Zafira’s heartbeat quickened as her chest tightened with anxiety. She knew the confrontation coming would not be pleasant.

The elaborately carved mahogany door swept open as Anatoly Solovyov stormed into the room. His hulking frame seemed to take up the entire doorway, with his broad shoulders nearly scraping the ornate moldings. He had always been an imposing man, but today, his sheer size and presence were downright intimidating.

Zafira shrank back and recoiled from the shadow cast across the room as her father blocked the light. His expensive Italian leather shoes clicked sharply on the inlaid marble floors when he strode toward her with his eyebrows drawn together in irritation.

“What is the hold-up?” His barrel-chested voice boomed through the open space. “Everyone is waiting, and the priest is becoming impatient.”

Summoning her courage, Zafira lifted her chin. “I’m not marrying Viktor Guzun, Otets. I don’t love him, and I—”

“Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on that worthless Rusu?” Anatoly interrupted with a derisive snort. He moved even closer. Zafira forced herself not to shrink away as he loomed over her. Her defiance presented itself in her balling fists.

“I warned you he’s a gold digger.” A smug, self-satisfied smirk spread across her father’s broad face. Relishing the moment, he slowly took out his checkbook. “And now,”—he paused for dramatic effect—“I have the proof.”

With a flourish, he shoved a check stub under Zafira’s nose. With her heart sinking, she scanned the amount. It had far more zeros than any honorable man would accept. She could hardly swallow past the lump in her throat as she blinked back hot tears of dismay.

It couldn’t be real. Bogdan wouldn’t betray her, not after his passionate words of love and devotion. But the evidence was right there in black and white. Her romantic dreams crumbled to dust, and the world fell away beneath her feet. Utter despair flooded through Zafira. She felt adrift and heartbroken.

“I don’t believe it.” Her voice sounded foreign to her ears. Grief stricken, she stumbled to a chair and sat down.

“Nyet! Get up! You’re wrinkling your dress.”

“K chertu plat’ye!” Zafira sneered. Her voice rose as she shouted again, “Fuck the dress, Mama! I don’t give a shit about wrinkles. You don’t even care that Papa is ruining my life!”

“Oh, no, dear daughter,” Agata Solovyov said with a gentle voice as she sat down next to Zafira and took her trembling hands in hers. “At first, I was against what your papa was going to do, but when he showed me proof that Bogdan had taken the money... This is for the best, Zafira. At least with Viktor, you are assured of a man who loves you, and once you forget about that heartless hustler, you’ll see a bright future ahead with Viktor.”

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