Page 112 of Porcelain Vows

“Spi, lyubov’ moya,” I murmur, my lips moving against the top of her head. “Sleep, my love. Tomorrow will be another big day. The waiting has only just begun.”

“But I’ll be right there with you,” she murmurs, her voice husky with exhaustion.

“I know,” I whisper. I press a kiss to her forehead, grateful for her presence, for her strength. The woman who once seemed a complication in my carefully ordered life has become essential to it— a partner in both joy and sorrow.

As sleep approaches, my mind returns to Dr. Malhotra’s words. Sixty-five percent chance of success. Six months to a year before potential independent walking. I allow myself to imagine it— Bobik taking his first steps, him and Polina running together through the gardens of Blackwood Manor, two siblings chasing each other in the sunshine.

Stella’s eyes drift closed, her breathing deepening. I watch the subtle changes in her face as she transitions from wakefulness— the softening around her mouth, the slight flutter of her eyelids, the complete relaxation of the tiny furrow that often appears between her brows.

In this moment of perfect peace, with Stella warm and sated in my arms, I allow myself to hope. For Bobik’s recovery. For our future together. For the family we’re building from broken pieces and second chances.

The path ahead won’t be easy— I have no illusions about that. The Bratva will always demand its pound of flesh. Old enemies and new threats will emerge. And the ghosts of our past will never completely vanish.

But for now, in the quiet sanctuary of our bed, I permit myself this moment of uncomplicated happiness. With my fingertips, I trace the delicate curve of Stella’s shoulder, the graceful line of her neck, the soft swell of her breast. Memorizing her by touch, as if I could somehow preserve this perfect moment through the language of skin on skin.

Tomorrow, we’ll return to the hospital. We’ll face whatever news Malhotra has for us about Bobik’s operation. We’ll navigate the complex dynamics of my mother’s return.

But tonight, I hold Stella close and breathe in the scent of her hair, letting sleep claim me with a rare sense of peace.

For once, the nightmares stay at bay.

Chapter Forty-Five

Stella

3 Months Later

The stained-glass windows of the small chapel cast jewel-toned patterns across the polished wooden floors.

White and red roses adorn the modest altar and line the aisle— traditional symbols of unity and passion that seem particularly fitting for our unconventional love story. I smooth the silk of my dress, a simple but elegant design that Diana helped me choose, and take a deep breath.

In moments, I’ll become Stella Tarasova.

A year ago, I would have laughed at the impossibility of this moment— or perhaps recoiled in horror. Looking back at our beginning, it seems impossible that we began with a one-night stand in a hotel room. That the man I’m about to marry once ordered an attack on my father. That we’ve navigated trauma, betrayal, and forgiveness to arrive at this place of profound love and healing.

The small gathering of guests creates an intimate atmosphere, exactly what we wanted. No elaborate society wedding with hundreds of strangers and business associates— just family and a handful of trusted friends. Security personnel maintain a discreet presence at the perimeter, a necessary precaution given Aleksei’s position, but they blend seamlessly into the background.

Maria sits in the front row, resplendent in a pale blue dress that brings out her eyes— Aleksei’s eyes. She cradles Polina inher arms, my three-month-old daughter dressed in a miniature white dress with a tiny flower crown nestled in her dark curls. Beside them sits Bobik, his face alight with excitement. Three months after his groundbreaking surgery, he’s shown remarkable progress— small movements in his toes, increased sensation in his legs, promising signs that the NeuroFusion implants are working as hoped.

And then, something I never would have expected: Sofia, my sister, occupies the seat beside Bobik, her hand occasionally reaching over to straighten his tie or smooth his hair in a gesture that has become natural over recent weeks. Her integration into our family remains a work in progress— therapy sessions, careful boundaries, gradual trust-building— but her presence here today speaks volumes about how far we’ve come.

My phone buzzes with an incoming video call. Hannah’s smiling face appears on the screen, her red curls wild as ever despite the formal occasion.

“You look absolutely stunning,” she says, her voice slightly distorted by the connection. “I wish I could be there in person.”

“Me too,” I reply, feeling a pang of sadness that my best friend is missing this moment. Her work with an ongoing investigation has kept her tied to Washington. “But knowing you’re watching means everything.”

“I wouldn’t miss it. And we’ll celebrate properly when you get back from your honeymoon.” Her expression turns mischievous. “Speaking of which, has he told you where you’re going yet?”

“Still a complete mystery,” I laugh. “All I know is to pack for warm weather.”

“Classic Aleksei,” she says with a knowing smile. “I should let you go. It’s almost time. I love you, Stels.”

“Love you too, Han.”

I end the call just as a minor commotion at the chapel entrance catches my attention. My heart nearly stops when I recognize the tall figure stepping through the doorway— Nick, my brother, whom I haven’t seen in months despite numerous attempts to contact him. Beside him stands a petite woman with honey-blonde hair, unfamiliar but clearly important given her place at his side.

My mouth falls open.

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