Page 113 of Porcelain Vows

Nick’s eyes find mine across the chapel, and a sheepish smile crosses his face. Without hesitation, I rush toward him, protocol forgotten.

“You came,” I whisper, embracing him tightly.

“Couldn’t miss my sister’s wedding,” he replies, his voice rough with emotion. “Stels… I’m sorry for being MIA. I’ve been… getting my life together.”

He gestures to the woman beside him. “This is Candice. She’s the reason I’m clean. Six months sober now.”

The blonde woman smiles warmly, extending her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you, Stella. Nick talks about his brilliant sister constantly.”

I take her hand, speechless with gratitude and joy. My family circle has changed so dramatically— I’ve lost my parents but gained a mother in Maria, a sister in Sofia, and now a husband in the man I once feared. Having Nick return, healthy and sober, feels like the final piece falling into place.

“We need to get you seated,” I say, signaling to Diana who quickly arranges places for them. “The ceremony’s about to start.”

As if on cue, the chapel doors open fully, and my breath catches in my throat. Aleksei stands in the entrance, a dark vision in a perfectly tailored black suit that emphasizes his broad shoulders and commanding presence. But it’s his expression that truly stops my heart— open, vulnerable, radiating a joy I’ve rarely seen him display so publicly.

Our eyes lock across the space between us, and the rest of the world seems to fade away. The journey that brought us here— from enemies to reluctant allies to lovers to parents to this moment— flashes through my mind in vivid detail. Every argument, every revelation, every tender moment that gradually transformed hatred into something so profound it defies simple categorization.

Aleksei begins his walk toward the altar, Vasya at his side serving as his witness. His brother’s imposing height and build nearly match Aleksei’s, yet there’s a tenderness in Vasya’s expression today that softens his usually intimidating presence. Diana takes her position as my witness, elegant in a deep emerald dress that complements her auburn hair, her smile encouraging as she squeezes my hand.

The traditional wedding march begins, and I move forward, each step bringing me closer to my future. Aleksei watches my approach with an intensity that sends warmth spreading through my body. The slight tremor in his hands as they clasp before him reveals that beneath his composed exterior, he’s as moved by this moment as I am.

When I reach him, he takes my hands in his. “Krasivyy,” he whispers. Beautiful. The single word carries the weight of a thousand endearments.

The priest begins the ceremony, a blend of Orthodox traditions honoring our Russian heritage. The familiar words wash over me as I stand before Aleksei, our hands joined, our eyes never leaving each other’s.

“Aleksei Tarasov, do you take Stella Fermont to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?”

“I do,” he says, his voice steady and sure, the Russian accent more pronounced with emotion.

“Stella Fermont, do you take Aleksei Tarasov to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?”

“I do,” I respond, surprised by the steadiness of my own voice despite the emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

We exchange rings— simple platinum bands that symbolize our commitment. Aleksei’s fingers tremble slightly as he slides the ring onto mine, a rare display of vulnerability from a man who prides himself on control. When I place his ring on his finger, I feel the strong, steady pulse beneath my touch, a tangible reminder of the life we now officially share.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest declares. “You may kiss the bride.”

Aleksei’s hands frame my face with exquisite gentleness as he leans down to claim my lips. The kiss is both tender andpossessive, a perfect representation of the complex man I’ve chosen to spend my life with. Around us, I’m vaguely aware of applause and Polina’s happy gurgle, but my focus remains entirely on my husband.

Myhusband.

The word feels strange and perfect simultaneously.

When we finally separate, I turn to face our small gathering, Aleksei’s arm securely around my waist. Maria approaches first, tears of joy streaming down her face as she embraces us both, Polina reaching out from her arms toward her father. Aleksei takes our daughter, cradling her against his chest with an ease that still melts my heart.

“Moya sem’ya.My family,” he says simply, the words carrying profound emotion. “Complete.”

Bobik wheels himself forward, his smile radiant. “Does this mean I call youMamanow?” he asks me, eyes twinkling with mischief.

I kneel to his level, taking his hands in mine. “You can call me whatever feels right,” I tell him, throat tight with emotion. “But I’ll love you the same either way.”

He nods solemnly before breaking into another grin. “I think I’ll try Mama. Just to see how it sounds.”

The celebration moves to the adjacent garden, where champagne flows and a small string quartet plays softly. Nick approaches with Candice, offering congratulations and a promise to “be around more.” Diana and Vasya engage in what appears to be playful banter while arranging photographs. Sofia stands slightly apart, watching the proceedings with a wistful expression until Maria gently draws her into conversation.

In this moment, all the pain and loss that brought us here seems almost worth it— almost. Not my parents’ deaths— nothing could justify that— but the journey of healing, the family we’ve built from broken pieces over the ashes of the past, the love that emerged from hatred and revenge. There’s a beauty in our story’s complexity that a simpler tale could never match.

Aleksei finds me amidst the celebration, a glass of champagne in each hand.

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