Page 66 of Ruins
Maksim chuckles, shaking his head as he grabs his suit pants. “That she has.”
The tension in my chest loosens, just a little. The easy back-and-forth, the casual ribbing—it shifts the moment, turning it from an obligation into something else. A ritual, a rite of passage, something shared.
A knock on the door interrupts us, and Luca steps inside. He pauses, his sharp gaze flicking between us, taking in our polished appearances.
“Well, don’t you all clean up nicely,” Luca remarks, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Thanks, Luca,” I reply, adjusting my cufflinks. “You, on the other hand, look like the best man at a funeral.”
Maksim snorts. Angelo actually chokes on his drink.
Luca rolls his eyes, straightening his tie. “Funny. I’ll make sure to wear black when I’m putting you in the ground.”
The laughter lingers, shaking off the last bit of unease in the air. But as it fades, Luca shifts, his smirk dimming into something more serious.
“You ready?” he asks, tone steady now.
I nod and step into the hall where my men are lined up. The weight of their stares settles over me, but another, more pressing need rises in my chest—a sudden, unshakable urge to see Vasilisa before the ceremony.
“I’ll meet you in the garden,” I announce, already moving toward my old room, where I know she’ll be.
With each step, the knot in my stomach tightens. The hallways feel longer than I remember, the polished floors stretching endlessly ahead. Servants glance my way as they rush between their tasks, their eyes flickering to me with a mix of curiosity and unease.
My pulse thrums in my ears, growing louder with every step.
Finally, I reach the door.
My pulse hammers in my ears as I raise my hand, hesitating for a fraction of a second before knocking. A muffled noise comes from inside, followed by the soft creak of the door opening.
Mimi stands in the doorway, her wide eyes blinking in surprise, fingers still curled around the doorknob.
“Santo?” she gasps, her voice pitching higher in shock. “Youshouldn’tbe here.”
I know.
I know I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have left the others, shouldn’t have let thispulldrag me down these hallways like a man possessed. But knowing doesn’t stop me.
“I know,” I reply, forcing a small, apologetic smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “But I need to speak to Vasilisa.”
Mimi hesitates, lips pressing together, weighing the risk. Then, as if she suddenly remembers her priorities, a mischievous grin tugs at her mouth. “Where’s Luca?”
I almost laugh. Her not-so-subtle crush on him reminds me of Elena at her age—awkwardly transparent, endearing.
“He just went downstairs,” I say, lowering my voice like I’m letting her in on a secret. “If you hurry, you might catch him.”
Her cheeks flush a delicate pink, and in a blur of soft fabric and barely concealed excitement, she’s gone.
The moment she disappears, the humor fades.
I push open the door, stepping inside.
Soft whispers fill the space, accompanied by the rustle of fabric, the quiet hum of final preparations. My sitting room has been transformed—delicate touches, elegant details, a place no longer mine but hers. But none of it matters.
Because there she is.
Vasilisa stands in front of a full-length mirror, bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun filtering through the window. Her gown cascades around her in soft waves of ivory, and Isabella, Cassandra’s hired help, carefully pins small white roses into her golden waves—exactly as I had requested.
It shouldn’t knock the air from my lungs.
