Page 202 of Nine Months to Love
“I do.”
“And do you, Olivia Aster, take Stefan Safonov to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
She smiles. “I do.”
“Rings?”
I pull the ring from my pocket. A simple gold band with tiny diamonds embedded in it. I slide it onto her finger, and she does the same with mine.
“By the power vested in me by the internet,” Taras says, grinning, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the?—”
I don’t wait for him to finish. I pull Olivia into my arms and kiss her.
Her mouth opens beneath mine and I taste everything we’ve survived. The lies. The blood. The terror of almost losing each other a dozen times over.
I taste forgiveness.
I taste forever.
My hands frame her face and I pour every unspoken vow into this contact. Every promise I’m too damaged to say out loud but mean with every cell in my body. I’ll protect her. I’ll worship her. I’ll burn the world down before I let anyone hurt her again.
She kisses me back with the same intensity. Her fingers dig into my jacket and she pulls me closer, deeper, until there’s no space between us except our daughter.
When we finally break apart, I’m breathing hard. So is she.
Her eyes are wet. Mine probably are, too.
The guests cheer. Babushka dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief. Camille wolf-whistles from the front row.
When we finally break apart, Olivia is laughing. “That was the shortest wedding ceremony in history.”
I grin. “I didn’t want to waste a single second making you my wife.”
We walk back down the aisle together, hand in hand. The guests hurl flower petals at us. Olivia catches one and tucks it into my jacket pocket.
“For luck,” she says.
“I don’t need luck,” I tell her. “I have you.”
The reception is exactly what Olivia wanted. Small. Intimate. Just our closest friends and family gathered in the garden under the lights. Her parents are nowhere to be found—Olivia decided that they will have to earn their way back into her life. Time will tell if that happens.
In the meantime, there’s a table piled high with food. Babushka’s pirozhki, of course. Blinis with caviar. Smoked salmon. Fresh bread. A cake that’s almost too beautiful to eat. Music plays from speakers hidden in the bushes. Soft and romantic at first, then louder and more raucous as the night goes on.
I watch Olivia move through the crowd, laughing and talking and glowing. She’s in her element. Happy. Free.
This is what I wanted for her. It’s more than I ever deserved, so I do my best to simply breathe and be appreciative of all the gifts she’s given me.
Taras appears at my side with two glasses of champagne. He hands me one. “To the happy couple.”
I clink my glass against his. “Thank you.”
“For what? Be specific. I’ve been waiting years for the gratitude I’m owed.”
“Don’t make me get all sappy, asshole,” I mutter with a punch of his shoulder. “Just accept the sentiment and move on.”
“C’mon,” he says, poking me back. “You gotta give me something, you big, grumpy bear.”
I roll my eyes and mumble something.
