Page 148 of Tarnished Queen

The small faction of men moves quickly. They carry Nikolai out and then Howard. Elise and I trail behind in a daze, arms wrapped around each other, too shocked to speak or act.

We’re caught in the wild current of the night—of this life—and the only thing to do is hold on.

Hold onto hope.

Hold onto faith.

Hold onto each other.

EPILOGUE: NIKOLAI

ONE YEAR LATER

I drop down onto the bench I donated to the cemetery and look over the headstone. It’s white marble, tall and narrow, shining in the early evening light. Very phallic.

Arslan would love it.

“Happy birthday, you miserable bastard,” I say, hanging the wreath of white roses off the side of the headstone. “I never would have gotten you flowers if you were still alive, just so we’re clear. But I can’t get you anything else, can I?”

I pause, waiting for a response I know will never come.

It’s strange—even after over a year without my best friend, I expect to hear his voice all the time. But I cover over the sadness with the sound of my own.

“Actually, that’s not true. I lobbied for my son to be named after you, but Belle and I had a girl. And we both know it’s the thought that counts.” I sigh and lean back on the bench. “Maybe next time. Fuck, do you hear me?” I snort. “‘Maybe next time’? Apparently I’m a man who is casual about having a family now. If you weren’t already dead, you’d die hearing that. I can’t believe it, either. But Belle makes it easy.”

Belle makes everything easy.

She killed Xena and put to end one of the most dramatic chapters of my life. While I was recovering from my gunshot wound, Belle took care of me even as she was growing our daughter. And now, Inessa is five months old and, despite not ever having a parent as an example of how to raise a child, Belle has been a wonderful mother. She’s completely devoted to our daughter.

My phone rings and I pull it out of my pocket. “Speaking of the devil.” I answer. “Hello, honey.”

“Don’t ‘honey’ me,” Belle laughs. “You were supposed to be here by now.”

She and I have been invited to a ceremony, but there wasn’t time to drop off Inessa at the babysitter’s and stop by the cemetery, so we split up. My chore is taking a little longer than expected, though.

“Everyone is looking at me like I’m a leper,” she whispers into the phone. “I can’t decide if it’s because I’m a Zhukova or because this dress is fitting my postpartum body weird.”

I’m a Zhukova.Hearing her claim her new identity still sends my blood pumping in a distinctly downward direction.

Plus, the thought of her body is verbal Viagra. Postpartum or not, she still does it for me.

“The Greeks look at everyone like that,” I tell her. “And I’m positive you look incredible. Go find Christo. He’ll take care of you until I get there.”

“Which will be when, precisely?”

I check my watch. “Fifteen minutes.”

She sighs. “Fine. Did you give Arslan my gift?”

I pat the inner pocket of my jacket. “Oh, shit. No. But I will.”

“You’re a good friend,” she says, a smile in her voice. “I’ll see you soon.”

I hang up and pull out Belle’s gift. The liquor bottle is so small I almost forgot about it. I pop the lid and dump the shot out on the velvety grass. “God, you would have really liked Belle, man. She got you a better gift than I did and she barely knew you.”

The alcohol soaks into the ground. There will probably be a brown spot in the grass, but I know Arslan wouldn’t care.

I push up to standing, slap the headstone lightly, and then head back to the car idling along the curb. I’m a few feet away when the driver door swings open and my dad runs around the back of the car.

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