71. Chapter 71

71

Clara

A week before Christmas

“ Y ou try to poison Lyonya; he deserves it sometimes. But now? You take care of each other. That’s what family does.”

Galina’s weathered hands move with surprising grace, weaving the last sprig of baby’s breath into my hair, her deft fingers threading it into the loose braid that cascades down my shoulder.

“What?” My thoughts, which had been circling like panicked birds, zoom back to the present.

She steps back, surveying her work with a critical eye.

“There. Beautiful. Like Russian snow princess.”

I glance at the mirror. A gilded masterpiece, the antique frame gleaming faintly in the morning light spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. And there I am, staring back at myself, looking… like a bride.

A bride.

It hits me like an avalanche. I’m getting married today. To Leonid Kuznetsov. A man I never imagined standing next to at an altar, especially not now, just a week before Christmas.

I said yes.

He proposed to me in front of Jake’s tomb.

The memory flashes vividly: His eyes were a burnished brown, like the sweet earth after a long summer rain that locked on mine, his words raw and trembling with something I hadn’t dared believe until that moment.

“I love you, Clara Caldwell. Marry me.”

And now here I am, in a bridal suite perched high in the Swiss Alps, preparing to marry a man who terrifies and fascinates me in equal measure. A man who has broken me, remade me, and somehow, despite all the chaos, made me believe in love again.

“You are thinking too much.” Galina’s voice snaps me out of my spiral. She leans down, her sharp gray eyes peering into mine through the mirror. “You’ll wrinkle your pretty face. Lyonya will think you changed your mind.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “Maybe I have.”

Galina tuts and gently smacks my arm. “None of that. You love him. He loves you. Even if he’s a big idiot sometimes.” She picks up a pearl-encrusted hairpin and slides it into my braid. “Men are like borscht —messy, but worth the effort if you do it right.”

The room around me feels like a dream. The soft crackle of the stone fireplace mixes with the faint hum of voices outside the door—Kayla, Elijah, and who knows who else. The scent of pine and lavender lingers in the air, grounding me amidst the chaos in my head.

“You don’t understand,” I whisper.

Galina pauses, her hands hovering near my hair. She meets my eyes in the mirror, her gaze softening. “I understand more than you think, dorogaya .”

The words hang between us, weighted with truths neither of us needs to say.

“Do you think Jake would—” My voice cracks, and I have to swallow hard before finishing. “Do you think he’d think I look beautiful?”

Galina’s hands settle on my shoulders, her grip firm but comforting.

“Jake would say you look like the queen of the world. And if Lyonya ever forgets that, Jake would haunt him.”

A laugh bubbles out of me, mixing with a fresh wave of tears.

Galina brushes them away with the corner of her apron, clucking softly. “No crying. You’ll ruin my masterpiece.” She fusses with the edge of my braid one last time before stepping back. “Now, stand up and look at yourself properly.”

I do as she says, smoothing down the lace of my dress as I rise. The gown is breathtaking—long-sleeved with intricate embroidery that catches the light, a perfect balance of elegance and simplicity. The fitted bodice gives way to a flowing skirt that pools around my feet like a cloud.

For the first time, I see it.

I look like a bride.

I look like someone who’s survived, who’s dared to hope, who’s standing on the edge of something terrifying and wonderful all at once.

“You’re ready,” Galina declares.

I swallow the lump in my throat, my eyes drifting down to the ring on my finger. Leonid had slipped it on so confidently that night, as if it had always belonged there. The emerald glints faintly in the soft glow of the firelight, the diamonds catching the light with a subtle brilliance. I twist it absently, marveling at how something so beautiful, so intricate, could feel so heavy. Not in weight, but in meaning.

“My mother’s,” he’d said, his voice low, reverent. His fingers had lingered over mine for just a moment longer than necessary, his gaze steady and unguarded. “She’d love you. She always wanted someone who wasn’t afraid of me. Someone strong enough to hold her place. You’d make her proud.”

I’d nearly laughed—his mother would be proud of me ? But the way he said it, with such quiet certainty, broke something open inside me. Tears had stung my eyes, unwelcome and unbidden, because I’d never had a mother to make proud. My own had died the day I was born, leaving behind only my father’s bitterness and a hollow space in my chest I’d never been able to fill.

I press my thumb to the cool metal, feeling the slight snugness of the band around my finger. It fits perfectly, as though it had been waiting all these years for this moment, for me. A part of me hates how much that thought lingers, how it feels like something inside me wants to believe it.

A faint sound pulls me out of my thoughts.

Footsteps echo faintly outside the door. Then, three soft knocks. I barely manage to exhale before the door creaks open, and Kayla steps in.

She’s dressed beautifully, but simply—a deep wine-red wool dress, warm and practical against the snowy chill outside. A soft cashmere shawl wraps around her shoulders, and her dark hair is pinned back in a sleek, no-nonsense bun. Her ever-present calm feels grounding in the chaos of my emotions.

Her eyes sweep over me with quiet approval before she speaks.

“ Se?orita Clara,” she says, her voice soft but clear, touched by her lilting accent. “You look… hermosa . Truly.”

“Thank you, Kayla,” I whisper. The way her gaze lingers on me makes my heart ache in a way I’m not prepared for. Like how a mother might have looked at me, proud and loving. It’s not the kind of look I grew up knowing, and the unfamiliar warmth in it makes my chest feel tight.

Galina steps into view behind me, her sharp gray eyes catching the subtle tremble in my hands.

“None of that,” she chides, her voice firm but fond as she places a steadying hand on my shoulder. “ Nyet, nyet , no crying now.”

I tilt my head back, blinking furiously to stop the tears from falling, my hands fanning my face in a desperate attempt at composure.

“Not crying,” I insist, though my voice betrays me. “Just… blinking. A lot.”

Kayla steps closer, her calm presence grounding me as she holds out a bouquet wrapped in ivory satin ribbon. It’s breathtaking—ivory roses nestled against white ranunculus, their soft petals framed by sprigs of silver-gray eucalyptus and delicate accents of blue thistle. The arrangement feels both delicate and strong, like a perfect reflection of this moment.

“For you, Se?orita ,” Kayla says. “You deserve to be happy.”

I glance back at the mirror, taking in the reflection one last time. The gown flows around me like liquid light, its lace embroidery catching the soft glow of the fire. The veil drapes perfectly, and the bouquet feels steady in my hands.

For a moment, I let myself imagine Jake standing behind me, his teasing voice cutting through the quiet.

You look like a million bucks, bug.

I smile at the thought, the ache of missing him mingling with the strange peace settling over me.

Galina gives me a small nudge toward the door, her hands firm but kind. “Time to go, moya lyubov .”

Kayla doesn’t leave. She stands by the door, waiting with quiet patience as I take one last deep breath. My heart races, but it’s steadier now, the weight of the bouquet grounding me.

I nod to my reflection, determination flickering in my chest. “I’m ready.”