Page 60 of Deception

I’m not sure how she can be so at peace with the prospect of death when I’m dreading that day as if it’s my end. And it’s that sinking sensation that has her words seeping deeper.

“A vow is a vow, Tomasz. Said in front of a priest or signed on paper isn’t what makes it a marriage; it’s the lengths you’re willing to go to keep it.” Picking a miniature syrniki from one platter, she dollops a generous spoonful of sour cream on top and drizzles it with honey before holding it out to me. “You are your father’s son. You like your pancakes the same, and the stubbornness…” Blowing out a whistle, she watches me eat the treat she dressed for me like she used to when I was little. “I had a dream that your grandmother was making me syrniki the night before last, and then you called to talk about the girl. You know what they say about those dreams? They are promises of wonderful times and conversations.”

“It’s all superstition.”

“But marriage is ordinarily a joyous thing.” She stops as soft footfalls sound from behind me.

The broad grin that cuts Mama’s face would be enough to tell me she’s finally laid eyes on my girl, but I can feel Lucy’s presence as if it is a tangible thing.

“If she makes you smile like this, it can only be a wonderful thing.” Mama chuckles as I spin to find Red standing in the archway.

We haven’t cleared the air properly since we arrived. Anton and I have been dealing with security and other arrangements for the next week before we return to Russia. Giving her my name may protect her from my father’s plans for her with the Sarapovs, but it also opens her up to other dangers.

With her hair spilling down to her waist in soft, copper waves, she’s a sight to behold in her long white cotton-and-lace shirt dress. The loose fabric pools slightly at her feet, swaying in the breeze to reveal her long legs through the unbuttoned front all the way to the top of her thigh. I’m entranced as I meander to her and take her hand, noticing that she doesn’t return my smile when I run my fingers through the long strands.

“I got waylaid with all the sprucing and pruning,” she sighs, looking down at her body.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she replies curtly and quietly.

“You’re still angry with me.” The statement leaves a sour taste on my tongue that fills me with the need to right the tension between us.

“Not angry,” she says. With a swipe of her hair to one side of her face, she looks up at me through long lashes. It feels wrong for her to be hiding from me.

“Then what?”

“I…I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m feeling,” she blows out on a shaky breath. “This is all so sudden…it’s not how I envisioned I would marry, I?—”

“Tomasz, don’t keep your mother waiting,” Mama says, bursting the bubble we’ve found ourselves in.

It happens all the time when we’re together. The world and everyone in it cease to exist. It’s me and her and these feelings that wind tighter around us with every look, touch, and breath we share.

“We will talk after this,” I tell her as I brush her hair from her face so I can get a better fix of her.

A soft, beaming expression finally lights up her eyes, making my insides thaw. The breath that I didn’t realise I was holding whooshes from lungs with the quick drum of my heart as I guide her to my mother.

“Hello,” Mama sings, patting the seat beside her.

“Hello,” Lucy replies a little bashfully.

She’s nervous. I can tell from the way she tenses when Mom leans over to kiss each of her cheeks.

“First things first…” Mama says, reaching down to pick up a small box by her feet. “Something old and borrowed. Every woman in my family has worn these earrings on their wedding day, and my daughter will wear them too one day.”

“Oh,” Lucy chortles, looking between the two of us.

She’s trying to maintain a calm facade while I can feel her anxiety. It’s what makes me certain that my plan for this afternoon isn’t only reckless from a security perspective, but it’s the best peace offering I can give her right now.

“That’s kind, but this…we…”

“I told Tomasz that marriage is marriage. Whatever the reason for going into it doesn’t change its meaning or the binding of the promises you make.”

“Essentially, now you’re mine…you’re mine for good.” Taking a syrniki, I spoon a small mound of sour cream with a pinch of lemon zest and a strawberry instead of honey. Lucy doesn’t pull back when I make a point of feeding it to her while my mother continues on her lecture about the validity of marriage.

I’m about to interrupt her when my phone rings. Anton’s name beams up at me, and although I should take it, I’m about to ignore it when Lucy stops me.

“It’s probably important,” she tells me. Her hand resting on my thigh is the first voluntary contact we’ve had on her part. “Answer it.”

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