Page 94 of Scarlet Chains
But that’s not our story. Our story is messier and more complicated and absolutely worth every moment of difficulty it took to arrive here.
Above us, the Hungarian sky spreads like a satin sheet kissed with glitter, and in the distance, the lights of Budapest twinkle like earthbound stars. The night air carries the scent of roses and champagne and new beginnings.
Tomorrow will bring ordinary challenges— diapers to change and business to run and the thousand small decisions that make up married life. But tonight, we’re suspended in this perfect moment where everything is possible and nothing can touch the happiness we’ve built.
“I love you, Mrs. Sidorova,” Osip says, the words soft but absolutely certain.
“I love you too, Mr. Sidorov,” I whisper back, and the names still thrill me, still make me feel like I’m living in someone else’s beautiful dream.
Except it’s not someone else’s dream. It’s ours. Built from broken pieces and bad decisions and the kind of love that refuses to be reasonable, that insists on existing despite every logical argument against it.
It’s messy and complicated and absolutely perfect.
Bonus Epilogue
Osip
I’m awake before the alarm— always am— but today it’s not the ghosts or the restless itch under my skin pulling me from sleep.
It’s hunger.
Raw, uncomplicated need for what I’ve planned to show her.
My wife sleeps against me like she belongs there— because she fucking does. Her breathing stays soft and even, one elegant hand spread over my heart like she’s staking a claim even in sleep. The wedding ring catches the morning light— simple platinum we exchanged yesterday, making real what’s been carved into my bones for months.
Moya zhena.
My wife.
Still sends electricity through my chest every time I think it. It feels like a lifetime ago that she was Ilona Katona Shiradze— a woman I loved but couldn’t fully possess. Now, she’s Ilona Sidorova, and something has taken root in me that I’d forgotten could exist.
She stirs against me, eyes fluttering open with the slow grace of someone emerging from peaceful dreams. When she sees me watching her, her lips curve into that smile that’s become my favorite sight in the world— sleepy, content, touched with mischief.
“Morning,” she murmurs, her voice husky with sleep.
I press a kiss to her forehead, breathing in the scent of her shampoo mixed with the lingering traces of last night’s celebrations. “Good morning, Mrs. Sidorova.”
The title makes her laugh, a sound like warm honey that I want to capture and keep forever. “You know, I’ll always love the sound of that.”
“Me too.” I run my fingers through her honey-blonde hair, marveling at how something so simple can feel so monumental.
She stretches against me like a cat in sunlight, and I feel the familiar stirring of want mixed with something deeper— the bone-deep satisfaction that comes from knowing she’s mine. Legally, emotionally, completely mine in ways that no contract or ceremony could fully encompass.
But there are other priorities this morning, plans I’ve been nursing in secret for weeks, waiting for the right moment to unfold.
“Get dressed,” I growl against her ear, though every instinct screams to keep her naked and warm until the rest of the world burns down around us.
She props up on one elbow, studying my face with that careful attention she’s developed for reading my moods. Smart woman. “Already giving me orders? We’re still officially newlyweds, you know.”
The challenge in her voice makes my mouth curve into the smile my brothers know means trouble. “Trust me,malen’kaya. You will like this one.”
Her eyes narrow in suspicion, but there’s curiosity there too, and excitement barely held in check. “What about the kids?”
“Your mom has it covered. I asked her to watch them this morning. She was thrilled.”
That earns me a real laugh, bright and delighted. “You know she’ll spoil them rotten.”
“That’s the plan.” I sit up, already reaching for the clothes I laid out last night with the care of a military operation. “Slava will get pancakes shaped like dinosaurs, and Eszter will be sung to in three different languages.”
