Page 65 of Ruins
This could be a mistake.
We step into the gardens, where the greenery stretches wide, lush and endless. The aisle is laid out before us, dressed in satin ribbons and scattered with petals from my mother’s favorite roses, leading straight to the ornate gazebo where I’ll be exchanging vows. The sight of it is... daunting.
Gardeners work tirelessly on the flower arrangements, their hands moving with practiced ease, weaving stems and blossoms together. The meticulous care in their work grounds me for a moment, cutting through the unease threading through my chest.
“Your bride’s here already,” my father says, voice laced with amusement. “Her mother and sister are getting her ready in your room.”
My room. The thought of her being in there stirs something in me I can’t quite name.
Before I can dwell on it, my father waves down a gardener and leaves me with Angelo.
“Maksim and her father are in the office,” Angelo says, eyeing me. “You wanna have a drink with them before we get ready in my old room?”
I exhale slowly, still trying to shake the feeling sitting heavy in my gut.
“All of Maksim’s men are here. So are mine. Where’s Luca?” Angelo asks as we head back inside.
“He’ll be here soon,” I say, shooting off a quick text to confirm. “Let’s get that drink.”
We make our way to my father’s office, the sound of our shoes echoing off the paneled walls. As we walk, memories creep in—ghosts of a time when this house was full of laughter, before my mother was sent away. Now, the grandeur feels hollow, an empty shell that mirrors the unease sitting heavy in my chest.
I step in to my fathers office; Maksim and Miroslav are deep in conversation, their sharp profiles outlined against the mahogany bookshelves.
“The groom arrives,” Maksim announces, a faint smirk playing on his lips. He extends his hand. “Congratulations, Santo.”.
I clasp it firmly, nodding. “Appreciate it, Maksim.”
Angelo moves to the bar, pouring himself a whiskey before offering me one. The amber liquid swirls hypnotically in the cut crystal glass as he hands it over. I exhale, taking the drink with a nod before bringing it to my lips.
“How’s business?” Miroslav asks, his tone casual, but I don’t trust casual—especially not with him. Given the QUEEN file, I hesitate, but this is a chance to gauge his reaction.
“Good,” I say, then tilt my glass slightly. “Except for a file that’s been causing some issues.”
His brow furrows. “What file?”
“It’s labeledQueen.”
For the briefest second, he stills. Then, he shrugs. “No clue. Never seen it before.”
He’s lying.
Before I can press, Maksim cuts in. “No more shop talk. We have a wedding to get ready for.” He stands just as my father steps inside.
“Miroslav,” my father greets with a nod. “If the boys are leaving, we can finish our conversation from earlier.”
Maksim gives Miroslav a questioning look but doesn’t push. Instead, he heads for the door, Angelo trailing behind. I place my glass on the bar and follow, even though every instinct tells me to stay and press Miroslav further.
Once we step into Angelo’s room, I find my suit laid out neatly on his bed—shoes, cufflinks, the whole ensemble. The sight of it sends another sharp pang through me. It still doesn’t feel real, like I’m walking through a moment meant for someone else.
“No cold feet, Santo?” Angelo teases, pulling open a drawer and threading a tie around his collar with practiced ease.
I let out a low grunt in response. Cold feet would mean I wanted to run. That’s not it. It’s not that I don’t want to marry Vasilisa—I made this choice. But the uncertainty of it, ofus, sits in the back of my mind, steady and unshakable.
Angelo must pick up on it because he stops halfway through tying his knot and steps over, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t overthink it.”
“Kisa’s stronger than she looks, if that’s what’s got you wound up,” Maksim adds, sounding sure.
“Of course she is,” I say. “She’s survivedyouso far, hasn’t she?”
