Page 103 of Prince of Control
I pry the roses from his fingers and set them in the middle of the sidewalk. Tomorrow, they’ll make a sweet Christmas surprise for whoever is out here walking in the morning.
“Thank you, Valentina. We love you. We miss you.” Of course, I don’t even remember her, but I’m trying to voice what Baron may have left unsaid.
Baron makes a choking sound.
“It’s okay to cry,” I say. “Your tears are a tribute to her. And by letting them flow, you honor her and the child who suffered as a result of what happened here.”
I don’t even know where this wisdom is coming from, but I go with it. I figure the important thing isn’t the words I speak, but that we are sharing this moment. But he is not alone in his grief and torment anymore. But he knows I’m here to talk about it anytime he needs to.
Baron wraps his strong arms around me and sobs. I hold him, imagining I’m also holding that child within him who took the world onto his shoulders.
It only lasts a few moments. He lets himself release the pent up grief from that traumatic moment years ago. And then he squeezes me tighter and tighter.
“I love you so much,” he murmurs into my hair. “I love you more than the moon in the night sky. More than the sun on the coldest day. You are the sun who came into my life and warmed me up.” He gives a rough laugh. “I’m a terrible poet, but I mean every fucking word.”
I lift my face to his. “I love you more than the moon and the night sky and the sun on the coldest day. You are my warrior. My defender. My protector. My lover. My man. I’m so grateful we found each other. And I do believe in fate now. I do believe it was meant to happen. I do believe you were meant for me, and we were meant for each other.”
We’re getting married in a week, but these feel like our true vows. The words we speak into each other’s hearts straight from our souls. The words that forever bind us–not into our legal marriage but our spiritual one.
Baron catches my hand and starts to run across the sand toward the water. I laugh, running with him. Every moment with him feels like a new beginning. This moment. The one we just had. And every moment going forward.
We run along the waterline, the icy air making my lungs contract. My laughter is an offering up to the gods:
Thank you for this gift of a man. Help him to heal. Bless this union, I pray.
Baron
I stand in a tux at the end of the aisle with my hands clasped in front of me. I’m not at an altar because we aren’t getting married in a church, but a white satin strip of cloth covered in rose petals marks an aisle between the chairs set up for our guests. Leo stands beside me as my best man. Beside him stand Alex, Felix, Phoenix, and Anders as my groomsmen. On the bride's side stand Zoe, Anya, and Lily, Melinda, and Lara’s cousins Darya and Niko.
We decided to get married on New Year’s Eve while we were in Chicago for winter break. Anders flew in from Norway right after Christmas. Lara’s mom, Kat, moved into the Kremlin where my dad could keep her safe right after we saw her last. Adrian arrived two weeks ago, so Christmas was a festive affair this year. All of our bratva family from Los Angeles came—Lara’s Aunt Nadia and her famous Uncle Flynn, of the band the Storytellers, and her two cousins who are in our wedding party. Oleg and Flynn’s sister, Story, and their three kids came. Pavel, Kayla, and their daughter, Mila, who says she might transfer from USC to Thornecroft next semester.
We’ve had an incredible week here—the younger generation bonding as our parents do their thing.
My parents love Lara. She told me that even though there wasn’t a marriage pact, her mom had secretly always wanted me for her. And it seems that my mom did too. They certainly planned the wedding of the century for us. It’s not big–it’s mostly bratva family with the exception of Gabe Tracie and a few other political guests my parents invited for their business purposes–but it’s lavish and much care went into it.
My mom paid a fortune to rent a five-star “rooftop” restaurant downtown for the night. It’s not actually on the roof because that would be too cold, but we’re on the top floor of a downtown highrise. It has floor-to-ceiling windows along three walls with views of Lake Michigan and Chicago. Their usual American Nouveau cuisine is to die for, but they put together a Russian-inspired menu tonight.
Fresh pale pink and peach roses decorate the space and fairy lights twinkle everywhere.
The five-piece band my mom hired for the event strikes up “Bridal Chorus,” and a lump rises in my throat.
Five months ago, marriage wasn’t anywhere in my realm of possibilities. I wasn’t even interested in having a girlfriend. I was totally dedicated to my mission of controlling everything in Baranov House to keep people safe.
I now realize that’s not possible. Shit happens that’s out of my control. And when it does, it’s not necessarily my fault.
I’m still working on that one, but Lara reminds me of it every time she sees me go into emotional lockdown. Christmas Eve, she asked me to show her the site where Valentina was murdered, and we left roses there. Since then, I felt an unburdening. There was a pressure that was always in my chest that released.
My bride appears in the arched doorway, and my breath stops. Her hair is down in the back, curled into soft waves. A tiara initiates the veil that floats over her dark locks–sheer tulle that floats from her crown to her mid-back.
Her dress is incredible. Strapless and short in the front and tapering down to full length in the back. Her breasts peak out of the top of the crystal and pearled bodice, her waist is snatched, and her legs dazzle with each step she takes. She looks high-fashion and fairytale princess all at once. I didn’t think it was possible, but I fall even more for her.
I swear, every day I fall deeper and deeper in love with this woman. Her softness and her strength. Her courage and her vulnerability. Her confidence and her insistence on being my partner–in all aspects of my life. There’s no hiding.
I love how I’ve learned more about myself and grown through and with her love. I love how she meets me toe to toe. I love the way I can see her micro-emotions, how she doesn’t shrink from the myriad of her feelings. How she tries to get me to own mine.
I adore how I can read her body like a delicious map. How she surrenders to me and trusts me. Respects me. How we delight in each other’s bodies, riding all the edges of pleasure and pain that I show her. I love how our life together is a great exploration where I can let down my guard sometimes.
She holds soft pink and peach roses in her hands as a bouquet.
