Page 81 of Devil's Vows
“Let’s go have dinner,” I say softly, conscious of the tremor in his fingers as they connect with mine.
We’re being knotted together limb by limb, every day a little more. I’m not sure if it’s his intentional way of courting me, or if it’s just the way it is between men and women when you take religion’s rules out of the equation. Maybe it’s me, unfurling in this man’s calm presence and the protection he promises with words and gestures. For the first time in my life, I feel safe with a man other than my brothers.
We’re a happy bunch heading back to the house, Ivan holding my hand, the girls running ahead with Milana. If they noticed the hands, nobody says a thing.
Yuri gets up from the kitchen island where he’s been working while keeping an eye on us.
“Pakhan.” He stands and slices his gaze to me and Milana.
Oh, something is brewing. He never refers to Ivan as Pakhan unless shit’s about to hit the fan.
“After dinner, Yuri, when the girls are in bed.” Ivan looks from me to Milana, before pointing to the dinner table and tipping his head to Yuri. “Join us?”
Yuri nods, and after washing hands, we all sit down for dinner. It isn’t uncomfortable, but anticipation hangs like a ripe watermelon over the table, ready to drop and burst. All four adults know something needs to be discussed, but what the men don’t know is that the women orchestrated it.
When we head up to the rooms for the girls to have a bath, Milana shoots me a sideways glance. I just shake my head, indicating we shouldn’t talk.
We’re just done dressing them in pajamas when Ivan walks into the room. He picks up the hairbrush, and I watch how gently he brushes Katya’s hair.
“So,” he says. “Who’s ever dreamed of being a flower girl at a wedding?”
Irisha glances up at him, eyes wide. “Me!” She starts jumping up and down. “Me! Me! Me!”
“Is that so?” he says, a smile in his voice. “And what about Katya?”
“What’s a flower girl?” Katya asks, turning her sweet face up to him.
He leans down and picks her up. She circles her arms in trust around his neck, showing how safe she feels with him. I get that, completely.
I catch a glimpse of Milana, where she’s stepped to the side, anxiously waiting for Ivan to drop the bomb she’s been secretly anticipating the whole day.
“Well, at a wedding, little girls in the family throw flowers over the path when a bride walks to her groom. It’s tradition.” He looks at me for confirmation. “Or something like that.”
“Something like that.” I smile. “And afterwards, they hand out rice or flower petals to bless the couple with.”
“I wanna do that!” Irisha cries out. “So badly!”
“And me!” Katya echoes.
“Who is getting married?” Milana asks, and in the quiet that follows the question, you could hear a pin drop.
“Funny question, actually. You are.” He boops Katya on her nose and then Irisha. “And you two get to be the flower girls.”
“What?” Milana says softly, her question drowned in the excitement that follows.
The girls babble over each other about the flowers, dresses, crowns—crowns?—which Ivan answers on a very high level, just to keep them happy, as brother and sister lock gazes.
“Who?” she asks, finally getting a word in sideways.
Ivan lowers Katya to her feet. “Luca Scalera, Gabriella’s brother.” He shoots me a glance, and I widen my eyes in mock shock. “I believe he’s next in line to get married.” He takes a deep breath. “You need a change of scenery. This is the only one I can give you.”
When Milana turns away to wipe at her cheek, trying to hide her tears of joy, no doubt, from Ivan, she leaves it open for him to interpret her reaction in any way he pleases.
“When?” comes her soft voice, muffled by her hand.
“Friday.”
A shudder runs through me. It’s so soon, merely two days away. Given Milana’s circumstances, it can’t be soon enough.
