The wedding morning of all brides is happy. For most, definitely. Just not for me. I know it's the right thing to do. I know it has to be done for my own sake. But I don't feel happiness. How can one speak of it when I have to be Timur's wife, even if only on paper? Although, Dobry didn't promise this, to be honest. He never said anything about it. The last conversation with the brothers screamed that they know what they are doing. Vlad told me not to worry, that it's not my problem. He promised he'd take care of everything and protect me. Right now, everything looks different. Like I've been deceived. And I, naive, can't decide whether to trust them or not. I actually do trust Vlad, as that trust hasn’t disappeared. Secretly, I hope that he will be the one to become my husband. Or at least take me away from his brother.
The first half of the day goes by quickly. Stylists are working on me. They craft the perfect hairstyle and adorn my head with a tiny tiara. The makeup makes me look older. The dress highlights all my virtues. Only after all the preparations does my father lead us to a huge SUV. Mom, in a nice, strict milk-colored dress, and my brother, like my dad, are in tuxedos. They are talking about something, but I can't hear. Due to nerves, life around me is practically mute, passing by. I just register that we’re getting into the car, driving through the city, and ending up behind it. After about twenty minutes, the car stops next to a wooden hotel in boho style. Around it are planted coniferous and deciduous trees. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice an altar shaped like an arch decorated with pink and delicate flowers. A path the color of coffee with milk is strewn with petals, and chairs for guests, already filled with strangers to me, are covered with fabric resembling burlap.
— We're going inside, from there I will lead you to Timur to the sound of the Mendelssohn march. — My father abruptly states, yet to our surprise, he squeezes out a smile. — Sofia, you and Timur will sit in the front row, the seats are free.
We step outside. Mom obeys Dad's command, and I follow him into the house. Inside it's beautiful. Light parquet, greenery in tall pots, sheer curtains, and interesting pictures on the walls. It feels cozy yet modern and stylish at the same time.
— Stay here, — Vladimir Dykij leads me into one of the rooms. — I'll be back soon.
He doesn’t expect a reply, as I have always been obedient, so he simply walks ahead. I sit for a while in a large chair examining the interior but then decide to look out the window. It overlooks the altar and the guests. I watch everything. The registrar is waiting for the couple, mom and my brother have already taken their places, just like most of the guests; my father isn’t visible, nor is Timur. My gaze glides over the unfamiliar faces. Overall, I’ve seen most of them a few times in my life, at various events important to Dad, but I'm not close with any of them. I move further and further along to the trees and under their canopies, and suddenly my heart stops. It tightens with pain as if someone has stabbed it with a shard of glass. My breathing slows down to alleviate the burning sensation in my chest. Under the canopy of the deciduous trees stands Vlad. In a black, strict suit and a perfect snow-white shirt. On his wrists are a bracelet and a watch, as always. A cigarette is pinched between his fingers, and I didn’t even know he smoked. He isn’t hiding, rather lazily observing everything happening.
I can’t take my eyes off him. I grip the windowsill with my fingers and unconsciously squeeze it.
Suddenly, the Saint looks up and gazes at me. Right into my eyes, as if it's possible from such a distance. A crooked smile touches his soft lips, and I draw the lines around his mouth from memory.
Only now it doesn't hurt. On the contrary, I don’t know what to do. I want to run out to meet him. To throw myself into his arms. To bury my nose in him and breathe and breathe in the scent of danger, paints, and luxury. And to feel… Every light touch. Every breath that brushes against my skin. Faint, husky voice.
— Time, — Dad's voice startles me into jumping in place.
I sharply turn around. While I was looking at Vlad, I stopped watching what was happening elsewhere.
— Let's go, — he extends his hand to me and looks piercingly into my eyes.
I calm my fear and approach the man. I extend my hand to him and obediently follow. My soul is tearing apart; I want so much for Vlad to be here for a reason. Maybe at the right moment he will take Timur’s place? That has to happen, right? Or… is he going to take me away right now?
I don’t remember how Vladimir Dykij leads me to the altar. I don’t hear the music. I don’t hear voices. Nothing, at all. Just my own heartbeat, scared, thumping in my temples. Only hopes gnash and scream that now, right now, the Saint will change everything…
But nothing changes. When I come to, I see Timur in the place of the groom, not Vlad. His gray-blue eyes are serious, but there’s a smile on his lips.
— Hello, the Saint’s bride. — The man's whisper disturbs me. The Saint's bride?
— Are you ready to become the Saint's wife?