Chapter One
“An ordinary Tuesday.”
That’s what people called it. Nothing remarkable. Nothing worth remembering.
The funny thing about ordinary days is that they rarely ask for permission before changing your life.
Rosaliya Volkov learned that on a Tuesday.
Three weeks later, she stood in a white dress.
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That day could not have been more perfect than it already was. The church, an old building that kept its old bones from years of war, was filled with people. They spilled from the pews to the gardens outside and crowded the front steps. Flower girls ran on the stone paths, scattering their petals before the ceremony even began. The sun graced us with its warm rays after 5 days of grey skies and wet concrete.
My wedding dress had been pressed that morning, I woke up with the scent of chocolate pancakes in the air. The same breakfast my father made at every birthday ever since I was six. My brother stacked my plate until I felt my stomach groan from the weight.
I ate every last bite.
My mother combed my hair as my 10 year old sister played with my makeup. I laughed while she drew a unibrow on her face, and smeared lipstick on her lips and cheeks.
The bridesmaids, some cousins and some friends, wore green silk dresses that flowed like water down their bodies. Gasps and excited whispers followed as I stepped out in my wedding dress. A monstrous thing of white fabric and silver jewels.
I thought I would trip every time I moved. But my father held me, firm and gentle like he always did. My mother handed me the bouquet as we approached the church. Her eyes glistened in the sun. I gave her a tight hug, one I hadn’t given her in years. Then she joined the people in the church.
I could hear my sister giggling, so free and full of joy, as the flower petals in her basket fell on the ground. The bridesmaids walked inside with their arms looped around the arms of sharply dressed groomsmen.
The doors to the church opened.
The music began.
My father’s arm tightened around mine.
The conversations inside the church faded.
Suddenly, there was nowhere left to look except forward.
At the end of the aisle stood Aleksandr Barinov. Dark hair had fallen over his forehead, refusing to stay where it had been combed. He wore a custom tailored grey suit with a white shirt underneath.
His attention drifted across the crowd before settling on me.
All the warmth the sun gave and yet those eyes managed to send a shiver down my spine.
Three weeks ago, I had never heard his voice.
Three weeks ago, I had never imagined marrying him.
Now I was walking toward him.
And there was no turning back.
