The day after Fredericka left, Sergei began preparations for the wedding, and invitations were sent out to every acquaintance he had a reason for inviting. No expense was spared, and only the best was hired, with the billionaire personally attending to every detail.

It was to be the biggest event of the year, and it was also to be the most controversial. Because Rockton was a small town, it had taken only a matter of days before locals realized that Fredericka and Sergei weren’t just living apart. They were also estranged, and even with the date of the wedding approaching, stolen photos of Fredericka leaving her rented apartment showed that her finger remained noticeably bare of any engagement ring.

By now, Sergei had been made the butt of people’s jokes and the subject of countless memes, most of them depicting the billionaire as an arrogant playboy who had gotten his just desserts. Bets were also being made on whether the billionaire would be stood up at the altar, with the odds on him being jilted 5:1.

Even with all this, the billionaire made no attempt to visit Fredericka. She had asked him for time and space, and he would give it to her, even if it killed him. The only thing he allowed himself to do was to contact her every day, leaving her voice mails, sending her text messages, and through it he would update her about the wedding preparations.

Did she like white roses? It was what he had chosen for their wedding.

Was white and gold as a motif to her liking? If not, he told her to send word and he would have it replaced to the color scheme she desired.

Had she talked to Anneke and Alyx yet? The billionaire had asked them to be her bridesmaids, but he wasn’t certain if they were attending. Those two weren’t talking to him either.

And after these progress reports, he would apologize and explain to her, even knowing that by now she must be sick and tired of hearing him say the same thing again and again.

Over and over, he would tell her about how he had used Elsa as an excuse so Fyodor wouldn’t know about him meeting his mother in secret. Over and over, he would enumerate the reasons why he had it found so fucking easy to jump to conclusions about Julian Alexeyev.

And with every call, desperation and despair would threaten to choke him, and he would end it with three words.

I love you.

Never in his life had the billionaire imagined he would have to bare his soul by typing words or leaving unanswered voice recordings, but the billionaire did so without a qualm. It was easy to grovel when the ability to keep his heart beating was at stake.

On the eve before their wedding, Sergei was unable to fall asleep. The temptation to drown himself in liquor beckoned to him, but the billionaire resisted the urge, knowing that only the weakest fool would come to his wedding inebriated.

When the silence in his room became too much to bear, he decided to step out to his balcony, and that was when he saw the lone figure coming up the driveway.

Ah.

He recognized who it was easily of course, even though a part of him wished he could pretend he didn’t see her.

Sergei met her by the front door, taking Fredericka by surprise and making her stumble back with a gasp. For a moment, all he could do was gaze at her, his dark eyes roaming over her with hungry need.

She looked…good. Beautiful actually, with her red hair silky and shining, curled against her back, and effortlessly elegant with her still-slender body sheathed in a loose, gauzy blouse with bell-bottom sleeves and white capris.

“Do you know what time it is?” he asked jerkily.

“About four thirty in the morning?” she answered, a wobbly smile appearing on her lips.

“That’s right.” His fists clenched. “Too early for the wedding.” And yet she was already here, and a sick feeling started in his stomach as the billionaire tried not to think what that meant.

When Fredericka’s lips started to part, fear made him beat her to speaking, and he heard himself ask, “Have you seen the invitations?” He had never been a coward, but it had long dawned on him that love had the power to make a man become anything.

Fool, idiot, and now – a spineless groom-to-be clutching at straws.

“I learned calligraphy for it,” he continued tautly when she only stared at him, eyes unblinking.

“I know.” Her smile slowly faded, and the sight chipped at his heart. “I r-read it on the papers…among other things.”

Ah. He said quietly, “The jokes don’t bother me.”

She bit her lip hard, the look on her face telling him that she was holding back from saying anything.

He breathed sharply, feeling that with every second that passed, the further she was slipping away from him. “Are you hungry? We can have breakfast---”

“Sergei.”

Her voice tapered out in the end, her eyes suddenly filling with tears, and the sight of it nearly drove him to his knees. This was it, he thought lifelessly. This was the end, and even knowing that he should simply bow out gracefully – he just couldn’t.

“I fucked up,” he said bleakly, raising his eyes to her. “I know I fucked up, Erie---”

“Sergei---”

“Please.”

“I don’t want to hear another word,” she said shakily. “Okay?”

The billionaire whitened.

“I came here to get my stuff. That’s all. So there’s no need to say any of those things – okay?” And as if she could no longer bear hearing his voice again, she pushed past him and entered the house.

“Fredericka?” Sergei heard his father call out in obvious shock, and it was only then he realized that he wasn’t the only one awake in the house. Fredericka’s reply was muffled, and when the billionaire finally found the strength to turn around, he saw that his whole damn family was on the stairs, all of them immobile as Fredericka marched past them.

When Fredericka disappeared from view, Misha came to him, clapping a hand over his shoulders. “Prosti.”

The billionaire nodded jerkily. “It’s no one’s fault but mine.” He lowered his head, thinking that he had become exactly what Fredericka had feared. Someone who acted exactly like his goddamn age, someone immature enough to have been swayed by past trauma. Someone who didn’t deserve her trust---

He heard Seri gasp, and for some reason, he also heard Vassi whistle.

The billionaire’s head jerked up, and the first thing he saw was Fredericka, dressed in the wedding gown he had purchased for her.

“I told you,” she said shakily, eyes bright with unshed tears. “You didn’t have to say any of those words. I really just came here to get this.” Fredericka watched Sergei take several steps up, her heart aching painfully at the rather clumsy way he moved. He had always been impossibly elegant, and now---

“I listened to your every message, you know,” she whispered. “And I read all your emails.”

The billionaire stilled.

“It tended to get kinda repetitive in the end,” she teased with a tremulous smile, “but those were my favorite parts.”

“Was it?” It had taken a long time for the billionaire to answer, but when he did, the sound of his silky tone was so wonderfully familiar that this time she just couldn’t stop the tears from rushing down.

Nodding vehemently at him, she said, “They were my favorite because they reminded me of what was important.”

The billionaire reached her then, and she smiled up at him, cupping his face, saying, “You did fuck up---”

A hoarse laugh escaped him. “And that’s the important part?”

“No. The important part was that you only fucked up once. But before it – before this, I was the one who fucked up, again and again, and you always forgave me. You always came after me, and so---” Her voice caught. “How can I not forgive you, too?”

He had already hauled her to him before she even finished speaking, and she was already sobbing against his chest by the time he whispered fiercely, “I love you.” He kissed her hard, saying hoarsely against her lips, “Thank you for still letting me be your trophy husband.”