Chapter Twenty-three
Day seventeen…
Willow is finally resting at a hospital in St. Petersburg. I had her treated at a local hospital in Pevlovagrad, then flown here to this world-class hospital where she would receive the finest care.
Willow’s got a broken nose, ribs, and a fractured fibula. Darya lost the sight in her right eye and needs extensive skin grafts on the right side of her face.
I sit by Willow’s side every day. I read to her. I talk to her about our future. I tell her how the wedding preparations are going.
She’s quieter than usual.
She’s not at all bothered that she stabbed the man who used to be her father and watched him die. That, she’s completely at peace with. It’s the fact that she was forced to kill a helpless, restrained woman, even a woman as vile as Ludmilla, that has dampened her inner fire. I’ve told her again and again that Ludmilla would have died either way, that she saved Darya’s life by doing what she did.
I don’t know if it’s penetrating through the fog of sadness that envelops her, because she’s lost in a silent world I’m not a part of.
This hurts me. Seeing her suffer is a continuing rebuke to me, and makes me feel like I’ve failed on a level that I’ve never experienced before. The only thing in the world that I want is her happiness, and that is something that I can’t obtain with money or threats or even kind, loving words, apparently. It’s the first time I’ve ever wanted something I couldn’t have.
I fly her family to my house in Sweden, in preparation for the wedding. As her body slowly heals, she talks to them every day via Skype.
Four days before our wedding, I make sure she’s comfortable in her hospital bed, she has water by her bedside, she’s eaten breakfast, and she wants for nothing. I make sure the private nurse that I hired to cater to her every wish is stationed in the room.
I leave to make some business phone calls, to deal with issues from suppliers and vendors and a million other issues that have piled up while I’ve concentrated on Willow and her slow, sad recovery.
When I return, she is gone. I feel as if I’ve been knocked off my feet.
There is a hand-written note on the night table. I read it, my heart sinking lower and lower with every word. “If you really love me, you will understand. It has to be my choice.”
* * *
Day thirty…
It’s April, a year from the time when I took Willow from her uncle’s home. The day is unseasonably mild for this time of year in Sweden. The clouds have parted, and sun beams down on us coldly.
And I am surrounded by a crowd on what should be my wedding day, but I am completely alone.
Slavik and Andrei are there, and Jasha, Anastasia, Yuri and Helenka. They’re playing with Lukas while Kris and Marya watch. Darya is there as well. The right side of her face is still bandaged. Grigor is with her, hovering attentively. When she was first admitted to the hospital, while Willow was in surgery, I contacted him myself, because I knew it was what Willow would have done if she could. He dropped everything and flew to the hospital in St. Petersburg to be by her side.
Since the day Willow left, none of us have heard a word from her, but I insisted that we prepare anyway. Is she still in Russia? Has she returned to Sweden? I don’t have a clue. I’ve got all my men looking for her, but this is a girl who knows how to live off the grid. I am sure that she has multiple fake identities and paperwork to back it up, so I won’t know if she’s crossed the border or not.
We’re in a room that’s been cleared of all furniture and decorated for my wedding day. The cake is a big white buttercream concoction. It’s decorated with a man and a woman standing under a willow tree. I think she’d like that touch.
If only she were here.
I am a stubborn fool. I insisted on going forward with the wedding arrangements, and nobody dared to argue with me. It’s a show of faith in our relationship, or a desperate plea, I’m not sure which.
Please come back to me, Willow. Please choose me.
There are white roses everywhere. An arch made of willow boughs over the doorway.
I am wearing a tuxedo. The priest is here, waiting.
I risk looking like a fool.
Stupid thoughts intrude.
Willow won’t have time to change. It’s 12:05 and we were supposed to get married at noon.
Who am I kidding? She’s not coming. I know that. Why would I expect more? Why would I deserve more? She is beautiful, and kind, and too good for my world, the world I dragged her into without sparing a moment’s thought for how much I was hurting her. The things I’ve done to her…she should run away. Far, far away.
But just because I deserve that doesn’t mean I wanted her to.
Yuri walks up to me and pulls on my sleeve. “When is Willow getting here?” he demands.
“Shhh!” His sister elbows him. Because she doesn’t think Willow is coming. She grabs him by the arm and marches him off, protesting.
The time has come, and now the minutes are ticking by. I won’t leave the room today. Not until the sun goes down. The small crowd is milling around, avoiding my gaze, murmuring to each other.
I walk to the back of the room, where the bar is set up, and I have the bartender pour me a double shot of vodka. I down it one long, burning gulp.
The murmur of the crowd grows louder.
“Hey!” a breathless voice cries out from behind me, and my heart leaps into my throat.
Willow is running past everyone, limping on the leg that still has a cast on it, making her way towards me, gasping for breath. “Oh, my God, I am so sorry. Every single thing went wrong today. The plane was late. The cab ran into so much traffic. My cell phone died.” She’s near tears. My heart sings with joy. The heaviness that’s been pressing me down into the earth falls away, and I am almost floating, I’m so light and free now.
It had to be her choice. And she chose me.
I grab her and pull her to me and smell her sweetness. Her warmth melts me, and I blink hard because my eyes are stinging.
Everyone is staring at us, and the mood has shifted. The room is full of sunshine now.
“Do you have the dress?” she asks me, still breathless. She’s wearing jeans and sneakers. And my engagement ring.
“Never mind the dress. We’re getting married right now.”
“Right now? Like, this minute?” Her eyes widen as she looks up at me. “Don’t you want to wait for me to put on some makeup or something?” Her face is clean and bare and beautiful. Her bruises are mostly faded. Her short, dark-blonde hair is messy and wavy, and I can’t wait to sink my fingers into it.
I lean in. “You’re already going to get the ass-whipping of a lifetime for pulling this little stunt. Believe me, it’s going to be a wedding night to remember. For every minute that you make me wait, it adds to your punishment. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispers, and there’s a gleam of anticipation in her beautiful blue eyes.
“And Willow?”
“Yes, sir?” Her head is tipped back, her lips parted, and she’s lucky that there’s a room full of people and a priest looking at us right now, because otherwise she’d be bent over a table screaming for mercy.
My heart swells with love and gratitude and relief.
“I love you so much, sweetheart. Thank you for coming back to me. Thank you, a million times. I don’t deserve it, but since you are doing me the honor of agreeing to be my wife, I vow to protect you and to dedicate my life to making you happy.”