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“Where’s Slava?” I ask, belatedly realizing I haven’t seen the boy since our lessons in the morning. “Will he be at the ceremony as well?”

Alina nods. “Lyudmila’s been keeping him out of sight, since the fewer people who know of his presence here, the better. But Nikolai does want him at the wedding and in the pictures, so he’s taken the appropriate precautions with the priest and the photographer team.”

“Precautions? As in, some kind of non-disclosure agreement? Wait, on second thought, I don’t want to know.”

She flashes me a dazzling grin. “Smart of you. But yes, an NDA is part of it, I believe. Along with some stronger measures.”

My heart gives another thump, then launches into an all-out gallop. The reality is descending on me, fast, and with it, a sense of panic.

What am I doing? Why did I agree to this? How do I know Nikolai will hold up his side of the bargain? He still hasn’t told me what happened with his father—though to be fair, with all the wedding preparations, we haven’t had much time to talk. Which is a problem in and of itself. Everything is happening way too fast, all the decisions out of my hands, all the implications huge. For one thing, it’s dawning on me that by marrying Nikolai, I’m not just gaining a husband, but also a son.

I’m going to be a stepmom to a four-year-old.

I must look a little wild-eyed because Alina reaches over to squeeze my hands. “Breathe. It’s going to be okay. Just take it one minute at a time.”

That’s good advice. That’s what Mom always told me: just focus on the next step, the next thing that needs to happen. Nobody has a crystal ball when it comes to the distant future, so it’s pointless to think too far ahead. In any case, becoming Slava’s stepmom is the least scary part of this venture, as I already love the boy and can’t imagine not having him in my life.

I take a deep breath to settle my frantic heartbeat. “Thanks. We should probably head down before Nikolai comes looking for us.” Stepping back, I give her sea-colored gown a swift once-over. “You look amazing, by the way.”

Alina’s grin returns. “Me? You’re the gorgeous bride.”

That may be the case, but she outshines me, as always. On a regular day, Nikolai’s sister could pass for a starlet walking the red carpet, but when she puts in extra effort with her hair and makeup, as she has today, her beauty is almost unreal. If I saw a picture of her like this, I’d be sure it was Photoshopped to death, perfected with all sorts of filters. Yet here she is, standing next to me, as real as can be.

“Do you have anyone back in Russia?” I ask on impulse. “A boyfriend or anything like that?”

Despite our growing friendship, Alina’s been as closemouthed on that topic as on the subject of her family, and I can’t help but wonder why. I’ve told her all about my ex-boyfriends, but she’s never reciprocated with such stories of her own.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think she hasn’t dated much.

“A boyfriend?” Her peal of laughter sounds forced. “No. There’s no one like that.”

And we’re back to square one.

“Why not?” I ask, unable to leave it alone. Focusing on Alina’s love life is vastly preferable to dwelling on where mine is heading. “Surely—”

“We should go downstairs,” she says, turning away. “Let’s go before we’re late.”

32

Nikolai

“Slavochka…” I crouch in front of my son. “I have to talk to you about something.”

He stares at me unblinkingly, unease evident in his expression. He couldn’t have missed all the people going in and out of the house, and I know he’s been wondering about what’s going on. Lyudmila told me he’s been peppering her with questions all afternoon—questions she’s held off answering, figuring I should be the one to break the news to him.

“It’s nothing bad,” I say when he remains silent. “In fact, it’s something really great. Remember when I promised you that Chloe is going to stay with us forever?”

He nods warily.

“Well, that’s what today is all about.” I smile broadly. “We’re getting married. Chloe is going to be not just your tutor, but your new mom.”

His eyes go wide, and his small chin quivers. “My mom?”

“Technically, stepmom, but I’m sure Chloe would like it if you came to think of her as your mom over time.”

I expect Slava to react with joy, since he absolutely adores Chloe. Instead, his chin quivers harder, and shiny tears pool in his eyes. “Does that mean—” His childish voice cracks. “Does that mean she’ll die?”

Fuck. This again. I feel like someone smashed my chest with a hammer.

If Ksenia weren’t already dead, I’d kill her for dying in that car crash and instilling this fear in our son.