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I’m glad that I didn’t run away. It turns out, standing and fighting for what you want might be scary, but some things are worth it, and I’m pretty sure that Alexei Romanov is one of them.

28

When Uncle Martinš came to visit, two years or more after Dad died, Mom was delighted. She thought that, finally, after neglecting us for so long, his family might lend a hand. Or you know, give us some money, which would be more helpful.

But then Martinš never left.

His arrival turned out to be the very worst of luck.

The only wedding we ever had was the kind they do at the city records office. He marched her downtown and made her fill out all the forms so that he could say he owned her, basically. It didn’t really leave me with the best impression of marriage.

Or weddings.

Yet, when Alexei proposed on national television—in Russia, yes, but it must’ve made it to Latvia too, because every single person I’ve ever met and some that I haven’t are all texting me—I thought I’d be filled with fear. Instead, I felt proud. Proud that someone like him would ask me. Proud that, in spite of the damage I was causing to his reputation and popularity, he still wanted me by his side. Proud that in spite of my refusal to date, I was still proposed to by the most eligible bachelor, maybe in the world.

But I also felt safe in saying yes.

I’m not afraid, even now, that he’ll change his mind. I’m not afraid that the whims of humanity or his people will sway him. In many ways, I barely know him. But in others, no one knows him better than I do. I’ve seen him in more than one form. I’ve experienced the wonder of his magic. I know the truth about his past. I know his dreams for the future and what he envisions my part to be.

And I know his greatest fear: losing his loved ones again.

I thought, with all that we have going on, that Kristiana and Aleksandr would either postpone their wedding, or that we’d be forced to miss it. A month ago, I wouldn’t have cared much. I might not have even gone, had I not met Alexei.

Back then, I didn’t realize quite how much of my decision-making was affected by my jealousy. I mean, I knew I was jealous of Kris. Her mom was worlds better than mine, for one, but her life in general was incomparable. Her family. Her home. Her money. And her fiancé. Most of all, though, she’s always felt loved. She’s always had a support system, even if her dad is a bit of a mess.

Whereas, I have always felt utterly alone.

It wasn’t really fair for me to feel that way. I always had Mirdza, and Kristiana too, if I’m being honest. They’ve never wavered in their care for me. Even my mom, in her own way, has always loved me. There’s value in that I never quite acknowledged.

Alexei insists that we go back to Latvia for their wedding and that they shouldn’t postpone under any circumstance. Watching Kristiana and Aleksandr prepare the last-minute details is one part inspirational and two parts stressful. For some reason, when Alexei proposed, I didn’t really think about the stress and decisions involved in having the wedding itself.

Bridesmaids and flowers, a venue and vows, a dress and a priest.

It’s a lot.

Most girls talk about their dress, and their perfect spot, and their colors, and their favorite flowers. It’s not anything I ever dreamed about, simply because I never wanted to be shackled to a man.

“—hold that?”

I realize that Kris is talking to me. “Right.” I take the flowers. I blink. “Where do you want me to put them?” I should be paying more attention and not distracted by my own stress.

“They’re for you,” she says. “Are you alright?” She looks about one centimeter away from snapping her fingers in front of my face.

“I’m fine.”

“Thinking about your wedding?” Her mouth curls into a smirk.

“Kind of,” I say. “Except, do you really think we have to do one? Like, a big one? That people come to?”

Kris drops her own bouquet on the ground, lilies scattering all over the floor.

“Oh, no.” I lean over and start gathering them up. “I bet we can tuck these back in.”

“Who cares about the flowers?” Kristiana says. “Of course you have to have a wedding.”

“You don’t care about the flowers?” I ask.

She frowns.