Page 41 of Crystal Veil (Rostov Bratva #2)
ELENA
The wind carries the scent of salt and roses as I step out of the villa and onto the sand.
My bare feet sink into it, warm and powdery, grounding me in the present even as my heart lifts with every breath.
The texture beneath my toes reminds me of childhood summers when Mama would take me to the beach on her rare days off, her calloused hands gentle as she braided my hair.
At the same time, we watched the waves crash against the shore.
The sky is soft with early evening light, painted in strokes of coral and violet, as if the universe decided to bless this moment with a masterpiece.
Clouds drift lazily across the horizon, their edges touched with gold, and I can almost hear my mother's voice whispering in the breeze about how sunsets are God's way of reminding us that endings can be beautiful, too.
A white chapel stands near the waterline, small and elegant, its steeple silhouetted against the fading sun.
It looks like it belongs in a dream, not quite real, and too perfect to touch.
There are no pews, only ivory cushions spread across driftwood benches that have been weathered smooth by years of salt air.
The aisle is lined with lanterns, their golden light flickering like whispered promises.
Petals scatter the sand in my path, a trail of soft reds and whites that lead me to Renat.
My fingers brush against the delicate chain around my neck, hidden beneath the high neckline of my dress.
Mama's locket sits against my skin, warm from my body heat.
She wore it every day of her life, through every struggle, every late-night shift, every moment of doubt.
Now it's mine, a tangible connection to her strength, her love, her unwavering faith that better days would come.
Renat stands at the end of the aisle, beneath the chapel arch, waiting.
His suit is made of ivory linen, tailored and timeless, with an open collar, and his dark hair is pushed back from his face by the breeze.
The sun dips low behind him, wrapping him in firelight, and yet it's his eyes I can't look away from.
Hazel, deep, filled with flecks of gold that catch the dusk like starlight.
They lock on mine as if the world doesn't exist beyond this moment.
My heart pounds so loudly I almost miss the soft music playing behind me. A single cello, low and lyrical. Simple and elegant. Like the way he looks at me now. As if I'm not just the woman he fought for, bled for, and loved against the odds, but the only thing in the world he sees clearly.
The melody wraps around me like a warm embrace, and I recognize it instantly.
It's a piece Renat had commissioned especially for today, a haunting arrangement of a Cuban lullaby my mother used to sing to me.
He remembers everything I've told him about her, every story and detail.
The fact that he chose this music, which is connected to the woman who shaped me into who I am, makes my throat tighten with emotion.
I walk toward him, barefoot and trembling, every step brushing my dress against the sand.
The gown is soft, ivory lace that clings to my curves before falling in delicate ripples around my legs.
The dress is a masterpiece of design, empire-waisted to gracefully conceal the growing curve of my belly where our child rests.
The silk overlay flows like liquid starlight, and the intricate beadwork shimmers in the dying light with every movement.
My hair tumbles over my shoulders in loose waves, the only adornment a small comb with a single pearl tucked above my ear.
I wanted simple and real. And this is as real as anything has ever been.
On either side of the aisle, the people we love watch in silence.
Amelia sits in the front row, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, her hand clutched in Nick's.
She wears a flowing dress in soft champagne, her hair swept up in an elegant chignon that showcases her pearl earrings.
My heart swells seeing her there, my chosen sister, the one who held my hand through every nightmare and celebrated every victory.
Nick wears his usual suit, but the expression on his face isn't that of a hard-edged editor tonight.
It's something gentler. Paternal and proud.
The man who took a chance on a young journalist with more passion than experience and became the father figure I never had.
His weathered hands are folded in his lap, and I can see the way his jaw works as he tries to contain his emotions.
Behind them, Roman stands with his arms crossed, a rare smile curling his lips.
Viktor is beside him, straight-backed and fierce in his dark blazer.
Even Artur is here, stone-faced but present.
Men who have fought and bled with Renat, who would kill for him, who now bear witness to a different kind of vow.
Their presence feels like a blessing, these dangerous men who have chosen to stand as guardians of our happiness.
Ana, my mother, would have loved this moment. She would have wept at the beauty of it, at seeing her daughter marry a man who loves her with such intensity. I can almost feel her presence in the warm breeze that lifts my hair, in the way the sunset paints everything in shades of gold and rose.
When I reach Renat, he takes my hands without hesitation. His fingers are warm and steady, grounding mine with his silent strength. He doesn't speak, not yet. He just holds me there, beneath the open sky, as the waves roll in behind us and the chapel bells chime once in the distance.
“You came barefoot,” he murmurs softly, leaning close so only I can hear. His accent wraps around the words like velvet, and I feel that familiar flutter in my chest.
I smile, feeling the warmth of his breath against my ear. “I wanted to feel the sand. Feel real. Feel you.”
His jaw tightens, but it isn't a sign of restraint.
It's raw emotion. He lifts my hand, brushing his lips against my knuckles with reverence that makes my knees weak.
The gesture is so tender and utterly devoted, that I have to bite my lip to keep from crying.
Then he slides the ring onto my finger, slowly, reverently.
The officiant's voice is soft, but certain.
He doesn't talk about religion or legalities.
Just love. Commitment. The power of choosing each other despite the shadows.
His words flow over us like a benediction, speaking of two souls finding their home in each other, of love that transcends fear and doubt.
“Do you, Elena Martinez, take this man to be your husband? To love him in light and shadow, in joy and sorrow, for all the days of your life?”
There's no hesitation in my heart, no doubt in my mind. “Yes,” I declare. My voice carries across the beach, strong, clear, and certain.
When he turns to Renat, I expect formality. But Renat doesn't wait. He doesn't need the question.
“Yes. To everything. To her.”
His voice is fierce and passionate, leaving no room for doubt. The words seem to come from the very depths of his soul, and I can see the way they affect everyone gathered here. This isn't just a wedding ceremony. It's a declaration of war against anyone who would try to separate us.
The world stills, and the officiant smiles. “Then I pronounce you husband and wife.”
Renat doesn't wait for the cue. He pulls me into his arms and kisses me with everything he has. His lips are warm and demanding, claiming me as his own in front of everyone who matters. The crowd erupts in applause, and the wind rushes around us like a blessing.
We stand there in the sand, tangled in each other, as the sun slips below the horizon and the stars arrive one by one. I'm no longer Elena, the journalist. Or the girl who fled from fear. I am Elena Rostov. His wife. The mother of his child.
We walk down the aisle together, hand in hand, surrounded by laughter and cheers. Our guests follow us to the tented reception area beside the chapel, where strings of golden lights sway in the breeze and tables are decorated with shells, glass lanterns, and clusters of ivory orchids.
The reception space is magical, transformed into something from a fairy tale.
Silk drapes in cream and gold flutter in the ocean breeze, and the tables are set with fine china and crystal glasses that sparkle in the candlelight.
Each centerpiece is a work of art, featuring orchids and roses arranged with pieces of sea glass and smooth stones.
There are toasts. Amelia stands first, her voice wobbling with emotion as she speaks of playground secrets, broken hearts, and the unshakable loyalty between us.
She tells the story of how we met on the first day of kindergarten, how I was the shy girl with the thick accent who hid behind her mother's skirts, and how she marched up to me during recess and announced we were going to be best friends forever.
“I knew from that first day that Elena was special,” she continues, her voice growing stronger.
“She's the bravest person I know, the most loyal friend anyone could ask for.
She's faced down armed criminals, investigated corruption, and stood up to some of the most dangerous men in Miami.
But watching her fall in love with Renat, seeing the way he looks at her like she's his whole world is when I knew she'd found her match.”
Nick follows, grumbling about her stealing all the good lines, before surprising everyone with a heartfelt speech that ends with, “Renat, if you ever hurt her, I will find you. Mafia or not.”
Renat chuckles, the sound warm and genuine. “Fair enough.”
Roman raises his glass next, his Russian accent thick with emotion as he speaks about loyalty, family, and the bonds that tie us together. “To Elena,” he concludes, “who tamed the beast and made him human again.”