Page 81

Abby

Leetham, Western Australia

Wet season is just beginning, and in late afternoon, heavy storm clouds gather over the slow-moving river.

The cliffs of the gorge glow rich red, twisted trees growing from cracks in the ancient stone.

The water is deep and still between the cliffs.

From the winding path my father leads me down, I can see Dimitry standing on a flat expanse of rock jutting out over the water, Roman at his side.

The rest of the congregation are seated on a small sandy cove facing the rock, backed by the tall cliff I’m making my way down.

“Impressive feat, getting all the chairs down there,” I murmur as Dad helps me around a large boulder.

“Those Banderos are earning their keep,” he says dryly. “As well as drinking the local pub dry.”

I giggle, and Dimitry looks up. The afternoon sun catches his face, slanting across the hard angles, gleaming off the scar running down one side. His eyes narrow as he catches sight of me, then he momentarily disappears as I round the final boulder.

When I emerge again, he’s staring down the flower-strewn aisle, the blazing smile on his face taking my breath away.

“Well, at least he’s happy to see you,” Dad murmurs, and I bite my lip to prevent another giggle.

“Be serious,” I mutter as I take the first step onto the red carpet lining the ground up to the rock where Dimitry stands.

“Hard to,” Dad mutters back. “Last time I saw your husband-to-be, he was stripped to the waist, shaving under a mirror hung on a tree. Doesn’t mind roughing it a bit, does he?”

“No.” The word catches in my throat as I stare up at him, tall, broad, and magnificent as the hewn cliffs surrounding us. “I think that roughing it is where Dimitry is most comfortable.”

“Then you’ll be okay, girl.” We halt at the base of the rock. “This is where I leave you,” Dad says gruffly. He kisses my cheek. “I know you wanted to do this last part on your own,” he whispers in my ear. “But I want you to know that I’ll always be here, if you ever need me.”

Tears spring into my eyes as I grip him hard. “I know that, Dad,” I whisper back.

Leon is waiting on the next level of rock, smiling gravely as he helps me up the final step. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs as I pass him. “My son is a lucky man.”

“Thank you.” I smile at him as Roman reaches for my hand. Giving me the ghost of a wink, he leads me across to face Dimitry, then steps back to take his place as best man.

A rush of air wafts over us, rippling the water below and carrying the wild, rich scent of the Australian bush with it.

I catch sight of my mother in the front row, clutching my father’s hand and looking up mistily at us.

Darya is beside her, bouncing Aleksander on her knee, swiping at her cheeks and smiling tremulously up at me.

Masha, beside her, waves frantically, and I give her a little wave back. The congregation titters.

My sister-in-law, Belinda, smiles at me reassuringly. Ready? she mouths.

I nod.

More ready than you could ever know.

“Family and friends,” Belinda says, beaming out at the congregation. “Abby and Dimitry thank you all for being here today to witness their vows.”

I’ve never been more grateful for my sister-in-law’s calm, solid presence, as steady as the earth itself.

I hear her words through a golden haze of love and semidisbelief, that this is actually happening, that we are really here, alive and safe and surrounded by family, being married in a place I once thought I’d said goodbye to forever.

There is a profound, satisfying peace in saying our vows atop the ancient rock, witnessed by the earth that raised me and the wilderness that lives forever in my soul.

I watch the solid white-gold band slide onto my finger. My own hands shake as I slide Dimitry’s onto his. He looks down at me, his eyes the color of the storm building behind us, blazing with such love it takes my breath away.

Then he is kissing me, on and on, until the congregation are on their feet whooping and cheering, and when I finally open my eyes, I see Roman surreptitiously wiping tears from his.

The storm breaks barely moments after we step apart, the wet season rain pouring down the red rock in a sudden deluge, turning the calm water to a bubbling mass of wild life.

Dimitry and I stand on the rock, clinging to each other and gasping with laughter as our friends and family bolt for the shelter of the waiting vehicles, scrambling up the rocky pathway I recently descended, the carefully strewn flowers sliding beneath their feet to make a crumpled, scented pile down on the cove.

“Time to go, brother,” Roman says cheerfully, clapping Dimitry on the shoulder before he goes to pluck a wriggling Aleksander from Darya’s arms.

Dimitry looks down at me. “Ready, Skip?”

I shake my head slowly. “Not yet. I want just a minute here, with you.”

He grins as the rain pours down on us both. “Just a minute, huh?”

Darya approaches, looking at me worriedly. “Are you sure? This rain is going to ruin your dress—”

“I don’t care,” I say, laughing as I turn my face up to it. “Go. We’ll catch you up.”

Then we are alone in the gorge, thunder breaking over our heads and lighting cracking the sky all around.

Dimitry’s arms tighten around my waist, drawing me close to him. “You know this isn’t exactly safe, Skip. Water, lightning, slippery pathways...”

“Oh no,” I say in mock horror, smiling up at him. “Not exactly safe? How on earth will I cope?”

He chuckles. “I guess we’re starting as we mean to go on, then, Mrs. Volkov?”

“In more ways than one.” I take his hand and pull it slowly around my waist, until his palm splays across my abdomen. I cover his hand with my own. “It’s a good thing you’ve already put a ring on my finger,” I say, “or my father might have had a reason to use his shotgun after all.”

Dimitry frowns, then his eyes widen in understanding. He looks down at my belly, then back up to me, shock and disbelief mingling with something else that makes my heart clench fiercely in my chest. “You’re sure? ”

“Positive.” I laugh softly. “Can you believe I don’t even get to have a drink at my own wedding?”

His mouth breaks into a grin, and then we’re laughing together, the rain running down our faces and plastering my dress to my skin in a way that undoes all of my mother’s careful preparations.

“I wanted to tell you here, in this place,” I say softly, “because even though our baby will grow up in Spain, I want him—or her—to know they belong here, too.”

Dimitry nods slowly, smoothing the water away from my face. “And you, Skip? Where do you belong?”

Standing on my tiptoes, I kiss him, the rain a sweet benediction between us.

“I belong with you,” I whisper against his mouth. “Now and forever, Dimitry—I belong with you.”

Lethal Torture , the next book in the Lethal Legacy Series, is out in October 2025.