Page 68 of Notes About Vodka (Happily Ever After Hangover #1)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

VAL

"Vodka and honeymoons—both are best when shared with the one who makes your world spin.

Too bad the hangover comes on fast.”

I can hardly believe it—our honeymoon is finally here. And we brought my father!

Laura and I have planned every detail, and as I stand next to her, watching the bustling streets of San Francisco from our hotel window, I feel a rush of excitement.

This isn’t just a trip—it’s a celebration of us, our love, and the beginning of our life together.

I turn to her, and she’s beaming, her eyes bright with excitement.

The energy of the city below seems to pulse through the room, and I can't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude that we are finally here, starting this chapter of our lives.

“Ready to take on San Francisco, Mrs. Zaitseva?” I ask, grinning at her.

She laughs and wraps her arm around mine. “Absolutely, Mr. Zaitsev. Lead the way. ”

San Francisco Adventures

We start our adventure by exploring the city’s iconic sights.

We walk hand-in-hand across the Golden Gate Bridge, feeling the wind whip around us, the towering red structure looming above.

The thrill of it all—the height, the view, the vastness of the bay below—it makes my heart swell.

I squeeze Laura’s hand, and she smiles up at me, her hair tousled by the wind.

There’s something so magical about being here with her, sharing this moment that feels like it belongs only to us.

“You know,” she says, “I’ve always wanted to do this. And now, I’m doing it with you.”

“Just wait until we get to Alcatraz,” I tease. “I’m going to lock you up and throw away the key.”

She nudges me, laughing. “You wish.”

We take a scenic ferry ride to Alcatraz, the city’s skyline growing smaller in the distance as the infamous island prison comes into view. The cool breeze carries the salty scent of the ocean, and I glance at Laura, her eyes wide with curiosity.

The tour is incredible, but what makes it even better is my dad is here. His charming accent and endless stories keep us entertained throughout. He’s got this way of making everything an adventure, and I love how Laura instantly warms up to him. And him to her.

The daughter he always wanted.

“Sasha,” Laura says, “are you always this full of stories?”

He winks at her. “Only when Valik’s around to confirm that they are all true.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, sure. Don’t believe everything this Russian tells you, Laura.”

She just laughs, the sound carrying through the cold corridors of Alcatraz, and I realize that every moment of this trip—every laugh, every smile—is a memory I’ll carry forever. We wander through the old cells, the eerie atmosphere adding a sense of adventure to our day.

Dad keeps us laughing with his commentary, and I catch Laura glancing at me, her eyes filled with happiness. It’s perfect—the kind of day I’ve always dreamed of sharing with her.

Napa Valley Romance

From San Francisco, we head to Napa Valley, where my father drives us around in a red mustang convertible.

The contrast to San Francisco is striking.

The hilly streets and bustling energy of the city give way to the serene, rolling vineyards that stretch as far as the eye can see.

The air is warmer, filled with the scent of ripe grapes and earth, and everything feels slower here—more relaxed.

We indulge in wine tastings, romantic vineyard tours, and the breathtaking scenery.

Dad of course, becomes our unofficial photographer, capturing candid moments of Laura and me sipping wine, her head resting against my shoulder as we steal kisses among the grapevines.

“Alright, one more,” dad calls, positioning us beneath an old oak tree.

“We’re going to owe him a lot for this,” Laura whispers, smiling at me.

“I’ll pay him in vodka and hugs from his favorite daughter-in-law,” I reply, giving her a quick kiss on the lips just as the camera clicks. She giggles, her laughter blending with the rustling leaves above us, and I know that these are the moments I’ll remember forever.

One evening, we sneak into a private wine cellar—just the two of us—and share a leftover bottle of vintage wine by candlelight.

The cellar is dim and cool, the air thick with the scent of aged wood and fermented grapes.

We sit on the stone floor, our shoulders touching as we pass the bottle back and forth, the flickering candlelight casting soft shadows around us.

“To us,” I say, raising the bottle.

“To our forever,” she replies, her voice soft, and I know in that moment that this is everything I’ve ever wanted. Her eyes glisten in the candlelight, and I lean in to kiss her, the taste of the wine lingering on her lips.

It’s perfect—intimate and quiet—a memory that’s just ours.

Train Ride to Los Angeles

After Napa, we take a scenic train ride to Los Angeles. Dad loves it and tells us about his time traveling the rails between Sochi and Petrozavodsk or from Moscow to Vladivostok. The days or weeks it could take, but how he loved the adventure. Or maybe just the bar train…

Laura and I sneak a bottle of vodka and some fresh blueberries that we picked up at a farmers' market in San Francisco to share with my father. In our cozy train cabin, we make our own cocktails, the sweet blueberries adding a delightful twist to the crisp vodka.

Dad surprises us with a bottle of prosecco and a fresh orange. I quickly use my hands to peel and squeeze the orange’s juice into a plastic cup. Then, I pour us each a bit of prosecco in a different cup. Laura grabs the orange juice, attempting to help, and starts to pour it into the bubbly.

I try to stop her, she’s pouring to fast, but the chemical reaction has already started. Bubbles and juice erupt from her cup.

Laura giggles as it spills all over her dress. I reach over to help, dabbing at the spill with a napkin while my dad cleans up the table.

“I think you’re just trying to get me out of this dress,” she teases, her eyes sparkling. Clearly not aware of the mess she just made.

I grin. “Can you blame me?”

The train ride is the perfect blend of relaxation and adventure.

We watch as the landscape shifts from lush valleys to arid deserts, the world changing outside our window.

We spend the evening curled up together, sipping our makeshift cocktails and watching the world pass by, her head resting on my shoulder.

Dad takes pictures for mom.

The rhythmic clacking of the train on the tracks, the sun setting over the horizon—it all feels surreal, like a dream I never want to wake up from.

Los Angeles Whirlwind

Los Angeles is a whirlwind. We immerse ourselves in the city’s eclectic mix of glamour and grit, wandering along Hollywood Boulevard, marveling at the stars on the Walk of Fame. My dad is in heaven, looking at his favorite icons on the star walk.

“Papa,” I say, laughing as he poses next to a star for a picture with a name that vaguely sounds like Sergei, “they’re not all Russian, you know.”

He waves me off. “Doesn’t matter. It’s for the memories.”

Our hotel room is another story. We find a pair of hooker shoes under the bed—bright red stilettos with rhinestones. Laura holds them up, her eyes wide with mock seriousness.

“Think I should wear these to dinner?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Only if you want me to have a heart attack,” I reply, and we both burst out laughing. “Just don’t go snooping anywhere else, I don’t know what might you find next.”

It’s these little moments—the surprises, the laughter—that make this trip unforgettable. We end up placing the shoes on top of the wardrobe, a reminder of the quirky surprises that seem to follow us wherever we go.

That evening, we meet up with some of my friends at an authentic Russian restaurant in LA. Katya and Micha, friends who moved here from Sochi and I haven’t seen in years, greet us warmly .

The restaurant feels like a slice of home.

The smell of borscht and freshly baked bread fills the air, and my heart swells as I watch Laura interact with my friends, her curiosity about my culture shining through.

The decor—heavy wood furniture, Russian folk art, and old family photos—makes me feel like I’ve stepped back into a piece of my past.

“Try this,” I say, offering her a spoonful of borscht.

She takes a bite, her eyes widening. “Oh wow, that’s amazing. I think I could get used to this.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” I say, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

The night is filled with laughter, stories, and a lot of vodka. Dad shares tales from my childhood, embellishing them just enough to make everyone laugh, and Laura listens, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“He was always such a troublemaker,” dad says, nudging me. “But look at him now. Married to this beautiful woman.”

I feel a swell of pride as I glance at Laura, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the restaurant and the vodka. “I got lucky,” I say, my voice soft.

She smiles at me, her hand finding mine under the table. “No, we both did.”

San Diego Serenity

Our final stop is San Diego, where we relax on the pristine beaches and savor the laid-back atmosphere.

The sun shines brightly, and the ocean stretches endlessly before us, the waves crashing gently against the shore.

We meet up again with Katya and Micha, who have settled in the area, and we walk the coast.

There’s boisterous laughter, stories of home, and shared bottles of vodka that make me feel like I’m back in Russia, even if just for a moment.

We explore Balboa Park, wander through the San Diego Zoo, and spend a night in the vibrant Gaslamp Quarter, each location adding another layer to the tapestry of our adventure.

One day, we take a boat tour around the harbor, the salty breeze ruffling our hair as we watch sea lions basking on the docks.

Laura leans over the railing, her eyes wide with wonder, and I snap a photo of her, capturing the joy on her face. It’s moments like this that make me realize how lucky I am—how lucky I am to share my life with someone who finds wonder in everything.

One evening, as the sun sets over the ocean, we sit on the beach, the waves lapping at our feet. Laura leans against me, her head resting on my shoulder.

“You know,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, “this has been the best trip of my life.”

She looks up at me, her eyes filled with love. “Mine too,” she says. “And it’s only the beginning. I’ve loved meeting your friends here in California. I love that your dad is with us. Is that weird? Because he’s just made it so much fun.”

“Not at all Laura babe, I love it that you love it lubimaya.”

I wrap my arm around her, pulling her closer as we watch the sun disappear below the horizon. The sky turns a deep shade of orange, just like the highlights in Laura’s hair right now. She even smells like vanilla and orange blossoms.

The night isn’t over yet. We light a small bonfire on the beach, and Katya and Micha join us, bringing marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers.

We make s'mores, the chocolate melting messily over our fingers as we laugh and tell stories.

My dad strums a guitar he borrowed from someone at the hotel, the soft melody blending with the sound of the waves.

“Sing something for us, Val,” Katya urges, her eyes twinkling mischievously .

I shake my head, chuckling. “You don’t want to hear me sing, trust me.”

Laura nudges me. “Oh, come on. I’ve heard you sing in the shower, you’re not that bad.”

“Exactly, Val,” Katya adds, “in the kids choir back home you always had the best voice.”

I sigh dramatically, but there’s a smile on my face. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I start singing a Russian folk song, my voice blending with the gentle strumming of the guitar as Micha plays.

Laura rests her head on my shoulder, her fingers intertwined with mine, and I feel a warmth spread through me that has nothing to do with the fire. It’s a moment of pure contentment, surrounded by friends, the love of my life by my side, and the vast ocean stretching out before us.

“You really do have an amazing voice,” Laura whispers. “Maybe you should have been one of the talent staff at Pianissimo .”

“Nah, I liked my place behind the bar.”

Eventually, the fire dies down, and we all sit in comfortable silence, the stars twinkling above us. Laura looks up at me, her eyes reflecting the light of the fire. “This is perfect,” she says, and I can only nod in agreement.

Returning to LA

As the night winds down, we make our way back to our hotel. The streets of San Diego are quiet, the cool night air refreshing against our skin. Laura slips her hand into mine, and I pull her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, her voice soft.

I smile down at her. “How lucky I am. How I never want this to end.”

She smiles, her eyes glistening. “It doesn’t have to. We’ll keep making moments like this. Always. ”

We reach our hotel room, and as we step inside, I feel a sense of peace wash over me. The room is cozy, the sound of the ocean faint in the background. I pull Laura into my arms, holding her close.

“I love you,” I whisper, my lips brushing against her hair.

She looks up at me, her eyes filled with love. “I love you too, Val. More than anything.”

This honeymoon has been more than just a trip—it’s been the beginning of our forever, and I can’t wait to see where our journey takes us where we end up next.