Page 19

The warm glow of the chandeliers creates an inviting atmosphere as Dima and I step into the opulent ballroom at Anoushka and Nikolai’s, surrounded by Anoushka's friends and family to celebrate her birthday. At the precipice, I hold Dima’s hand nervously.

He stops and leans down to whisper in my ear. “Trust me. Nikolai hasn’t told anyone. Nobody would have seen the videos.”

I look up at his tender gray eyes, reassured. When I nod, he guides me forward with his hand at the small of my back. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses fills the air while waiters in crisp uniforms glide through the crowds, offering canapés and flutes of champagne.

"Anoushka certainly knows how to throw a party," I comment, leaning closer to Dima.

"That she does. It's her way of making sure everyone has a good time," he replies, guiding me toward our hostess.

“Welcome, welcome!” Anoushka greets us, enveloping me in a hug.

I smile, “Happy birthday, Anoushka!” and hand my cousin a small wrapped box.

She gasps, eyes sparkling. “Let me guess,” she whispers conspiratorially. “Jewelry?”

“You know my husband,” I laugh, wagging my eyebrows at Dima. “His beloved gift to women is always jewelry.”

“Hey,” she gasps, opening the box and pulling out a beautiful diamond tennis bracelet. “No regrets here!” she squeals with delight. “Help me put it on!”

From behind, Nikolai comes and helps his wife put on the bracelet. “Dima,” he growls. “You’re making it hard for me to impress my wife.”

Dima laughs and raises his hands in humble victory. Nikolai meets my gaze and gives me a side hug, not once mentioning all that’s been going on since the video was circulated online.

And for that? I’m grateful.

Anoushka and Nikolai stay put, greeting others who arrive. Dima leads me forward to catch up with some friends before we move on to our clusters of family members. Dima's arm is a warm weight across my shoulders, a welcome one.

We mingle with some friends, and our family, exchanging pleasantries and light conversation. I notice the genuine warmth in people's smiles, and it feels like everyone’s truly having a great time.

"My dear sister!" a familiar voice booms, drawing my attention. My brother Denis approaches, arms wide for an embrace. "It's been far too long."

"Denis!" I exclaim, wrapping my arms around him. “I saw you last week.”

He smells of his signature cologne, and I feel a wave of nostalgia wash over me.

"Oh well, it still feels like an eternity," he says, stepping back from our hug. "You should visit us at home sometime. Abram keeps talking about how your room is still a mess."

"Really?" I ask, laughing. "Well, we better let him keep that problem. Where is he anyway?”

Denis points to my far right, and I notice Abram and Vladimir engaged in deep conversation with Ivan and Mikhail.

With a nod, Denis moves on to find Mark, leaving me alone with Dima once again. I turn to him, beaming. "Did you see that? At least one of my brothers is warming up to us again!"

Dima grins, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "It seems so. Let's just enjoy the evening and hope this is a sign of better things to come."

A familiar laugh catches my attention—Pippa and Genevieve, dressed in gorgeous gowns with vodka glasses in hand. My heart leaps at the sight of them. It's been months.

“Lara!” They greet me with wide smiles and crushing hugs. “We've missed you. How’s married life?”

“I've missed you too,” I say, realizing I haven’t seen the girls in ages. We chat for a while, and Natalia joins in. Somewhere in the conversation, Pippa suggests we take a pottery class in the coming month.

“Oh!” I squeal. “That sounds insane.”

Dima, beside me, rolls his eyes. “I just don’t know how she gets the time. She’s the busiest person I know, and now she wants to do pottery?” he teases.

We all laugh, and the girls excuse themselves. Pippa and Genevieve head out to find Vanya, and Natalia says Artyom’s asking her to join him and Sofia for shots at the bar. When she asks if we’d like to join, Dima and I dart glances at one another before saying a vehement No! in unison.

“I knew he was old,” Natalia shoves her brother with her shoulder before walking away. “But you, Laraaa?” she sings before running off to the bar.

There’s a sweet joy and a deep sense of belonging as I immerse myself in the revelry around me. Laughter and music fill the air, and everywhere, family and friends are chatting, drinking, and dancing. Dima steers us from group to group, his hand a steady presence on my lower back, proudly displaying me on his arm like a prize.

Despite everything, I can't help the blossom of warmth in my chest. Here, surrounded by the Orlovs and Zolotovs, I feel like I belong. I know I'm home.

Just then, a sight near the entrance catches my eye. Sergei and Abram are speaking in hushed, angry tones, brows furrowed as they glance around the room. Their gazes land on me for a split second before skittering away. A tendril of unease unfurls in my stomach.

Dima notices my distraction and follows my line of sight. His expression darkens.

Abram gives Sergei a parting slap on the back, and I watch him walk toward my other brothers. And then, the worst of my nightmares threatens to unfold before me as Abram, Vladimir, Denis, and Mark walk purposely toward Dima and me, their faces red with rage.

I step away from Dima's grasp, halting in my tracks. “No way,” I whisper. “They know.”

He sighs, running a hand over his face and reaching out to grip my hand. “Let them come,” he says boldly. “You did nothing wrong, and they have no right to be upset.”

My heart drops like a stone. I know exactly how angry my brothers are capable of being.

Suddenly, they’re here. Abram strides forward and slams a phone on Dima’s chest.

"Have you seen this?" he asks Dima, passing the phone over to him. Dima’s expression hardens as well, and I know something is wrong.

“If Sergei hadn’t told us,” he continues.

“Sergei had no right!” I exclaim, even though I know my cousin probably thought my brothers were aware. It must have been a genuine mistake, and besides, in this city? News spreads.

"He had every right to imagine we didn’t know all this time," Vladimir seethes, glaring at Dima, who casually passes the phone back to Abram.

"Care to explain why there's a video of Lara sneaking around Philadelphia and partying like a wild teenager circulating online? I thought you were supposed to be taking care of her," Mark accuses Dima.

I, on the other hand, step in front of Dima. “If it’s related to me,” I hiss at my brother. “Then you ought to bring it up with me.”

Dima's face remains stoic, but I can sense the tension in his grip as he replies. "I am doing my best to keep her safe, but I have no right to control what she does."

I turn back to my husband, surprised at how calm he is, how defensive of me. He could have come right out and told them these videos were from before we ever got married, and yet, he stands tall and defends me.

"Seems like you're not trying hard enough," Abram snaps, his anger palpable. “How can you let her act so despicably?”

My heart races as I watch my brothers confront Dima, their faces twisted with rage. I never expected this evening to take such an ugly turn, and that too at Anoushka’s birthday.

“I hardly saw her act despicably,” Dima says coldly, taking my hand in his. “Besides, haven’t you ever enjoyed a good party, Abram?”

Abram and Vladimir exchange furious glances.

Denis steps forward, trying to take the middle ground. “That’s different, Dima. Lara could have gotten in real trouble.”

“And if anything had happened to her under your watch, you’re responsible,” Abram almost bellows.

“You’ve proved how unworthy you are of being her husband!” Vladimir shouts too, stepping forward with a glower, pointing a finger at Dima’s chest.

“You should have been more vigilant with her,” Mark says.

My husband, all this while, stands his ground—no anger, no rage, just by my side.

And suddenly, the anger flares in my chest, hot and bright. How dare they? After everything they put me through, they have the audacity to blame Dima?

I can't stand by and watch them attack him like this. My voice shakes, but I gather my courage and step in. "Enough!" I exclaim, looking at all four of my brothers. "This is not Dima's fault. That footage is old, from when I lived with you."

Their eyes widen slightly at my outburst, at a loss for words and I stand before them, glaring them down, fury burning in my veins. They look at one another, confused expressions on each.

“What is wrong with you all?” I continue. “You drove me to act out like that, with your unreasonable rules and lack of trust! And now you blame Dima for old mistakes that you caused?”

I feel Dima come up behind me, a solid presence at my back, encouraging me to stand up for myself.

“This has to stop,” I say, voice trembling with emotion. “Dima is my husband now. It's time for you to accept that you no longer control my life and focus on living your own. When I was living with you, all you did was control me and dictate every aspect of my life.”

“That’s not tru—” Mark steps forward, but I raise my hand to silence him.

“No wonder I acted out and rebelled! With Dima, I don’t have to sneak around Philadelphia. You know why? Because I can tell him what I want, and he respects it. In fact, I’m far safer with him than I ever was with you!”

All four of them fall silent, shame creeping into their expressions. At last, I wonder if they understand the damage they've done. That they only have themselves to blame for the rift between us.

Dima wraps an arm around my waist, pride and affection flowing off him in waves. Thanks to him, I've found my voice. And my brothers will finally have to listen.

The room is tense as my brothers exchange glances, clearly taken aback by our united front. I can see the gears turning in their heads, weighing their options. Abram and Vladimir step back, resignation in their eyes. Denis and Mark follow.

Without another word, with resignation in their eyes, they turn and stride out of the ballroom, leaving the party behind.

I make to follow them, a pang of guilt striking my chest. As angry as I am, they're still my brothers. I don't want our night to end like this, with an ugly public argument.

But Dima's grip on my waist tightens, keeping me in place. "Give them time," he murmurs. "They need to process this and decide if they're ready to accept you as you are now."

I bite my lip, anxiety swirling in my stomach. He's right, of course. I can't force them to come around before they're ready. Still, watching them walk away leaves an ache inside me.

Dima tilts my chin up with a knuckle, gazing down at me with understanding. "It will be alright, Malyshka . They love you, even if they have a hard time showing it. Have faith that they will come to see reason."

His reassurance washes over me, calming my fears. Dima has become my rock, the steady presence that keeps me grounded. As long as we have each other, whatever comes our way, we will endure.

I smile up at him. “Thank you," I whisper, "for always knowing just what to say."

Dima's eyes soften, and he presses a tender kiss to my forehead. "You're welcome, Milaya . Now, shall we get back to celebrating Anoushka's birthday?"

Nodding, I squeeze his hand. The rest of the night is ours to enjoy. No matter what happens with my brothers, I have found my home.