Nice Day For A White Wedding

by Le Carre, Georgia

  “Get in the queue. I was here first,” he teases.

  “Stop bickering. We’re not married yet,” I throw over my shoulder as I hurry towards the door.

  “I love you,” Alex calls.

  I’m in the hallway when I shout the sentiment back to him and smile to myself as I hear the collective sigh of relief from the groomsmen who were lining the hallway and are now filing back into the room.

  I debate skipping getting my make-up fixed, but I decide against it. I’m the bride. It’s tradition for me to be late. And besides, I plan on only ever doing this once and I don’t want to look a mess for it.

  I hurry back to my room, but rather than feeling like I’m running, this time, it feels like I am floating on air. As I get to the room where Rosa, Star, and Raven are waiting, I can hear that someone inside there has put on one of my favorite songs. I smile to myself.

  Yes, it is a nice day for a white wedding.

  A very nice day.

  Epilogue

  Alex

  Eight Months Later

  Babushka stands as Cindy and I walk into the room. Usually, I would gesture for her to sit back down, but today nothing will keep her in her seat. She comes towards us eagerly, her face filled with joy and anticipation. Completely ignoring me, she goes towards Cindy and peers at the bundle Cindy is carrying.

  “Babushka, meet your great, great nephew, Leonid Joseph Obolensky,” I say.

  “Hi there, Leonid.” Tears run down Babushka’s withered cheeks as she smiles down at him. Then she looks up at me. “Your father would have been so proud of you, Alex. So proud.”

  The image of my father flashes into my head. Yes, I suppose he would have been. But I wouldn’t be here today, if not for Cindy.

  I help Babushka gently back to her seat and Cindy puts our son into her frail arms.

  “Leonid Joseph. That’s a good, almost biblical name for a strong boy,” she says, smiling with approval. “Now tell me, Alex. How did such a good biblical baby come into the world only eight months after your wedding?”

  I grin at Babushka’s nosy, mocking question and Cindy starts fussing with Leonid’s blanket so she doesn’t have to look her in the eye.

  “Well, if you really want to know …” I say trailing away when Cindy gives me a horrified look.

  Babushka laughs and I can see the twinkle in her eye.

  “Ahhhhhh … look at that gorgeous little face,” she says, not looking up. She only has eyes for baby Leonid. “He’s going to be a little stunner, just like his mum and dad.”

  She finally manages to tear her eyes away from the baby’s face long enough to glance up at Cindy. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come to the hospital. I really wanted to, but Alex wouldn’t let me.”

  “Quite right. A hospital is no place for you. You are safest here, at home.”

  “Yes, I suppose all those antibiotic-resistant bacteria are a worry when you’re old and decrepit,” she says mildly. “Enough about me, how are you feeling, my dear?”

  “Absolutely fine.” Cindy smiles. “Having Leonid here is worth the pain. Anyway, I found out giving birth is an apparently really good time to swear continuously at your husband. It’s totally acceptable, even encouraged. The air was blue while I was giving birth.”

  Babushka laughs uproariously. That is the one thing that has not dimmed even with the sickness eating her up from the inside. Her beautiful laugh.

  “It was different in my time,” she tells Cindy. “All I could think of was I didn’t want to push out a roll of crap while I was trying to get my Marina out.”

  Cindy grins at Babushka’s frankness.

  Unfazed Babushka continues. “Still, I remember that feeling of holding my baby for the first time well.” Her eyes fill with nostalgia. “There is no feeling purer or greater than the love you feel for your newborn baby.”

  Cindy smiles softly and sighs. “No, there isn’t.”

  “You are a lucky girl, Cindy. He is an absolutely beautiful baby.”

  “I know. I’m so glad you got to meet your great, great nephew, Babushka.”

  Babushka beams at her words and looks down at Leonid again. “Just to give you both fair warning, you do know I’m going to spoil him rotten, right?”

  I know she means it as well. “I wouldn’t expect anything else,” I say with a laugh.

  “I’m so pleased you two got together. You’re a lovely couple. Or you were. Now you’re a lovely family,” she says.

  Cindy smiles at her and my aunt winks at her.

  “Tell me the truth, Cindy. It was when you went out riding together to the creek, wasn’t it? The moment you fell in love with him. It was the magic of that place.”

  I feel a little pang of fear. Is Babushka starting to get confused? “We went to the creek only when we came to your house remember, Babushka.”

  “I know,” she says, her tone suggesting that I’m the one who is confused.

  “We were already engaged then,” Cindy reminds gently.

  Babushka throws her head back and laughs. “I think we can drop that one now, don’t you think?”

  “What do you mean?” Cindy asks, her tone cautious.

  “Did you two really think I didn’t know your whole so-called relationship was made up? Honestly. That proposal story was sweet and all, but it was so far from your style Alex.”

  “But if you knew, why did you go along with it?” I ask.

  Babushka smiles at me. A wide smile that is so full of love it is almost heartbreaking. “I knew you were trying to make me happy. I didn’t want to throw it back in your face, but I also knew the spark was already there … and if I played along so both of you could spend some time acting like a couple that somewhere along the way, you would become one. And it worked, didn’t it? Look where we are now. I’ve lived many more years than you have and I could see what the two of you couldn’t. That you were made for each other.”

  I look at Cindy at the same time she looks at me and the same expression is in her eyes that I know is in mine. Love, pure love and immense gratitude that we found each other, that we have Leonid, and we still have Babushka with us.

  The End

  Coming Next - Sample Chapter

  WITH THIS RING

  With This Ring

  Freya

  (Unedited)

  "Freya!"

  I looked up from the dirty vodka martini I was mixing.

  “Monsieur Garlic-Cock wants you, darling," George said in his totally inimitable way, as he paused by the service station, a tray of ten cocktail glasses expertly balanced on the palm of his hand.

  I could have asked him how he knew Monsieur Bisset’s cock smelled of garlic, but I just laughed at his sass, and said, "Tell him he knows where to find me.”

  “There goes my tip,” George said sourly and sashayed away, a gorgeous smile on his lips.

  I looked in the direction of the middle-aged French businessman. He raised his glass and nodded at me. Monsieur Bisset flew into town once a month and he usually ended up in our bar to celebrate his victories in the boardroom. His goal seemed to be female attention, usually mine, but he was not too fussy. After a certain point in the night an orifice to wet his cock was more than enough. Of course, being filthy rich he couldn't understand why I kept rejecting his advances. I told him I didn't need money once, and he took that to mean I was holding out for more. In his eyes, I was a lowly waitress who should be grateful that such a fine gentleman as him had looked my way.

  I pushed the dirty martini over to Dan, the curly-haired American guy, sitting at the bar. He was a regular, a funny guy. He gave me a wink which I returned before I moved onto mixing the next drink on my order list.

  "I see I'm not the only one after you," he commented.

  "Would I be as desirable if you were?” I quipped.

  "Fair enough," he agreed, taking a long sip of his drink. He put his glass on the bar and grinned at me. "Fuck, this tastes as good as I can only imagine you will."

  I took the
flirt in good stride. It was part of the job. You want to be a barmaid in an underground cocktail bar beneath the Chelsea Market, then you can’t be a paid-up member of the #metoo movement as well.

  "Come on. Give me a chance, babe,” he cajoled. “It's been months.”

  I reached up to the top shelves for a new bottle of rum. I needed it to make a Long Island Iced Teas. As I unscrewed the top I responded to Dan’s unwise remark. “If I ever do Dan, beware. It might end with me sucking you dry—”

  He tapped the counter excitedly. “But that is exactly what I want!”

  “With a sexual harassment lawsuit,” I completed dryly.

  “I’ll take that too,” he said, after a brief contemplation.

  I burst into laughter that rang across the bar.

  "It’ll be worth it," he joked. "Just for one taste."

  I blew him a kiss and delivered the Long Island to the amused, bearded man sitting next to him. He tipped his fedora to me, and I gave him what I’d been told was my most electrifying smile. Julia came by then with a tray in hand, and passed on another message from Bisset. "He says there's a five-hundred-dollar tip waiting for you if you bring the drink to him yourself." She looked a bit jealous as she said it.

  I shook my head to cover my irritation. "Tell him my place is behind the bar."

  The message was relayed and a few minutes later Monsieur Antoine Bisset himself, made his way over. "You have me wrapped around your little finger, haven’t you," he said, his accent thick with French charm or alcohol.

  “No one has you wrapped around their little finger, Monsieur,” I say firmly.

  He took his seat and watched me as I worked, until his ogling started to irritate me.

  “What else will you have today, Monsieur?” I asked, with a big plastic smile.

  “You are a wild girl, Freya,” He sucked in his breath. I waited patiently while he ran his gaze from the top of my fiery red hair, down on my chest, linger there deliberately, then back up to my eyes.

  “The usual.” he said.

  I nodded and went to the locked cabinet to retrieve the £4,700 bottle of Louis XIII cognac that was kept specially for him.

  I picked up one of the large glass goblets I’d been keeping warm on top of the coffee machine and poured a healthy amount of the ridiculously expensive drink into it. I swirled it to further warm the drink then, with the proper reverence for the price of the drink, placed the goblet on a coaster in front of him. “Should I send the rest over to your table?”

  “Fuck no!” he cursed. “I’ll take it with me on my way out. Perhaps it’ll be enough reason for you to stop by my hotel room and share a glass with me.” Without breaking eye contact, he slipped his usual hundred towards me.

  I took the cash and tucked it into my back jeans pocket. “There will never be a reason in the world big enough, Monsieur.” I smiled to take the sting away.

  “That pussy of yours is not going to lick itself. Someday you’re going to come to your senses, Princess.”

  Dan roared triumphantly. “Join the line Mon-fucking-sieur.”

  He ignored Dan and shifted his attention to his drink. He took an elaborate sniff of the potent fumes, then a sip of the sinfully smooth luxury.

  “Ahhh…” he moaned at the pleasure.

  I turned away to take care of the other patrons waiting to be served when my eyes suddenly met his.

  I froze

  Right there in the midst of the crowd… he was watching me. His gaze was icy blue… and cold, and unmistakable and just as always, my stomach turned.

  I blinked, and briefly lowered my head in disbelief.

  He was here?

  Why?

  When I had myself under control I lifted my gaze to him, but he was gone.

  A frown furrowed into my forehead as my eyes roved across the bar. Every sound and sight beyond that of his haunting gaze faded into the background as I searched around the dimly lit space for him, but he had disappeared like a puff of smoke. After a few seconds I started to wonder if I’d just imagined him.

  But why the hell would I?

  I hate him. He was an arrogant, insufferable, rude, sanctimonious, annoying, ignorant, uncivilized, brutal thug. Immediately, I abandoned the search for such a low-life, and turned around to settle my breathing. It was uneven, and it aggravated me to no end that even imagining seeing him never failed to stir the most unpleasant storms inside me.

  “Bastard,” I swore under my breath as I turned to a customer waiting to get my attention. But it was now a feat to focus on his order. He had to repeat it twice. I nodded and set to work, but my mood had turned sour. The rest of the night became an ordeal. I kept expecting him to turn up even though I had told myself a thousand times that he was just a figment of my imagination.

  I usually headed out of the bar with a little skip in my step at the end of my shift at 3am, but thanks to the memory of that devil, I felt taut and irritable.

  I’d just turned the block when I found Bisset waiting on the deserted side street, his foot against the wall. I wasn't surprised, but I was disappointed. Despite his clumsy advances and smutty jokes I’d considered Garlic Cock fairly decent and able to respect set boundaries. Meeting outside the bar meant there was no going back.

  "You're waiting to harass me, Monsieur?” I asked coldly.

  He smiled charmingly. "Never, mon chéri. I thought, maybe, the bar is too crowded for you to … express your interest. Perhaps, you are shy in front of your employers and colleagues. I thought maybe—”

  I cut him off. “You figured wrong. I’m not interested in you.”

  "That's unfair, baby girl. Just look at you… I’m about to lose my mind just staring at you."

  I sighed. "Look, don’t make this ugly. Maybe you have drunk too much, but if you stop now we can laugh about this the next time you come to the bar.”

  “I’m not drunk.”

  “Well, I'm going home. Alone."

  He stepped in my path, his hands spread out and I could smell the alcohol I had fed him, pungent and overindulgent.

  “My car and driver are right around the corner,” he slurred. “It's running, waiting for you. Let's go for a drive. I'll show you some very beautiful places. Secret places. Where rich people go to feed their needs. You’ll never get the chance to see on your own.”

  My stomach turned at the thought of the ugly things he had in mind. "I've lived in this city for five years. I've seen all that I need or want to see of it.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” he rasped urgently, his eyes shining. “This city has an underbelly. An exciting place that only those in the know can hope to experience. I promise you, you will love it.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks.” I attempted to walk past him again.

  Suddenly his face changed. The affable Frenchman was gone. Here was the real thing. The thing I would have seen if I had said yes at any time. “What will it take?” he asked. "because I'm not going home without you tonight."

  I lost my patience. "Out of my way," I said and tried to push him aside, but he grabbed my hand and turned me violently around. It twisted my wrist and the pain made me wince.

  He drew me to him and brought his nose close to my neck. Sniffing me he pressed his unimpressive cock against me.

  "Do you feel what you do to me? Just give me one night," he pleaded. "I'll fuck you so good you'll never forget me.”

  I was as still as a tree. "Let me go.”

  Of course, he didn't listen.

  I gave him one more chance. “Monsieur, let me go.”

  Instead the fool pressed his lips to my skin for a kiss.

  I pushed myself back and smacked a blow so hard across his face I knew he saw stars.

  Shocked, he staggered away from me and hit the wall. His mouth was agape with disbelief. "You fucking bitch," he said in wonder as he pulled away the hand he had held to his bruised face. “You hit me!”

  I shrugged. “I did warn you.”

  He came for me then.

/>   I wanted to roll my eyes into my skull.

  He grabbed my shirt and pulled me up to his face. "How dare you? You fucking cheap whore!”

  I struck his wrist hard with the edge of my hand, and he howled in pain. You can’t blame a man for making that racket when his limb has shifted out of joint. To his credit, he lunged again for me, but his legs crumbled under him from sheer pain. It sent him crashing to the cold ground. Some people standing out the kebab shop in the distance turned at the sight of his drunken howl.

  It was not the end of the matter though. That ridiculous cognac had put fire into his veins.

  "I'm going to kill you,” he screamed and came for me. I waited and at the right moment swung my frame around just in time to land a swift kick across the unprotected side of his face.

  He flew backwards, and collapsed on the ground, a battered, pathetic mess. I glanced at the square heel of my boots and wondered just how much damage it had done to him. I felt a bit guilty: I did take all the hundreds of dollars he pushed across the bar to me. The money would go towards the orders for fashion samples that Bethany and I would need in the next few days. Anyway, someone had to teach him some manners. He would think twice about using this technique to approach another woman.

  "Sorry Monsieur,” I said.

  I was just about to walk away when I felt a commanding presence behind me. All the hairs on my body instantly stood and I swiveled around in response to the danger I could sense. There was indeed danger. A man detached himself from the shadows. It was the last man I wanted to see. The owner of the pair of icy blue eyes that had disrupted me in the bar and put me in my bitter mood.

  Maxim Ivankov.

  So he really had been present at the bar. I couldn't wait to find out why. He walked up to me and stood with the streetlight directly overhead. It made him appear even more forbidding and brutal. I could feel my heart start to thump.

  "Why the fuck are you on my tail?" I snarled.