Chapter 179 Chapter 179 The Dress
This wedding is outrageous.
I stand behind the curtain, peeking out over the sprawling eighteenth-century French-inspired gardens overflowing with people. Guests drift through the maze of hedges and marble fountains holding crystal glasses full of colorful alcohol while string musicians play somewhere in the distance. The entire Italy compound glows gold beneath the setting sun.
Illia Sr. insisted we have the wedding here.
Christina planned every last detail because, as she dramatically reminded everyone, she was “never properly a wife.” I let her indulge herself. Honestly, if it had been up to me, Ivan and I would’ve gotten married shotgun style at a tiny Vegas chapel with a drunk Elvis officiating.
Instead, this feels like royalty.
Everything is excessive. The china is all Versace. The flowers were flown in from three different countries. My Versace dress alone probably costs more than my villa. Ivan’s tux was custom-made in Milan, and the groomsmen’s suits look like they walked straight off a runway.
And somehow, I ended up with thirteen bridesmaids.
Thirteen.
It’s ridiculous.
The menu includes exotic food from all over the world, things I can barely pronounce. Outside, people laugh and celebrate while I stand alone in this enormous bedroom feeling strangely disconnected from it all.
Getting married without my mother feels odd.
Not because I miss her.
That’s the problem.
When she died, I didn’t cry. Not at the funeral. Not afterward. Nothing. Sometimes I wonder if that makes me cold or broken somehow. She was never really a mother to me, not in the way mothers are supposed to be. I don’t even know if she would’ve stood beside me today if she were alive. What would she say to me?
A tear forms anyway.
I dab at it immediately before it ruins the makeup that took two full hours to finish.
“I didn’t know I was this ugly,” I mutter to myself.
The laugh that escapes me sounds too loud in the quiet room.
I turn toward the mirror again, letting myself really look at the gown.
It’s breathtaking.
The silhouette is sleek and statuesque, molded close to my body in liquid ivory fabric that skims every curve before spilling into a cathedral-length train. Under the lights, the material almost looks molten, soft and luminous, covered in thousands of tiny crystal embellishments scattered like stardust.
The neckline steals attention instantly.
A sheer illusion panel rises high over my chest and collarbones, embroidered with intricate beadwork that glitters against my skin like jewelry stitched directly into the dress itself. Beneath it sits a softly draped sweetheart neckline, romantic and old-Hollywood while somehow still sharp and modern.
The back is even worse.
Or better.
Completely sheer from the shoulders down to my waist, covered in crystal embroidery and delicate lines of beading that trail downward like falling rain. Thin straps frame my shoulders while the fabric hugs the curve of my lower back before melting into the train behind me.
Then there’s the veil.
Long, weightless, almost transparent.
It pools around me like mist, shimmering every time I move.
It feels too elegant for someone like me.
My hair is pinned up into an intentionally messy bun, soft pieces framing my face. Small diamond studs sparkle in my ears. On my left hand sits the massive yellow diamond Ivan gave me, the stone catching light every time I breathe.
“You belong,” I whisper to my reflection.
The bedroom door swings open.
“Oh my God, you are stunning,” Christina says, her voice cracking instantly.
No one has seen the dress yet. She’s the first.
I glance at her over my shoulder as she presses a hand against her chest dramatically before calling for Marta. Then she waves my father over.
“Pavel, come look at your daughter.”
The second my father steps into the room, he starts crying.
Actual tears.
I stare at him in complete disbelief.
Illia Sr. walks in behind him and immediately tears up too. Christina laughs softly and wipes at his face with her fingers before kissing his cheek.
“So…” I ask dryly, “I look good?”
Christina shakes her head at me. “You are such a brat. You’re going to destroy Ivan. I cannot wait to see his face.”
Nobody hugs me because they don’t want to wrinkle the gown or ruin my makeup. I feel less like a bride and more like an expensive porcelain doll sitting on display.
I cannot wait to rip this thing off later.
My bouquet sits nearby—soft pink Bulgarian roses flown in specially for me and the bridesmaids. Their dresses are black Versace gowns, sleek and fitted with one dramatic slit exposing an entire leg up to the hip. The fabric drapes off one shoulder elegantly.
At least it’s something they can wear again.
Meanwhile, back home, two women are carrying my future daughters.
That thought still feels insane.
One baby belongs to Mason and me.
The other is Ivan’s and mine.
Both girls are due only weeks apart.
Mason and Ivan are embarrassingly excited about becoming girl dads. Constantine already talks about them nonstop. Mason’s daughter will be named Catori after his mother. Ivan and I chose Katia for ours.
Constantine insists on calling them “Cat and Kat.”
He’s thrilled about becoming a big brother.
My father is going to lose his fucking mind when he fully processes our family dynamic.
Everyone continues fussing over me when the bridesmaids finally pour into the room, and chaos erupts instantly.
Tiana, my maid of honor, bursts into tears first.
Then Gemma.
Then somehow everyone else joins in.
Tish, Erika, Mia, Yesenia, Gabby, Elena, Boriana, Petia, Helena, Marie, and Magda all crowd around me talking over each other while trying not to smudge my dress.
It’s loud. Emotional. Completely overwhelming.
Five flower girls rush in after them dressed in tiny ivory gowns.
And then my favorite person in the world appears.
Constantine pushes through all the adults dramatically.
“Mamma, you are beautiful!” he says, grinning so hard his little dimples pop.
My chest tightens instantly.
He’s dressed in a miniature black tuxedo with a bow tie, his blond hair brushed back for once. He looks so proud standing there holding the ring bearer pillow like this is the most important job in the world.
I kneel carefully in front of him despite everyone protesting about the dress.
“Thank you, baby.”
His little hands cup my cheeks gently.
“You look like a princess,” he whispers seriously.
That almost breaks me.
Not the flowers.
Not the dress.
Not even seeing my father cry.
It’s him.
Because suddenly I realize this is everything I never thought I would have.
A home.
A family.
Children.
People who love me loudly.
And Ivan waiting downstairs for me.
The same man who once shattered me is somehow also the man waiting to put me back together again.
Constantine leans closer. “Dad cried already,” he whispers like it’s top-secret information.
I laugh through the tears finally slipping free.
“Did he?”
Constantine nods proudly. “A lot.”
My phone pings. Tiana grabs it from the bed. “It’s Sergey.” she announces to the whole room.
I take my phone from her, he text me. “There’s still time to run away with me.”