Chapter 182

Chapter 182
Evelyn's POV

The early summer breeze hit my face, carrying flower fragrance and salt.

The sunset hung halfway down the sky, turning the ocean into burning orange-red.

String quartet music drifted up from the beach, rising and falling with the wind. As we appeared, the music shifted—the cue for the bride's entrance. Every head turned toward us.

I saw Webb in the front row, arm still in a sling, spine straight as a rod. He nodded at me, then at Nikolai—a gesture of respect between operatives. Catherine was already crying, her handkerchief pressed to her face. Adrian sat beside Isabella, and when our eyes met, he smiled—genuine, warm, without any shadows.

Thomas Russell stood near the aisle in his charcoal-blue suit, and when he saw Nikolai, something passed between them. A nod. An understanding. Two fathers who'd failed their children, now being allowed to witness their joy.

And at the end of the aisle, beneath that flower arch with the ocean spreading endlessly behind him, was Julian.

The music changed key. He heard it—or maybe he wasn't listening to the music at all. He just turned, saw me, and everything else in the world seemed to disappear.

I'd seen many expressions on Julian's face.

Cold. Dangerous. Lazy. Possessive. Gritting his teeth when I made him angry.

But I'd never seen him look like this.

He just looked at me, his eyes holding everything and nothing all at once—

Just me.

Nikolai's arm tightened fractionally under my hand.

We started walking.

Each step felt surreal. The sand was soft beneath my heels, the white silk runner keeping me from sinking. The sunset painted everything in shades of gold and amber. The music swelled. Guests stood, but I barely registered their faces.

I kept my eyes on Julian.

Halfway down the aisle, I felt Nikolai's pace falter slightly. I glanced at him and saw tears running silently down his weathered face. He didn't wipe them away, just kept walking, kept his arm steady for me to hold.

"I'm proud of you," he said quietly, voice barely audible over the music and ocean. "I have no right to be, but I am."

My throat tightened.

"You have the right," I said. "You're my father."

His breath hitched. But he kept walking.

We reached the end of the aisle.

Julian stepped forward to meet us, and for a moment, the three of us stood there—father, daughter, and the man who'd chosen to love all my broken pieces.

Nikolai carefully, deliberately, took my hand and placed it in Julian's.

Julian's fingers closed around mine, warm and sure. He looked at Nikolai, and something passed between them that I couldn't quite read.

"Take care of her," Nikolai said. His voice was steady, but his hand trembled slightly as he released mine. "Or I'll hunt you to the ends of the earth."

Julian didn't smile. Didn't make a joke. Just met Nikolai's eyes with absolute seriousness.

"I will," he said. "With my life."

Nikolai held his gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded once, stepped back, and took his place beside Thomas Russell in the front row.

Julian's fingers tightened around my hand.

"You're late," he said quietly, voice only for me.

"Two minutes," I answered. "Doesn't count as late."

"Felt like two hours."

"You could have checked your watch."

"I didn't check my watch," he said. "I was watching that door."

I lifted my eyes to meet his.

That steady, burning, undisguised gaze. It had been there since the first day I met him, only growing heavier, deeper. Heavy enough that I'd finally stopped running.

The chaplain cleared his throat gently, drawing our attention. He was Thomas's old friend, a military chaplain who'd seen combat. People who'd witnessed death spoke about love with a different weight.

"We gather here today," he said, his voice carrying over the ocean breeze, "witnessed by the sea and the setting sun, to celebrate the marriage of Julian Russell and Evelyn Valentine."

I wasn't really listening to the words.

I looked at Julian, at the ocean spreading behind him, at the last sunlight gilding his profile. I thought about the first day I met him—leaning against a wall, lazily looking at me, saying things like "do you have a crush on me." Back then I'd wanted to punch him out the door.

I thought about the night he'd fastened my mother's cross necklace around my neck with his own hands.

The proposal day when I'd said yes and he'd gone silent for a long time, then held me so tight it felt like he was embedding me into his ribs.

I thought about the Hamptons storm and gunfire and the moment he'd stepped in front of me. The hospital corridor negotiations. Him frowning at Nikolai.

"Julian," the chaplain's voice pulled me back. "Do you take Evelyn to be your lawfully wedded wife, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish her until death do you part?"

Julian didn't pause. Didn't hesitate.

"I do."

His voice was steady, clear, like an answer that required no thought.

"Evelyn," the chaplain turned to me. "Do you take Julian to be your lawfully wedded husband, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish him until death do you part?"

I looked at Julian.

I thought about years ago in the Vorkuta ice and snow, when the instructor told me: a good killer trusts no one. I'd carved those words into my bones.

Then I'd met this man and ground those words into dust, piece by piece.

"I do," I said.

Something in Julian's eyes shifted, like something cracking open and healing in the same second.

"Then," the chaplain said warmly, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. Julian, you may kiss your bride."

Julian raised one hand, palm against my cheek, thumb brushing lightly across my cheekbone. Then he leaned down.

The kiss was light, slow, unlike his usual style—but that very restraint made my throat inexplicably tight.

Applause and cheers rose from the guests. The ocean breeze scattered petals along both sides of the aisle.

Julian pressed his forehead against mine and said softly, "Hello, Mrs. Russell."

I closed my eyes.

I heard Nikolai's suppressed sob in the front row. Thomas's low "good, good." Catherine crying without caring about propriety anymore. Isabella's laughter mixed with tears. Adrian's applause—forceful, genuine.

The sunset turned the entire ocean surface burning gold-red. The early summer breeze carried jasmine fragrance.

"Hello," I opened my eyes. "Mr. Russell."