Pairing Off (Red Hot Russians #1) (22 page)

Or was it? If things were so great, why was she miserable about marrying the man she loved? The past called out, a siren’s song with a Georgia drawl. What message had Momma left behind? Had she written it before she swallowed the pills, or after?

She shuddered
.
She couldn’t go there yet. Maybe not ever. But the photo album might be an easier place to start. She took it down and went to the living room.

The first photo was from a long ago Fourth of July. Momma’s teased country-singer hair and big boobs lent a risqué note to her country-club proper white polo and red shorts. Dad was the clean-cut Prince Charming, everything Vicki-Lynn Bailey thought she wanted. Carrie sat between them, a pigtailed kindergartner with a sunburn and skinned knees. A year later, Momma put her in her first pageant, and skinned knees became a thing of the past.

The pageant photos brought the familiar knot to her stomach. In some, she was ruffled innocence, in others, a tiny glamour girl in makeup and strapless satin. In none of the photos was she older than nine.

“
Get up there and smile, baby girl. Winning can mean bright things for your future.”

Momma never seemed to realize Carrie’s future was already bright.

The next pages showed skating competitions and birthdays. Then she was twelve, posing in her Junior Bulldogs cheerleading uniform. She’d never cheered at a game though. Not that year. One Sunday at church, Momma met a country music producer named Steve. Two months later, she left Dad and took Carrie to Nashville, determined to launch her comeback.

The only photo from that time showed her and Momma on the steps of the Grand Ole Opry. Steve had promised Momma she’d sing there one day. Only after Mr. Big Shot dumped her and Momma had moved them into a motel did she quit believing it. The months they’d lived at the Music City Value Inn weren’t worth remembering in pictures.

Momma, was everything such a disappointment? I loved you, even if I didn’t want to be you. Couldn’t that have been enough?

She closed the album and pushed it away. Dropping her face into her hands, she pressed her fingers to her brow, kneading away the tension. Everything in that book was long over, part of another life there was no need to revisit. Like nightmare ice skates that were really iron shackles, it was a sad story that always threatened to drag her under.

But maybe it didn’t have to define the rest of her life.

She lifted her head, gazing across the room at the little Christmas tree, and the snow globe beneath it. Just because her parents’ marriage fell apart, didn’t mean hers had to. There was no reason she couldn’t leave all this behind—walk away, throw it in the trash and tomorrow, begin a new life with Anton. The man she loved. The man she trusted.

At least as much as she trusted anyone. Keeping secrets was so deeply ingrained. Family business stayed in the family. Better for everyone see the perfect Parkers, not the flawed reality. But what had that gotten her? Superficial relationships that came and went, with barely a shrug.

With rock-solid certainty, Carrie knew she wanted more.

Spurred into action, she went to the kitchen and grabbed an empty box. In went the photo album and then, the duffel bag. She set the box with the rest of the trash, to the right of the front door.

At midnight, she fell into bed, exhausted, but filled with a sense of accomplishment. Her things were packed, and she was ready to move into Anton’s apartment, bed and a new life. All that remained were the piles of trash that needed to go to the Dumpster behind the building. She would take them there first thing tomorrow, before it was time to dress for the wedding. Turning out the light, she felt the peace of knowing she’d made the right decision.

The next thing she knew, her doorbell was buzzing.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she stumbled though her hazy, morning-lit apartment to answer. Outside the door were Nika, Galina, Brigitte, Vera, and Yulia Nosova. Each held a plastic glass of champagne. Brigitte pressed hers into Carrie’s hand.

Nika wore a wide smile. “Good morning, sister. Time to get up. It’s tradition to kidnap bride on morning of her wedding.” She raised her camera. “Smile!”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Clutching Brigitte’s arm and trying not to stain her ivory silk pumps, Carrie stepped carefully around patches of ice and puddles of sun-melted snow outside the Griboedovsky Palace of Registry. The building was a startling shade of tropical blue, but the biting wind that sliced through her coat served as a reminder the tropics were very far away. Adrian opened the door with a dramatic flourish.

The bridal kidnapping had taken them to Brigitte and Adrian’s loft for manicures, makeup and hairstyling, courtesy of Vera and a stylist friend. Brigitte helped Carrie into her gown, an ankle-length, ivory silk sheath with scooped neckline and capped sleeves. Perched on her head was a chic French veil that offered a wisp of netting just above her eyes. Galina’s sapphires dangled brightly from her earlobes. In her arms was an exquisite bouquet of red, ivory and black roses.

In the waiting area outside the registry hall, Sergei, Svetlana and Irina stood with some of Anton’s relatives. His friends Pyotr and Tania tried to keep their young son from climbing an ornate pillar in the middle of the room. Nika, Max, Vera, Yulia and Misha looked cool and stylish, while Ivan and Galina gazed on like proud parents.

But the sight of her groom took Carrie’s breath away.

In a black suit and red silk tie, Anton could have stepped from the pages of a magazine. His thick, dark hair framed his face. His crisp ivory shirt accentuated the golden tone of his skin. Carrie’s heart pounded as he approached.

Anton offered a tentative smile. After the past tension-filled days, he was probably relieved she’d shown up. “My beautiful bride,” he said.

She returned his smile, but nodded toward the room’s far corner. It was important to set things right before the ceremony. “Can we talk a moment?”

His tense look returned and he cast an uneasy glance at their guests. “Sure,” he said.

In the corner, standing before a mural of the Russian countryside and a fairy-tale palace topped with onion domes, she touched his hand. “I want to apologize for the things I said when Ivan and Galina suggested we marry, and for the way I’ve been these past few days. I’ve been scared. Marriage is something I never expected I’d do. My parents weren’t happy, and I always believed it would be the same way for me. But last night, I realized it doesn’t have to be.”

Anton was silent at first, then nodded. “Seems always to be rough start for you and me.”

“I know. I’m not the easiest person to be with.” She gazed up, trying to read his expression, then noticed a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Good thing I’m such an agreeable guy, destined always to be with emotional women.” She released a shaky laugh. “Lucky you.”

“
Da
,” he said softly, stepping forward and stroking her bare arm. “Lucky me.” He paused. “I know it’s scary,
lyubimaya
. If it makes you feel better, I’m scared too. Still so much we don’t know.”

She nodded and looked away, as her thoughts flashed to the duffel bag and photo album, still sitting by the door of her apartment with the rest of the trash.

He touched her chin with the tip of his finger, lifting her gaze to meet his. “But one thing I do know is that I love you, Carrie. Very much.”

Her nerves tingled and in that moment she was blind to everything else beyond Anton, his brown gaze drawing her in. Breathlessly she answered, “I love you too,” saying for the first time what she’d known from the moment they met.

“That’s good place to start, then.” He dipped his head to brush a kiss across her lips, then grinned. His eyes shifted toward the guests, milling near the registry door, murmuring in low, uneasy voices. “So we put them at ease, make this real and figure rest out as we go?”

Smiling, she took his hand, ready to marry the man she loved. “
Da
.”

They returned to their guests. Carrie stepped toward the door, but Anton stopped her. “Before we go in, I have something for my bride on our wedding day.” He pulled a narrow black box from his pocket. “You are perfect, natural beauty and I like colorful things. This is both.”

She opened it to find a necklace beaded with pink, gray, white, gold, peacock and plum pearls. She drew in a small breath, running her fingertip across the beads’ smooth, perfect surfaces. “Anton, it’s beautiful. You shouldn’t have done this. I don’t have anything to give you.”

“Your love, your honesty and your trust. Those are the gifts I’m happiest to get.” She lifted the pearls to her throat. From behind, Anton fastened the clasp, his fingertips lightly brushing her skin. Then he placed his hands gently on her shoulders and leaned in to whisper, “Always remember how happy you’ve made me.”

Nika’s camera flashed, capturing the moment. The room echoed with a collective sigh from the women. Irina dabbed her eyes with a tissue. Then one of Anton’s relatives, an older man who seemed to have gotten an early start on the celebration, called out, “Antosha! Don’t let her get in the door first!”

There were a few uncomfortable laughs.

Anton answered her quizzical look with a grimace. “It’s old custom that whoever enters registry first rules the marriage. Tradition also dictates that it be me.” He paused. “But since I’m not traditional man and our marriage is not so traditional, we should enter like this.” With that, he scooped her into his arms, and to cheers and applause, carried her across the threshold.

The moment her feet touched the floor, the delicate opening notes to Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” played, performed by a tattooed violinist and Sasha on acoustic guitar. Just like the pearls, the music was a beautiful surprise. He’d made this day special. For her, and for them.

Overwhelmed with love for him, she would be the wife he deserved.

He offered his arm, and together they walked down the aisle. At the front of the room, a white-haired woman in a blue dress waited before a large polished table. She welcomed them, gave a short talk and directed them to sign their marriage certificate. Then she officially pronounced Anton Sergeevich Belikov and Carolyn Ann Parker husband and wife.

Everyone applauded. Anton kissed her. She melted.

A TV news crew waited outside the registry and Ivan made a show of shooing them away. “What is this? Slow news day? Leave, so they may enjoy their wedding day without cameras!”

He didn’t fool anyone, nor did he discourage the reporter from following the wedding party as they drove around the city to take pictures. They stopped at Red Square, where the bride and groom spent their first date, then the pond at Gorky Park. After smiling in the cold, raw wind, Carrie was relieved when Galina told her their final stop would be indoors. What was next? The rink? The Bucket of Blood up in Hobo-Peebo?

Their limousine pulled up in front of a hospital. Ivan turned, and smiled. “It would be rude not to stop in and say thank you.”

People stared as they passed through the hospital lobby and a security guard ushered them, and the news crews, into a waiting elevator. An excited young man and a tired-looking woman who introduced herself as Jana’s mother met them on an upper floor.

“She’s going to be so surprised! I can’t wait to see her face,” Viktor said, as he led them down the hall, past a nurse’s station where hospital workers snapped pictures and waved at the TV cameras.

Jana lay immobilized in a body cast, but the moment she saw them, she let out a squeal that was equal parts joy and pain. “Oh my God! I don’t believe it! You’ve come to see me!”

Forgetting the cameras and stares of curious hospital personnel, Carrie tugged at Anton, pulling him toward the bed. Tears streamed down her face as she grasped Jana’s hands. Weeping openly as well, Jana smiled back. “You have no idea how happy I am for you to be married on my wedding day.”

While the reporter interviewed Anton and Viktor, Carrie sat on the edge of Jana’s bed. The girl’s round baby face, marked by bruises from the accident, made her look hardly old enough to be out of high school, let alone a bride. Carrie placed her bouquet in Jana’s plaster-encased arm, and asked what she’d wondered from the start. “Why us? Why did you give your wedding day to two strangers?”

Jana smiled. “You aren’t strangers. I love skating and Anton has always been one of my favorites. Never have I seen him skate so well or look as happy as he does with you. Sometimes men need a push to do what is in their heart, so if I could help Anton do what’s in his heart, I wanted to. I know you and he are destined for beautiful things, on and off the ice.”

* * *

For their wedding dinner, they dined on caviar, smoked salmon and eggplant rolls, salads, beef shashlik and roasted winter vegetables. Friends toasted them with vodka and champagne. They shared the first slice of a three-tiered berry-and-cream wedding cake, topped with a bride and groom.

Because it was New Year’s Eve, the reception simply transitioned into Russia’s most festive night. The band got louder and patrons from the outer bar found their way back to the banquet room. Old friends from the neighborhood and total strangers embraced them, offered advice to Anton, asked Carrie to dance.

Just before midnight, waitresses brought glasses of champagne, pencils and slips of paper. “New Year custom,” Anton said, taking one of each. “You write a wish, burn the paper,

then put ashes in your champagne. When the clock strikes midnight, you drink.” She craned her neck to see what he was writing. He moved his arm to hide it. “No peeking. Write your own.”

What else could she possibly wish for? Anton was hers, to have and to hold. She rolled the pearls against her skin. His gift. What could she give in return?

My love, my honesty and my trust. That’s what he wants most.

Love? Easy. Honesty and trust? That was more like the relationship equivalent of a triple Salchow, at least as far as the past was concerned. Then again, the past was irrelevant. Long ago and far away. What mattered was their future together. She blew out a breath, and on her blank slip scribbled.
Happily Ever After.

He grabbed a saucer from the table and held his paper over the centerpiece candle. When the paper ignited, he dropped it into the saucer. Carrie did the same, but hers landed on top of

his. The papers twisted and smoldered together until there were only ashes left. It was impossible to tell whose was whose.

“
Desyat
!
Devyat
!
Vosem
...!”
Ten, nine, eight.
Everyone was looking at the TV, counting down to midnight, when the Kremlin bell and fireworks announced the New Year.

“Should we write new ones?” she asked.

“
Sem
’!
Shest
!
Pyat
!
Chitiri
!”
Seven. Six, five, four
.

“No time. Perhaps we wished for same thing?” He dropped a pinch of ash into her champagne, then his. Tiny black fragments floated on the surface.

“
Tri! Dva! Adin! Novym Godom
!” Their eyes held as the room erupted with joyful shouting.

“
S Novym Godom, lyubimaya
,” Anton said, then pressed his lips to hers.

His kiss was feather-soft but insistent, triggering a surge of desire and making her senses spin. Then he broke contact, leaving her consumed with need, trembling and hungry for more. She tore her gaze from his face to the glass in her trembling hand. “It’s after midnight. Is it too late to make a wish?”

“Never too late,” he said, touching the rim of his glass to hers. A soft chime rang out. “To shared wishes.”

“To shared wishes,” she echoed, then lifted her glass and drank.

Emotion rose like champagne bubbles, making her heart race. She wasn’t drunk, but felt adrift and weightless. “Ready to go?” he asked.

More than ready. She hugged his arm. “So where to now? Did you book the bridal suite at the Four Seasons?”

He gave a little sigh. “Confession,
solnze
. We are in hotels so much, I thought tonight, home might be better. No loud, crazy New Year parties or New Year people. Just us.”

Just us.
She loved the sound of his voice, as he spoke the words. “Your place, then?”

“Or yours.”

She couldn’t imagine choosing that sterile space, over the cozy, colorful apartment they would soon share. “Your place. About to be ours.”

In the taxi, they kissed and laughed, giddy from the celebration and anticipating what was next. Back in Zamoskvorechye, the neighborhood echoed with fireworks and celebration, and inside the building was just as noisy. Every resident seemed to be throwing a New Year party.

* * *

As they reached the fourth floor, drunken laughter and Russian dance-pop echoed down the hall. At his door, Anton reached into the pocket of his dress coat for his keys. “So much for peace and quiet.”

“Who needs peace and quiet when there’s a red bedroom waiting?” Standing on tiptoe, she nuzzled his neck. Heat rushed to her chilled cheeks, as his lips, still cold from the icy winter night, brushed across hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and through her thin coat, she felt the stroke of his gloved hands across her back. His keys hit the floor with a thump.

“Keep this up, we won’t make it there,” he murmured against her hair.

She chuckled. “Do we give the neighbors a New Year show they won’t forget?”

“
Nyet
. This is too damn good to share.”

In a swift motion, he scooped his keys from the floor and unlocked the door. The moment it closed behind them, Carrie crushed her mouth to his. She closed her eyes, tasting the wine in his kiss, feeling his rough cheek against her skin. Best was the sound of her name, murmured over and over, interspersed with “
lyubov
,” the Russian word for love.

He cast off his coat and gloves, then released the large button at her collar, sliding her coat from her shoulders. Before it hit the floor, she grabbed it and tossed it in the general direction of the coat tree. Instead, it landed on the hockey sticks propped against the wall. Everything clattered noisily to the hardwood floor.

“Oops,” Carrie said, giggling. With that, Anton scooped her into his arms. Stepping over the scattered sticks, he carried her through the dark apartment to the bedroom.