29
Kira wriggled into the wedding dress and turned around so Lina could zip it up the back.
“I think it fits,” Kira said, adjusting the neckline before turning to look in the full-length mirror of her old bedroom. “Does it look alright?”
“You look beautiful,” Zoya said. “I wish your mother was here.”
They stood silently for a moment as they gazed in the mirror. It was strange to see herself in her mother’s wedding dress. She’d seen photographs her whole life of her mother wearing it. In the pictures, her mother had been smiling, with pale hair and the creamy, unlined skin of youth.
Now Kira saw her mother staring back from the mirror, like a portal to another time. The dress had a clear bodice and shoulders, crafted of white barely-there netting sewn with tiny diamonds that gave glimpses of Kira’s skin and continued over the tapered white silk waistline. The skirt fell to the floor in a cascade of silk, drawing rather than flouncing, and the fabric was still soft against Kira’s legs despite its age.
She turned around and looked over her shoulder at the plunging back made of the same netting and diamonds and finished with a simple silk bow above the cascading skirt and small train.
The total effect was Greco-Victorian, even more beautiful than it had been in the photographs. It was the slightest bit snug around Kira’s stomach, but it was otherwise a perfect fit.
She hadn’t worn the dress for her first wedding to Lyon, although she hadn’t been able to resist the veil, a small piece of her mother on a day Kira had dreaded. The dress had felt special, almost sacred. Wearing it while marrying a man she didn’t know, didn’t love, had felt like sacrilege.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she was glad she hadn’t worn it the first time. It meant more to wear it now, a symbol of their fresh start and the love that had grown between them, which Kira hoped would be as long lasting as that of her parents.
“It’s perfect,” she said, hugging Lina. “Thank you for suggesting it.”
Lina sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “It’s the right thing.”
Zoya fished around in the dress box and came up with a handful of diamonds. “I believe your mother wore this to the reception after the wedding,” she said, arranging the headpiece on Kira’s head. “It’s less formal than the veil. Perhaps you’d enjoy wearing it this time?”
When Zoya was done Kira looked in the mirror and saw that the headpiece created a T at the front of her head, winding around to the back in a simple band. Zoya was right: the effect was more casual, almost bohemian, and it made Kira think of the flappers in the 1920s.
This, too, felt right. Her mother’s somber headpiece and veil would have been reminiscent of a funeral hat if it had been in black. It had covered her entire head, draping well below her chin, and had been a perfect match for Kira’s mood at a time when she’d felt like she was going to the gallows.
This headpiece was fun and lighthearted, and Kira could see why her mother had chosen to change out of the formal veil for her reception.
She smiled at Zoya and Lina in the mirror. “I love it!”
A flurry of excitement lifted her stomach. Tonight they would share a pre-wedding dinner with their friends. Roman would eliminate Ivan from the board. And tomorrow she would marry the man who held her heart in his hands.
“Take it off so we can hang it,” Lina said.
Zoya lifted the skirt to her nose and sniffed. “Lucky for you it was well preserved and doesn’t stink after all those years in storage.”
Kira laughed and kissed Zoya’s cheek. “Always looking on the bright side.”
She removed the dress carefully and slipped back into her simple black pants and the sweater she’d worn to her father’s house where the dress was stored.
“I’ll take this to the car,” Zoya said.
“And I’ll start lunch,” Lina said, clearly happy for the company.
“Lina, wait!”
The older woman turned around and Kira took her hands. “I know you love this place. I do too, but I’ve been wondering… would you want to come live with us in the new house when it’s done? I would love your help with the baby, and I imagine I might need some help cooking as well.”
It wasn’t entirely true. She’d come to enjoy cooking. But she worried about Lina all alone in the big house, her father’s ghost lingering like smoke in the air.
“Oh, I don’t know…” Lina said.
Kira looked at her. “I miss him too.” She’d long wondered if her father and Lina had shared more than an employer/employee relationship after the death of Kira’s mother. “But he’s with us wherever we go, and he’d want us to be happy. Wouldn’t you like to help raise his grandchild?”
Lina’s eyes filled with tears and Kira hugged her, knowing the older woman didn’t like to have her emotions on display.
“Think about it, will you?” Kira asked.
“What will we do about the house?” Lina asked.
“I haven’t figured that out yet,” Kira said, “but it won’t be sold, I can promise you that.”
There was too much here: too many memories, too much love.
“I’ll think about it,” Lina said. “I’ll see you downstairs for lunch.”
Kira watched her go, then cleaned up the boxes and tissue paper that had protected her mother’s dress while it had been in the attic.
She slipped on her shoes and was on her way out of the room when her gaze landed on one of her nightstands. She hesitated, then walked over to it, sat on the bed, and opened the drawer.
She reached into the back until her hand came around the smooth cold grip of a gun. She stared at it for a long time, remembering the day her father had given it to her when she’d turned eighteen.
“Keep this by your bed, moya zolotaya. Just in case.”
Kira had understood. Her father had enemies, dangerous enemies. Being his child carried risks. This she had always understood. It was always better to be safe.
To be prepared.
She closed the drawer to her nightstand, carried the gun across the room to her purse, and tucked it inside.
Just in case.