You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 1) (39 page)

SNOW

T
he day of our wedding dawns bright and cold. It is such a mad rush, the process of getting ready, but finally I am. Nobody allows me to see the mirror until my ensemble is complete, down to my satin covered shoes and my bridal bouquet.

‘Oh, Snow,’ Layla says in an awed voice. ‘You look like a fairy tale princess.’

I look at myself in the mirror and my mouth drops open in astonishment. I
do
look like a fairy tale princess!

The dress is everything I ever dreamed of. It has an illusion sweetheart neckline, a ball gown silhouette, and lace sleeves that are longer than my fingers, giving it the impression of a medieval costume. There are delicate lace details on the edges of the sleeves and a stunning appliqué on the bodice. On my head sits a glittering tiara made of stars.

I have to blink to stop myself from crying with happiness. I can’t believe I am getting married to Shane. It’s like a dream. It’s just too perfect.

‘No, no, no,’ cries Lily. ‘Don’t you dare cry and ruin all the make-up artist’s work.’

That makes me laugh.

There is a knock on the door. Layla runs to open it and my father comes into the bedroom. His eyes are filled with pride. At that moment I am suddenly painfully aware that my father, who is twenty-five years older than my mother, won’t be on this earth much longer. He kisses me gently on the cheek.

‘I haven’t been a good father to you, but I’m so proud of you,’ he says gruffly. There is regret etched on his face.

‘No, Papa. You’ve been wonderful. I wouldn’t exchange you for all the world.’ And it’s true, no matter how distant we have remained through the years, I have loved him. I truly, truly love him. As I look into his shining eyes I suddenly remember being a small girl sitting in his lap and him whispering in my ear. ‘You’re my princess,’ and then my mother coming into the room, and my father putting me away as unobstructively as possible.

As the image recedes, there is a commotion at the door and my mother comes in. Automatically my father takes a step back, almost guiltily. And I see what I have never seen before. The unconscious pattern of our relationships. All of us afraid to show affection to anyone but my mother.

My mother takes a deep breath. ‘You look wonderful, Snow,’ she says.

And I smile at her. As if she really means it. As if she really loves me. I know she thinks the dress is too big and not elegant enough, but I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. I love her, anyway. I just have to remember what Shane said, ‘Love does not measure. It only gives.’

‘You look beautiful too, Mum.’ And she does, in a cream suit with her trademark pearl necklace around her throat.

‘Thank you, my dear,’ she says politely.

‘Well, I guess we better get going,’ my father chips in.

I turn to him, beaming. ‘Yes, we should.’

In the car, with the fragrance of my bridal bouquet enveloping us, my father turns to me. ‘She does love you in her own way, you know?’ he says.

‘I know, Papa. I know,’ I say and squeeze his hand.

‘You have a heart of gold, Snow. A heart of gold,’ he mutters. ‘To everyone else you may look like a grown woman, but to me you will always be in pigtails and asking me what God eats, or why mice are not striped like tigers?’

We arrive at the castle and an assortment of people are waiting outside; the planner, photographer, and some other organizers. Little Liliana is one of the flower girls. Dressed in a black and white printed dress with a flower crown and carrying a miniature green wreath, she looks utterly adorable. She grins and waves at me. And Tommy, the ring bearer, is all dressed like a mini man, and trying very hard to look up someone’s skirt.

As we walk to the entrance, we pass lovely moss-covered animal topiaries. Pigs, bears and rabbits. We enter the impressive doorway and walk down a dark stone corridor.

My father turns to me. ‘Are you ready?’

I nod silently, speechless. They open the great doors and the little girls go ahead, strewing rose petals.

Everyone turns to look at me, but I walk down the aisle in a daze, my eyes searching for Shane. I see his dark head almost straight away. He has turned and is looking at me. Through my veil our eyes meet. And my breath is snatched away.

He is so incredibly handsome.

My feet stumble and I cling automatically to my father’s arm. He glances at me anxiously, and Shane makes a slight movement as if he is about to leave his position and come to me, but I recover, and we carry on down the aisle under Shane’s watchful gaze.

My father lifts my veil and kisses me on my forehead. Shane breaks tradition and hugs my father as if they are old friends. My father nods, overcome with emotion and turns again to me. He hugs me tightly and then pulls away. As he is turning away, I call him as if I am a little girl again, ‘Daddy?’

He twists around, tears in his eyes, and I hug him again. ‘I love you,’ I whisper in his ear.

And he says, ‘I hope you know I’ve always loved you the best.’

And I whisper back, ‘Yes, I know that.’

Then I am given to Shane. He holds out his hand and grins irrepressibly at me, as if he too can’t believe his luck.

The words of the service sound like they are coming from the bottom of the sea. I repeat them carefully. It is truly like a dream. I just cannot believe that I am marrying Shane. As if in slow motion, I am holding out my hand and Shane’s strong fingers are slipping the ring onto my finger. I look up at him.

‘You may kiss the bride,’ the priest says.

Shane bends his mouth and, as his lips touch mine, all the hundreds of guests fire their cap guns at the same time. The reverberating sound startles me. I gasp and a laughing Shane gathers me in his arms and takes my mouth in a long, deep kiss.

‘God, I love you, Snow,’ he says, looking into my eyes.

The organ music reaches a crescendo triumphantly.

‘Let’s go,’ Layla says to me after we have posed for photos in the castle and on the lawns, ‘Time to change.’

‘Change? Into what?’

‘It’s a surprise,’ she says with wink.

We go into one of the smaller rooms next to the great hall where the reception will be held, and there is a deep red and gold traditional Indian bridal costume hanging on a hanger. I turn around and look at Layla. ‘I’m wearing an Indian costume?’

She laughs gaily. ‘We all are. It was Shane’s idea.’

I laugh in disbelief. ‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ she says excitedly.

‘OK,’ I say, getting into the groove of an Indian wedding. I think of Chitra sitting out there in the crowd. She’ll be so tickled.

Layla and Lily quickly help me out of my wedding gown and into the Indian costume. The hairdresser gets to work next, taking down the tiara, and putting gold pins in my hair, and stringing a forehead decoration into the mix.

Red and gold bangles are slid up my arms. An Indian make-up artist from Hounslow uses eyeliner to enhance my eyes, making them appear dramatic. Gold antique jewelry is loaded onto my body: necklaces, forearm decorations, rings, chains. I am surprised by my reflection. I have never seen myself look so flushed and excited before. I am so happy I want to weep with joy.

Layla appears beside me. She looks gorgeous in a lovely blue lehenga. She smiles. ‘You look absolutely lovely. I wish I had done an Indian version for my wedding too.’

I just laugh.

‘One last hug,’ Layla says and we do a quick A line hug, since her pregnancy is showing even more now.

We leave the little changing room, and outside I am surprised to see that the others have changed into Indian costumes too. They look beautiful in their bright lehengas, saris, and salwar keemezes.

Feeling suddenly shy, I follow Layla through the crowded hall. People keep stopping us to congratulate and compliment me. Just outside the room where the reception will be held, Shane is waiting for me in a Sherwani. He looks so dashing it takes my breath away. Jake and Dom are also wearing Kurtas, and they stand beside Shane and smile at me. I smile back and feel so touched that they have all made such an effort to embrace me into their family. Shane comes up to me. He takes my hand and exhales slowly.

‘I always had a fantasy of bedding an Indian princess,’ he tells me with a grin.

I glance at the main table and see my mother. She looks stiff and uncomfortable. My father catches my eye and waves. I release my fingers from Shane’s. He looks down at me.

‘I’ll only be a minute,’ I say.

‘Hurry back,’ he says.

I walk over to my mother. She alone has refused to wear Indian attire.

My father stands. ‘You look absolutely beautiful, my darling.’

‘Thank you, Papa,’ I say and kiss his cheek.

He squeezes my hand and, leaning forward, whispers, ‘I’m so proud of you.’

I turn to my mother. She knows she is being watched so she stands and smiles at me. ‘Yes, you look very … nice,’ she says.

I know she is surprised by the wealth she has witnessed today. When Shane came in his T-shirt and jeans she assumed he was a poor gypsy boy. Now she can see how wrong she was.

‘You’ve done very well,’ she says stiffly.

‘I married Shane because I love him, Mother. I would have married him even if he had nothing.’

‘It’s good then that Shane has a bit of money, isn’t it? I was thinking of sending your brother to England. Give him a fresh start. Maybe your husband can help him find a job or set him up in a business.’

I feel a twinge of sadness then. Even now, on my big day, my mother cannot just be happy for me, but uses the occasion to try and help my brother. And then I think of Shane saying, ‘Love does not measure. It just gives.’ I love my mother, and if there is anything I can do to make her happy, I will.

‘I’ll ask Shane,’ I say softly.

And she beams happily.

The food was prepared by one of Dom’s chefs and it is fabulous. There are speeches from Jake, my father, Dom, and Layla’s husband, BJ. Then Shane stands up to make his.

He thanks the ushers, the bridesmaids, and all the people who have attended. ‘If I forgot anybody, what can I say?’ he says.

Then he turns to me. ‘There is no Romeo or Juliet that ever was, is, or ever will be, that could ever compare to what is you and me. There is no sonnet or song that has been written that comes close to describing my level of fucking smitten. You are not just the love of my life, but the fabric, the reason, and the basis for my life. And when time has passed and everyone else sees you as old and gray, I will still see you as you are this day. So I’ll finish by saying that we’ll be moving to a new home soon, so do not come around because we’ll be banging and screwing at every opportunity we get. Thank you all for coming.’