Chapter 2: Fate

That's gotta be Aleksandr, I think. Tall, handsome, and like his brother, he's got that dark hair and ice-blue eyes that could probably freeze time. Seriously, do those eyes come with their own air conditioning? The guy's face is all angles and sharpness – like someone took a chisel to a marble slab and voilà! Aleksandr Vasiliev, the human work of art. He's more striking than a lightning bolt at a rave. Seriously, the guy looks like he’s just walked straight out of a painting in a famous museum.

His tall frame exudes confidence and charm - Aleksandr, like his brother, is basically the epitome of suave masculinity, dressed in a tailored black suit that drapes his muscular body with exquisite precision. The structured suit jacket looks super expensive, whispering of old money, untold centuries of wealth, crafted from a rich, lustrous black fabric.

As he reaches up to run his hand through his dark hair, his hands catch the light, revealing the glint of cufflinks that adorn his wrists. It’s hard to tell from this distance, but they look like a pair of onyx studs set in polished silver, catching the light with every movement.

He’s so much hotter than I ever could have imagined. It’s odd, now that I think about it - I actually had no clue what he, or his brother, looked like before this. Despite their fame and status, the Vasilievs are notoriously camera shy. It was basically impossible to find any actual photographs of them online when I did my obligatory stalking last year after mom and Konstantin started their whirlwind romance. It makes sense, sort of - it’s only the faux wealthy who hunger after fame and publicity. True wealth is being able to afford the luxury of privacy.

Mom's already taken her place at the altar, and Konstantin's joined her. And there's Aleksandr, standing to the side with the other groomsmen.

I battle my eyeballs to focus on Mom's moment and not the human masterpiece across the way. All the feels – love, happiness, whatever – are being exchanged under the stars.

Of course, I can't help myself – I keep sneaking peeks at Aleksandr. And guess what? I think he's peeking back. Is that a “I’m-captivated-by-your-presence” look or a “Did-I-leave-the-oven-on?” look? Who knows? I sure as heck don't. And wait, is my face on fire? Yup, it's blush central.

Oh joy, I look up again. And yep, he’s still checking me out. Or maybe I'm just imagining it. Quick, pretend you're looking at the stars like they hold the meaning of life. Aaaand risk another glance? Why not, right? And guess what? I swear he's smiling. Like a “you-caught-me-checking-you-out” kind of smile.

Dammit.

Fast forward to after the vows – everyone's mingling like bees at a honey buffet. Waiters are parading around with fancy snacks and champagne. I grab a glass and let the bubbles do their magic. Just like that, my nerves are on vacation.

Sip, sip, whoop-de-doo, and look who's striding toward me like she owns the place. A silver-haired queen with a side of “I-will-freeze-you-in-seconds” stare. Anya Vasiliev, the tabloids' resident ice queen. She’s like Elsa, but probably colder. Surprise, surprise – we're about to have a chat.

"Hello there," she greets, voice frostier than a popsicle in January. "You must be Arianna, Konstantin's brand new step daughter. Welcome to the family."

"Hi, Mrs. Vasiliev," I say, wondering if I’m meant to be curtseying or something.

This is so goddam awkward. I have no idea how to talk to my new… what is she to me, anyway? Step grandmother?

Anya lips curl into a thin smile. "Please, Anya is just fine. So, what's your education plan, Arianna? Konstantin mentioned you recently graduated high school."

"I'll be starting college in the fall," I reply, feeling slightly more at ease talking about my future plans. "I'm interested in environmental studies, like my mom."

Anya goes full-arched eyebrow. "Noble, indeed. Our planet needs its warriors."

"Definitely," I agree, relieved that the conversation seems to be going smoothly.

"Have you given any thought to what you'll specialise in?" she inquired further, leaning in slightly.

"I'm leaning towards energy studies and climate change," I answer, warming to the subject.

Before I can get more chatty about the polar ice caps melting, my mom swoops in. "Arianna, there you are. Meeting Anya, I see."

See, Mom's the lifesaver, and she's smooth with the introductions. "Yeah, we were just, you know, chatting."

Anya studies Mom like she's a rare butterfly. "Your daughter has potential, Sandra. Environmental studies – I commend the choice."

Mom's doing this proud-mama dance. "Thanks, I’m really proud of her. I can’t believe my baby is all grown up and going off to Stanford soon…"

I feel my cheeks turn red as she pouts at me. Just as my awkwardness is threatening to turn me into a nervous hamster, enter Aleksandr – the lifeguard of my sanity. I wonder what he's like beyond the flashy headlines.

"Ah, the Aleksandr approacheth," Anya croons, somewhere between fond and sarcastic.

I share a “Help me!” look with Mom. I’m feeling waaaay out of my depth in this conversation, and I’d love to beat a hasty retreat before Aleksandr joins us, but I don’t want to be rude to my new in-laws… step family… whatever.

Aleksandr steps up beside me, and I realise he looks even more handsome when he smiles. Seriously, those genes – they're like a superpower. Now that I’m seeing him up close, he’s even more handsome than I could have imagined. Broad shouldered and athletic, his toned physique is obvious even beneath his dark suit. A dark tattoo on his wrist peeks out from beneath the cuff of his shirt.

That’s right… I remember some tabloid story a while back about how he’s considered the family rebel, the billionaire bad boy, who’s left a string of broken hearts in his wake. I know he’s almost double my age, at thirty five, but I can’t help but feel an instant rush of heat in his presence.

There’s just something utterly magnetic about him, more handsome and captivating than any movie star.

I really shouldn’t be feeling this way - he’s my mom’s new brother-in-law now, after all - but it can’t hurt to enjoy the eye candy, right?

My heart does a beat dance. Note to self: assess this guy yourself, no media bias allowed.

"Mother," he greets Anya with a quick bow, which I’m guessing must be another weird European tradition.

"The party's a hit,” he says, looking out over the revellers. “Everyone's quite merry."

Anya nods like a queen approving of her court. "They certainly are. I hope you’ve mingled with the Fleischer family and the Marquesses of Banneville‎, Aleksandr."

Aleksandr and I exchange a brief gaze – heart, don’t fail me now. Then he turns his attention to Mom.

“So, what are your plans for the summer?” He asks my mom . “Have you changed your mind about taking me up on my offer?”

Wait, what? I butt in, before I can stop myself. "What offer?"

Aleksandr's eyes twinkle, mischief personified. "Just a little invitation for your mom and my brother to spend their honeymoon at my estate on the French Riviera. And you, of course. It’s a rambling old manor house, so there are plenty of rooms for you to escape the lovebirds."

He winks at me, and my cheeks? Cue the tomato parade.

Mom excuses herself from the conversation as one of her cousins walks up to her with a wave, so I'm stranded with Aleksandr and Anya.

"Arianna, right?" Aleksandr starts, his cold blue eyes sparkling with curiosity. "We haven't done the formal meet and greet yet. I suppose, with my brother now being married to your mother, that makes you my… what… niece-in-law? Step-niece? Step-niece-in-law?"

"Sure, that works," I quip, taking a sip of my champagne for good measure.

"Konstantin’s been gushing about you," Aleksandr adds, a grin dancing in those blue pools of his. "He didn't mention the 'beautiful' part, though."

“Oh, stop it Aleksandr!” His mother says, rolling her eyes at him. “You shameless flirt. This girl is OFF LIMITS. She’s family.”

“Is she?” Aleksandr asks with a mischievous grin. “Maybe by law, but not by blood.”

“Really, Aleksandr…” Anya warns, brow raised.

"Come on, Mother, you know I live to ruffle your feathers," he laughs, and she play-smacks his arm. I can't help but giggle at their act, just before a sudden interruption shatters the moment.