1

Avrora

Boston, present day.

Today is my wedding day.

I can't believe this day has come around so quickly. Yet it feels like I've been waiting forever.

I'm standing in the bridal dressing room at Grantham Hall, one of the most prestigious wedding venues in Boston.

Staring back at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror wall, I take in how grown-up I look.

My face is made up like I'm ready to walk the red carpet at the Oscars, and my wild platinum locks have been teased into loose waves beneath my veil.

In this dress my father bought for me, I look and feel like a fairy-tale princess.

Unlike the medieval-looking wedding gowns worn by descendants of the Brotherhood of Knights, my dress is from Vera Wang's iconic bridal collection.

The strapless draped bodice has a sweetheart neck and a swirling frothy full-length skirt which reminds me of the sea of white roses in the courtyard at home.

In a matter of minutes, I'll walk down the aisle to marry Mikhail Scarfoni, a man known throughout the country and Europe for his family's wealth, power, and status.

Even though the contract for our marriage was signed and sealed in blood before I was born, the idea of our union never felt arranged to me. Not with him.

Although I'm nineteen and Mikhail is nine years older than me, we've always been close, and I can't wait to marry him.

Everything is perfect. But I'm nervous.

And it's not the wedding or Mikhail making me feel this way.

It's my nightmares.

They've gotten worse.

Seven months ago, when I started my Psychology degree at Raventhorn University, the hellish nightmares I experienced as a child after a car accident returned.

Sleepless nights followed, and I haven't managed to push aside the wretched feeling telling me my nightmares might not really be nightmares, but fractured memories of something horrific that happened to me.

Something different to the car accident, and something more I can't remember from the past.

Just the thought sends a chilling shiver through my body.

The creak of the door draws my attention away from the mirror and my sordid thoughts. When Mira, Mikhail's mother, glides in, my spirits lift.

As usual, she looks like a goddess with flawless makeup on her alabaster skin and her salt-and-pepper hair in a perfect chignon. The elegant emerald gown flowing around her body matches her eyes and makes her look at least ten years younger than her fifty years.

She looks me over, bringing her dainty hands up to her cheeks.

"Avrora, oh my gosh, look at you." The deep emotion in her voice almost overpowers her slight Russian accent. "My dear girl, you look absolutely beautiful."

"Thank you."

She pulls me in for a loving hug, and I sink into her embrace.

"No need to thank me, dear. It's true. I couldn't ask for a more beautiful daughter-in-law, or a better one."

"I feel the same about you."

Mira—the lead psychiatrist at Massachusetts General—was not only the inspiration for my career, but she helped me after my accident. Because we knew each other, it wasn't therapy; I just checked in with her. She's also been my rock, like a mother to me since my mom died.

"We're lucky to have each other."

"We are."

She touches the veil, and as I watch her expression, the only word that comes to mind is nostalgic.

"I remember when you first laid your eyes on my veil. You were eight years old, playing dress-up. You asked me if you could have it."

"And you said when the time was right, you'd give it to me." I fill my voice with false pride, pretending I remember what happened like I always do.

"It means so much to me that you remember."

"I know." As lies spew from my lips, guilt writhes in my soul.

The truth is, I don't remember anything. It's normal for people to forget childhood memories, but the accident stole mine. My parents were told I'd have permanent memory loss, so I have no memories from before I was nine. Nothing whatsoever—not events, or even people.

Ten years have passed since, and I still feel like I'm walking around in a universe someone made up for me. Raising me didn't exactly help my mother's depression, and I worried I drove her to kill herself. It must have been awful having a child who can't remember you're their mother.

I push the heartbreaking thought out of my mind along with my nerves and give Mira a smile. I promised myself I wouldn't spoil the day by thinking about the past.

I just need to get through today, then find a way to get back on track. The last thing I want is to start my marriage off on the wrong foot when Mikhail had so many women falling at his feet.

Mira takes my hands in hers and gives them a gentle squeeze. "Enjoy today, my love."

"I will."

"I'm sorry Evgeni can't be here." The light in her eyes dims as sadness invades her expression, making her look fragile.

"Me too."

Evgeni, her husband and Mikhail's father, had chronic heart failure. Three months ago, he had a heart attack and has been in a coma ever since.

We wanted to postpone the wedding with the hope he'd get better, but Mira insisted we go ahead because the chances of him coming back to us are slim. She knew Evgeni wouldn't have wanted us to delay the wedding for him.

"He would have loved to witness your wedding. So, on behalf of the both of us, I'd like to welcome you to the Scarfoni family."

My heart swells with warmth, and I feel like I'm going to be okay. "Thank you so much. That means a lot to me."

She kisses my cheeks and says, "Munu sterkr smár einn."

I love this blessing of strength in the Old Norse language, the language the Knights still use. I love that women like Mira speak it because of their thoroughbred linage which goes right back to the founding fathers from the Viking era.

I dip my head, appreciating her words. Since I was raised in the Bratva, the only other language I speak apart from English is Russian. But thanks to Mira, I can understand a few Old Norse words.

The door opens again, and my best friend and maid of honor, Lorelai, walks in. In her long golden bridesmaid's dress that looks like it was painted on her slender frame, and her waist-length ebony hair swishing around her shoulders, she commands the same attention she does in one of her plays. She's doing a performing arts degree at Raventhorn and wants to be an actress.

Although she saw me get ready, awe still brightens her face as she looks at me. It's the same adoration I feel for seeing her look so good too.

"It's time." She gazes at me, looking proud and excited. "Are you ready?"

Releasing my breath, I nod. "Absolutely."

"Then let's go." Lorelai beams.

She leads the way out, and Mira and I follow.