In the Red Read Online Free Page B

if she were bracing herself to leap into a pool of water she suspected was very cold. But she was not one to stand on the edge for very long. “I will,” she said.
    At either corner of the podium, behind the officiant, were two white wicker stands piled high with pink flowers. The flowers were cloth, and a touch dusty. The officiant’s voice droned, “Vasilii, repeat after me: ‘I, Vasilii…’”
    Vasilii repeated. He held the girl’s hand. Looking at them, Irina saw that they both had long fingers, delicate wrists—male and female versions of the same hands.
    â€œâ€˜â€¦take thee, Elena, to be my wedded wife…’”
    Elena’s fine, dark blonde hair was cut just below her ears, where it curled under. The broadness of her cheekbones left no doubt that she was a Slav.
    â€œâ€˜â€¦to have and to hold from this day forward…’”
    â€œElena, Irina,” Andrei whispered into Irina’s ear. “Her name is almost like yours.”
    Irina turned to look at him. She could not read the distant, dreamy look on his face.
    â€œâ€˜â€¦for better or worse, for richer or poorer…’”
    Did he mean she’d be next? That he would marry her?
    â€œâ€˜â€¦in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish…’”
    Certainly not.
    The officiant turned to the girl. “Elena, please repeat after me…” The girl repeated, slowly and carefully, promising to take Vasilii as her wedded husband. Her accent was very thick. Did she understand the words, or was she repeating them phonetically?
    â€œShe is just your age,” Andrei felt compelled to tell Irina.
    Vasilii slipped a plain yellow gold circlet around Elena’s finger. When he uttered the words “With this ring I thee wed, and with all my love I thee endow,” Irina felt a hot wave wash over her. She was quite certain all of them were doomed, like horses with broken legs, about to be shot.
    The officiant did not even seem to be fully conscious when he recited, “Inasmuch as you have thus consented together in marriage, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the laws of the state of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
    Vasilii took Elena by the waist and drew her to him, and Irina realized then that she had never seen Vasilii take possession of anyone or anything like that, with the happy impatience of one finally putting his hands on an object long awaited. Even when he drank his vodka, he did so slowly and with a kind of apathy, as if he were indifferent to the taste in his mouth. But this girl, she had his attention. She let him tip her back; she opened her mouth for his kiss. A kiss that might have been their first, for all Irina knew. Where did he get this girl?
    Afterward, Elena’s hand went up to her mouth as a florid blush overtook her face, as if she meant to cover lipstick she knew he had smudged.
    In the parking lot, Vasilii showed Elena the marriage license, in the Latin script she quite possibly could not read. As they looked over the page, their two blond heads were close together, nearly touching, her hair’s shade as warm as honey and his lightening into white. Irina could not hear what he said to her, but she could see him pause, his finger poised over the page, when he could not think of a word straightaway. He was translating for his bride. Would he explain every word, or might he skip some? The intimacy of their Russian stung Irina with jealousy. She’d never be able to address Andrei in his native tongue like that. Not that he wanted her to. When she’d asked him to teach her, he’d waved her off, saying, “You don’t want to speak the shit language of my shit country anyway. You do not need it.” She assumed it was because he did not want her to understand his business with Dragos.
    But maybe there was some other reason. Maybe it was in the way he said