Winter Palace by T. Davis Bunn

schoolgirls as the dress had taken shape, denying Jeffrey the first glance. Until now.
    He knew the terms to describe it because he had heard her speak of it in endless detail. It had what was called a princess line, fitting snugly from shoulders to hips, then belling out to a flounced skirt that ended just above her ankles. Her sleeves were tight from wrist to elbow, buttoned with tiny seed pearls, then loose and airy to where they gathered at her shoulders. Her neckline descended far enough to allow an elegant emerald necklace, a sentimental gift from Jeffrey’s grandmother, to rest upon her silken skin. She held a bouquet of white roses and Peruvian lilies.
    For Jeffrey, the moment was suspended in the timelessness of true love. The others cooed over her dress, her flowers, her hair. Hospital staff gathered in the hall behind them and freely bestowed smiles on all and sundry. The hubbub touched Jeffrey not at all. He stood and drank in the loveliness of her and knew that here was a moment he would carry in his heart and mind for all his days.
    Alexander cleared his throat. “Although I lack personal experience in these matters, I believe it is necessary for the groom to parade down front before our festivities may proceed.”
    â€œThe gent means you, lad,” Andrew said, beaming from ear to ear.
    Jeffrey shared a smile and a murmured affection with his bride-to-be, then turned and pushed through the chapel doors.
    And stopped again.
    The room was filled with flowers.
    The two floral arrangements Katya had ordered stood on the front altar. The remainder of the room, however, was decked out in vast arrays of cascading roses, lilies, and gladioli.
    â€œA small token of thanks,” Alexander murmured from beside him, “for allowing me to be a part of this day.”
    From the back corner, a trio of ancient-looking gentlemen struck up a stringed-instrument rendition of Chopin’s “Polonaise.”
    Jeffrey looked down at his friend. “Aren’t they the musicians from Claridge’s?”
    Alexander nodded. “They were the only ones I could locate and hire without undue fuss. Now on you go.”
    Jeffrey made do with a gentle squeeze of the old gentleman’s shoulder. He walked to the altar and waited while the trio paused and began the Wedding March.
    Then Katya descended.
    That was how he would always remember it, how he felt as he stood and watched the moment unfold. Katya descended to join with him in earthbound form, bestowing upon him a higher love.
    Throughout the ceremony, Jeffrey remained showered with the light and the love and the wholehearted joy that shone from Katya’s eyes.
    ****
    Jeffrey stood at the corner of Alexander’s living room, amazed at how much noise eighteen people could make.
    His eyes moved from one group to the next. He watched his father convulse with laughter over something the count said. He saw Sydney Greenfield chatter through a story, drinking and eating all the while. He knew a momentary pang at the wish that Alexander had been well enough to join them. But his own sense of well-being was too strong just then to grant much room to sorrow.
    What had surprised him most during the run-up to their wedding was how well his mother and Katya’s had hit it off. Their first contact had been one of genteel inspection, the first few days very formal. By the time of the wedding, however, they were sisters in all but flesh. His mother helped Magda to her seat, brought people over to meet her, sat and chatted with animation. With laughter. And Magda replied with a smile. Jeffrey watched to see if it would split her face.
    Always his gaze returned to Katya. She flowed from group to group, and wherever she stood, the room’s light shifted to remain focused upon her. She approached someone, and smiles bloomed like flowers opening to the sun. Men stood taller, women leaned forward to speak, all were richly rewarded with a moment of sharing in her