BELLADORA.
“You’re going to get drunk, pitcka moya.” My mother‘s voice was hushed, but her tone was tight, as if she were angry that I was drinking my third glass of champagne. At my own wedding.
And because I was already feeling a buzz, I didn’t care to placate her and stop. The entire day was a blur and the only thing that was helping my nerves was the alcohol.
All I could keep thinking about was what was going to happen tonight when the reception was over and Alexei took me upstairs to our honeymoon suite.
Just the thought had me reaching for the stem of my champagne glass and bringing the flute to my mouth, finishing it off before snagging another one by a passing waiter. I could feel my mother‘s scowl, heard her click her tongue disapprovingly at me, but I ignored her. but I d
