chapter 29

“Stop fidgeting with your tie or I’ll tie you to the chair with it.” Alek shot an amused glance at Franklin, who sat comfortably in the groom’s suite of the historic Boston estate they’d chosen for the wedding. Despite doctors’ warnings about overexertion, Emma’s grandfather had insisted on being Alek’s best man—“Since I’m giving away the bride, I might as well complete the set,” he’d declared. “Just making sure everything’s perfect,” Alek replied, adjusting his cufflinks for the fourth time. “She’s not marrying you for your tie, son.” Franklin’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Though I must say, that Russian frame of yours displays a tuxedo admirably.” The door opened as Walter entered, clipboard in hand as always. “Five minutes, gentlemen. Guests are seated. Bride is ready.” Franklin stood, using his cane more for show than necessity these days. Six months of reduced stress and proper medication had improved his condition remarkably. “Well then, let’s not keep my granddaughter waiting. As future Mitchell men, punctuality is non-negotiable.” Alek straightened his shoulders, the enormity of the day finally settling over him. One year since Emma had accepted his proposal, nine months of careful planning around their busy schedules, and now the moment had arrived. “Nervous?” Franklin asked as they walked toward the ceremony space. “Not about marrying Emma,” Alek replied honestly. “Just about doing this in front of three hundred people.” “Price of marrying a Mitchell,” Franklin said without sympathy. “We don’t do anything small.” The garden ceremony space took Alek’s breath away despite having seen it during rehearsal. Flowering arbors created a natural cathedral effect, with the afternoon sun filtering through to cast dappled light on assembled guests. League officials, team executives, players, and Boston’s business elite filled the seats alongside close friends and family. Alek took his position at the altar, scanning faces in the crowd. His sister Natasha sat in the front row, having flown in from California where she was completing her medical residency. Beside her, several Blades players and their partners watched with genuine happiness—the team had fully embraced Emma’s leadership after the championship season. A sudden hush fell over the gathering as the string quartet shifted to the processional music. Not Wagner’s traditional march but a piece Emma had chosen—elegant, modern, distinctly her own style. Mia appeared first, Emma’s maid of honor resplendent in deep blue that complemented her dark skin perfectly. She winked at Alek as she took her position opposite him. Then, a collective intake of breath as Emma appeared on Franklin’s arm. She wore not traditional white but a champagne-colored gown that caught the light with subtle crystalline embellishments. Her hair was swept up with a few strands framing her face, and she carried a simple bouquet of white roses and greenery. The overall effect wasn’t princess fantasy but sophisticated elegance—Emma Mitchell to her core. As she walked toward him, Alek felt a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with his tie. This brilliant, fierce, remarkable woman had chosen him, just as deliberately as she’d chosen to reclaim her life, her name, and her power. Franklin placed Emma’s hand in Alek’s with ceremonial significance. “Take care of each other,” he said, voice uncharacteristically emotional. “That’s the only advice worth giving.” The ceremony proceeded with the efficient beauty Emma had planned. Traditional vows with personal touches, ring exchanges with meaning rather than showmanship, and finally the pronouncement that officially united them as husband and wife. Their kiss was modest given the audience but contained promises only they understood. As they turned to face their guests, Alek noticed Emma’s gaze catch briefly on something—or someone—in the back row. Jack Reynolds stood respectfully at the edge of the gathering, Veronica beside him looking impossibly elegant even among Boston’s elite. Their presence had been Emma’s idea—“Closure doesn’t require exclusion,” she’d said when adding them to the guest list. The reception unfolded in a restored historic ballroom, fairy lights creating a magical atmosphere as dinner and dancing progressed. Alek found himself constantly searching for Emma in the crowd, still disbelieving his good fortune when he found her. “Stop looking so stunned,” she teased during a private moment between dances. “Anyone would think you were the one caught by surprise today.” “Every day with you is a surprise,” he replied, kissing her temple. “In the best possible way.” Emma’s expression softened. “Jack asked to speak with us both. Briefly. Are you comfortable with that?” Alek considered the request. “If you are.” They found Jack and Veronica near one of the outdoor terraces, champagne glasses in hand. Jack had maintained his improved physical condition, while Veronica looked as striking as ever in a tasteful gown that wouldn’t upstage the bride but still turned heads. “Congratulations,” Jack said, extending his hand to Alek. “Beautiful ceremony.” “Thank you for coming,” Emma replied with genuine warmth. “It means a lot that you both could be here.” “Wouldn’t have missed it,” Jack said, surprising them with his sincerity. “I have news, actually. Part of why I wanted to speak with you both.” Veronica slipped her hand into Jack’s, a subtle supportive gesture. “Tell them, Jack.” “I’ve accepted the captain’s position in Seattle,” he announced. “And we’re expecting. Due in February.” Emma’s face lit with genuine happiness. “Jack! Veronica! That’s wonderful news.” “Congratulations,” Alek added, meaning it. “The captaincy is well-deserved.” “Thanks.” Jack’s expression turned reflective. “I wanted you to hear it from me directly. And to thank you, Emma.” “Thank me?” Emma looked puzzled. “For what?” “For the wake-up call I needed,” Jack said simply. “The trade was the best thing that could have happened to me. Professionally and personally.” The four of them stood in a moment of understanding that transcended their complicated history. Potential bitterness had somehow transformed into mutual respect and even a kind of friendship. “We should return to your guests,” Veronica said tactfully. “But we wanted you to know how happy we are for you both.” As Jack and Veronica moved away, Emma leaned against Alek’s side. “That was unexpected.” “Life rarely follows the expected path,” Alek replied philosophically. “Otherwise you’d still be in the stands cheering for Jack instead of running his former team.” “And you’d be dating some tall, blonde Russian model instead of marrying your boss,” Emma teased. “Never.” Alek’s voice turned serious as he drew her into a quiet corner of the terrace. “It was always going to be you, Emma. From the moment I saw you taking notes in that marketing meeting, pretending to be just another employee.” “You knew even then?” “I knew you were exceptional,” he corrected. “Everything else—who you were, what you’d become to me—that unfolded as it should.” The reception continued around them, but for a moment they existed in their own world—CEO and owner, husband and wife, partners in every sense. “Mrs. Volkov,” Alek murmured against her hair. “Mitchell-Volkov,” Emma corrected with a smile. “Some names are worth keeping.” “All of them are worth celebrating,” Alek agreed, leading her back toward the dance floor where Franklin was regaling young players with highly embellished stories of hockey’s golden age. As they rejoined the celebration, Emma caught Walter’s eye across the room. The faithful assistant gave her a subtle thumbs-up, confirming that everything was proceeding according to plan—including the surprise honeymoon destination only he and Franklin knew about. Some goals in life came from careful planning and strategic execution. Others—like finding love after heartbreak—were more like empty net goals: unexpected opportunities that arose when defenses were down and the path was suddenly clear. Emma Mitchell-Volkov had scored both kinds, and the game was far from over.