Chapter Text
“Nikolai?”
“Yes?”
“When I asked your department to come up with a solution, I didn’t expect this.”
“I know the idea sounds radical, Mr. President, but please—”
A glare - a dignified way of saying, Are you kidding me?
“Just let me explain!” The young man clicked a button, and a soft whir filled the room as the projector stirred to life. A flurry of graphs glowed on the screen, casting shifting blues across the boardroom desk. “The Russian economy’s crumbling.”
“I noticed,” Vladimir said drily.
“The West just imposed bone-crushing sanctions on us.” The other man stabbed his finger at the multicolored charts. “Oil prices are tanking. We’re cut off from SWIFT.”
Vladimir gave a long, slow eye-roll - the gesture seemed lost on the young man, who barreled on, “The U.S. has greenlit more weapons for Ukraine.”
Hundreds of red dots bloomed across the map of Eastern Europe and the Caucasus. “We’re surrounded—diplomatically, economically, militarily.”
A dull pulse throbbed behind Vladimir’s temple. He pressed two fingers there, the damp coolness of his skin a poor match for the excruciating heat gathering in his skull.
“And your solution to this quagmire is…?”
Nikolai gave an enthusiastic nod toward the screen. “China!”
Another click, and Asia lit up in red. “They’re hurting too,” he said thoughtfully. “Tariff war with America. ATACMS missiles to Taiwan. Over 10,000 American troops building up in the Philippines.”
At last, Nikolai turned to Vladimir, noting with a grimace, “Things are heating up very quickly.”
“I see.” Vladimir’s tone was flat. Then again, there was nothing here he hadn’t already discussed with Xi Jinping, the Chairman of China, his colleague. They happened to share a chronic headache called the United States. “I just don’t get how this is supposed to help us.”
Nikolai stared at Vladimir, wide-eyed. “Russia needs a powerful ally. China’s our best bet. We need each other now more than ever.”
“Our countries already signed the ‘Limitless Partnership.’”
“But it’s not enough.” Nikolai gestured at the document like it held the answer to the world’s oldest riddle. “We need something bigger. Loud. Impossible to ignore.”
Vladimir’s gaze dropped to the closed file on his desk. His eyes narrowed at the red velvet cover.
“You don’t mean…”
“A union!” Nikolai burst out. “Not literal royalty, of course. But irrefutable. Like—marriage.”
Vladimir scowled. “We’re not monarchs. What you suggest is absurd.”
“And symbolic.” The younger man tugged at his glasses, his eyebrows pinched in determination. “A gesture of trust. A commitment beyond treaties. The world would see it.”
Vladimir shook his head. “We’d be an international laughingstock. No one will take us seriously.”
“But I’ve consulted with the Chinese, and they said—”
“You talked to the Chinese?” Vladimir said too quickly. He pushed himself up from the chair, and for the first time in the conversation, panic welled up in his throat.
Nikolai clamped his mouth shut, a flush rising to his cheeks. “Well, yes—I might have discussed it with Mr. Zhong, my counterpart…”
Vladimir said nothing. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees, and something must have cracked in his mask of stoicism, because Nikolai looked like he wished he had the ability to disappear into thin air.
“I’m sorry for breaking protocol, Mr. President.” The young man’s eyes were downcast, fingers fumbling and twisting like a knot. “I just wanted to make sure both sides were on the same page. After all, you said we need to work closer together…”
He finally shut up, terrified by Vladimir’s silence.
And he should be. Because if Nikolai had exchanged information with Zhong, it meant the Chinese side knew.
Which meant Xi knew.
Vladimir sucked in a breath.
Xi was aware of this ludicrous, senseless idea.
Xi was aware that the Russians believed Vladimir and he should be involved in th—this sham, this PR stunt, and that Vladimir might have approved it.
Xi must have thought Vladimir had lost his mind.
Vladimir exhaled slowly.
He could still kill the suggestion. Shut it down with one order, bury it so deep even Nikolai wouldn’t dare breathe the word again.
However, that would be accompanied with its own risks. Rejecting the proposal outright - without even giving it a hearing - could look like fear.
Or worse… weakness.
Vladimir hated giving Xi that impression.
He didn’t know why: he wouldn’t blink twice at the stupid rumors and aspersions cast on him, but the mental image of Xi looking at him in dismay made his stomach sink.
Before Vladimir could fully comprehend the reason why he cared so much about Xi’s opinion, his political acumen had recovered with lightning swiftness.
He straightened the lapels of his suit, and when he spoke, it was with a calmer voice than he truly felt, “What did they say?”
“Sorry?” Nikolai jerked up his head, still confused and distressed by having angered his President.
“What did the Chinese say?” Vladimir repeated, gesturing almost impatiently at the red file before him.
The younger man blinked, incredulous. But Vladimir’s icy stare must have made it clear that he was expecting an answer - a look that spoke of a thousand winters. And so, Nikolai’s professional instinct snapped back into place.
He cleared his throat, reaching to fix his glasses.
At last, he delivered a steady reply:
“They offer no objections, Sir.”
****
The heavy door closed behind Nikolai, leaving an unusually quiet room. The silence continued to press on Vladimir, who sat alone at his desk for a long time. The file remained closed, his fingertip hovering over it, a trace of nervous sweat clinging to the surface of what might as well be a Pandora's Box.
The lighting in the room felt too bright, the rhythmic ticking of the clock hammering against his eardrums. Vladimir tipped back in his chair, fingers folded tightly over his torso.
His eyes latched onto the drawn curtains on the far wall, to the Russian national banner, then to the emblem of the double-headed eagle - shiny, imposing, an eternal symbol of Russian strength.
He wasn’t new to restless nights over state matters. But this one gnawed at him differently.
Nikolai’s throwaway line came back to his mind: “Honestly, Sir… with how much you and Chairman Xi talk these days, the idea’s not that far-fetched.”
The words resonated through Vladimir’s memory as he recalled the nights he’d spent talking with Xi: hot tea, casual laughter, soothing crackle of the fireplace.
Vladimir pushed the recollection aside before it became mawkish.
Now there was no warmth of the hearth. Only politics and calculations.
If Xi called it off, Vladimir would be thrilled to the core. He would agree that this was a preposterous notion, and then they would laugh together and dismiss Nikolai’s proposal as a mere product of youthful recklessness.
On the other hand, if Xi said yes…
Vladimir hesitated.
He opened the velvet file. Flipped to the draft statement until his fingers paused over that one single word: Union.
Vladimir swallowed hard.
Should he?
He would never know unless he asked.
If he clung to his pride - to the tiny voice within him that whispered, you can’t afford to be uncertain - then the opportunity would pass, and not knowing Xi’s answer would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Vladimir let out a sigh before picking up the phone.
The silence stretched, thick as ice on the Neva, before he broke it, his voice sounding distant in his own ears.
“Set up the call with Xi.”
****
Hours later, in a quiet room tucked far from the cameras, Vladimir tapped his fingers on his desk. In front of him, a large view screen bathed the dim space in soft digital light. Xi’s image flickered with the occasional compression blur, but his features remained clear: the crisp line of his white shirt, the muted navy shadows in his jacket.
Xi looked composed as ever - immaculate posture, not a strand of hair out of place. Fondness gleamed in his eyes as his gaze landed on Vladimir.
Rumors had long circulated that the two spoke once a week via calls or video conferences. It was complete nonsense - they were busy men with grueling schedules. Still, once every dozen days wasn’t off-limits. Vladimir was always surprised by how effortlessly they could find time for a meeting when requested.
In fact, he had half-hoped Xi would postpone the call, just so he could collapse into a fitful sleep and wake up pretending his earlier conversation with Nikolai had been a nightmare. Instead, here he was, bone-tired, forcing himself not to slump over his desk as the clock ticked toward three a.m. in Moscow.
“So, Chairman Xi, you’re sure you don’t object to this… proposal?”
Xi regarded him with genuine curiosity. “Why should I?”
Vladimir let out a sound that might have been a cough or a half-hearted laugh. He rolled his shoulders. “An arranged marriage? The notion is ridiculous.”
“But not unheard of,” Xi mused. “It was a common practice in ancient China.”
“There are many precedents in the West also,” Vladimir said flatly. “The marriage of Agnes of Courtenay. Her daughter Sibylla. Catherine of Aragon, who died abandoned, cast aside when her usefulness ended.”
Xi raised an eyebrow. “Not every union ends in tragedy.”
A pregnant pause. “However, if you believe the risk is too great, then we should postpone our decision for another time.”
Vladimir winced. “Who said anything about risk? I’m just being cautious. That’s all.”
When Xi maintained a carefully neutral expression, he carried on, “I just thought you would be opposed. After all, you’re a private man. You wouldn’t want your life to be dissected for public curiosity.”
Everyone knew the Chairman of China guarded his personal life like a state secret. Even idle online gossip about him was taboo.
Xi would jump at the first opportunity to bow out of this. Right?
“As the Chairman, I’m no stranger to the spotlight,” Xi reassured. “And I’ve survived worse intrusions.”
There went Vladimir’s hope - thrown out of the window.
His lips pursed into a thin line. “I’m afraid you don’t understand. It won’t end with a ceremony where we sign papers and shake hands for the cameras and it's done.” Though, there would be a ceremony - grand, pompous, world-shaking. “We’ll have to act like it, too.”
“You mean perform?”
“Yes. We’ll need to—” Vladimir’s voice caught. “Smile. Hold hands. Look into each other’s eyes. Pretend like we’re…”
His throat tightened as though a piece of frost was stuck midway, and no matter how hard he tried to force out the word, nothing came up.
“…In love,” Xi finished softly.
Silence lingered for a beat, before his gaze darted away. Meanwhile, Vladimir suddenly found himself invested in the seams of his shirt cuff, which he’d been fidgeting with endlessly.
He only looked up when Xi’s quiet voice broke through the low static of the screen.
“Are you comfortable with it?”
“With what, exactly?”
Xi’s lips pressed together.
“Are you comfortable performing with me?” he clarified. A rare flicker of uncertainty flashed over his placid features. “Pretending we’re in love?”
Vladimir opened his mouth, then closed it again without a sound.
That was the point, wasn’t it? They had to convince the world that the bond between them was real, profound, permanent - a symbol of an unbreakable partnership between their countries.
Which meant they had to be close, even… affectionate.
A surge of anxiety surged in Vladimir’s belly.
“Not love,” he amended. “Just… acting.”
But Xi’s gaze didn’t waver - a calm that seemed too forced. Like a tranquil surface of a lake that barely managed to conceal the turbulent movement underneath.
Suddenly, Vladimir’s excuse felt paper-thin.
“Of course I’m fine with it,” he asserted, sharper than intended. His fingers tensed on the desk, the lacquer slick beneath his clammy palm. “Pretending, I mean.”
Silence stretched. Vladimir straightened as Xi’s eyes narrowed a fraction.
“Gesturing is a dangerous habit,” the other man said. “One never knows how far we must go.”
Vladimir breathed through his nostrils. “You and I—we are colleagues. Friends. We know where the lines are drawn. Right?”
A twitch passed through Xi’s cheeks. Too much like a frown.
Vladimir forced himself to look into those eyes: dark, deep, like burned honey.
It wasn’t as though he hadn’t thought about this. He had always regarded Xi as more than just a valuable colleague. They had watched hockey together; taken a walk through the zoo, lingering too long by the pandas; drifted down the Neva under a sunset, marveling at the gleaming Winter Palace from afar.
Sure, work was always on the agenda. These outings were orchestrated performances - photo ops, political theater meant to showcase the friendship between China and Russia. But somewhere along the way, Vladimir had come to see Xi as a friend.
If he had to feign true love for Russia’s stability - yes, that was his duty - Xi wouldn’t be a bad choice. Far from it, actually.
“I never considered myself romantic,” Vladimir’s voice dropped to a whisper. “But I’m good at playing roles. I can work with this arrangement.”
At least, he hoped so. He was fine with flipping blini with Xi on a cool evening in Vladivostok, but the idea of anything more - a handhold, a hug, or a kiss - God bless him. Could he do it?
“Vladimir,” Xi said at last. His tone was gentle. “If you’re uncertain, we can think of something else. There are other ways to express unity without resorting to staged affection.”
Vladimir glanced away, faking interest in the porcelain teacup on Xi’s desk. Xi always greeted him with a pot of jasmine tea whenever they met. Vladimir could almost smell it now - a hint of grassy sweetness - floating in the air.
He pushed the memory aside. Instead, he focused his thoughts on the pen in his hand - the same one he used to sign decrees on emergency measures to keep the Russian economy afloat.
“I’m certain.”
His fingers tightened.
“For Russia, I can do anything.”
The pen bit into his palm, harder this time, until his skin ached. His stomach twisted into a painful knot, and he wondered if Xi, who sat with an inscrutable expression on the other side of the screen, felt remotely as he did.
****
In the next few days, Vladimir resumed his daily routine.
He met ministers. Held conferences. Shook hands with world leaders.
Strode down the Kremlin hall as though he wasn’t bracing himself for the explosion he knew was coming. As though the world was already watching him and waiting for him to stumble on his feet.
And then, the inevitable arrived.
Three days later, the story was broken.
The media reaction to their engagement announcement came as expected: polarizing. Russian outlets like RT and TASS framed the pact as “proof of unshakable friendship” and a challenge to Western hypocrisy, while their Chinese counterparts, Xinhua and CCTV, hailed it as a historic deepening of bilateral ties under the banner of “mutual trust and global multipolarity.”
Meanwhile, Western reactions dripped with mockery and thinly veiled alarm. Headlines such as “The Strategic Honeymoon: What China and Russia Gain from a Union” and “Putin Marries Xi—But Don’t Worry, It’s Just for the Cameras!” dominated publications from The Atlantic to The Guardian.
On Truth Social, Donald Trump - newly elected President of the United States - jumped at the opportunity to rave:
“VERY SAD to see Putin fake-marrying Xi! TOTAL HOAX! Weak move to distract from FAILURE at home. Should be focused on OIL & STRENGTH not FANTASY ROMANCE! #MAGA”
****
“That went fairly well,” Vladimir said drily, a tablet in hand. Casting a pointed look at Nikolai, who stood beside him with a nervous smile, he leaned back in his high-backed office chair, where earlier he had hosted a video conference with members of his cabinet. “I suppose it could have been worse.”
“Look on the bright side, Mr. President,” Nikolai said, his cheer just a bit forced. “Chinese netizens seemed particularly joyous about your marriage!” He thrust a tablet toward Vladimir, who cocked an eyebrow at the colorful reactions on Weibo. Comments had been disabled on official posts, yet people always managed to invent ways around censorship.
“Two leaders, one destiny.” 🔗
“The red plum blossom meets the white birch tree.” 🌸🌲
“He gave up privacy, he gave up silence… all for one grumpy cat.” 🐱💕
Vladimir’s fingertips lingered on the emojis. They were quite - not endearing but - creative, perhaps - as if these people truly believed this could work.
No. Stop it right there. He pushed back the tablet toward Nikolai, who quickly withdrew it without any remark - probably sensing Vladimir’s strange mood.
“It isn’t mockery, Sir. It’s…” Nicolai faltered, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The office was filled with the low hum of the heater and the soft, almost inaudible tap of Vladimir’s heel against the floor.
The longer the silence stretched, the more ominous it felt.
Vladimir sent his boisterous advisor a knowing look.
“What’s next, Nikolai? A honeymoon stroll through Red Square? Should I practice blushing on cue, or will the Ministry of Culture handle that too?”
He tried to be flippant, but based on Nikolai’s awkward chuckle, the joke had fallen flat
Would Vladimir regret it? He had once complained that the boy was too young for an advisor. Nonetheless, Sergey Lavrov, his uptight but trusted Minister of Foreign Affairs, had reassured him that Nikolai was a prodigy - a special operator with innovative thinking, ready to shake up old norms.
This was what Vladimir got for listening to that old codger.
He looked at the calendar on the desk - already blocked out with events, handshakes, rehearsals.
Outside the window lined with frost, Red Square shimmered beneath a layer of fresh snow, a pristine and ceremonial stage for Holy Matrimony.
For some reason, surviving the sanctions seemed easier than surviving the wedding.