Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry about that. It won’t happen again.”
Renata shrugs but can’t hide the slight quiver of her jaw. “If I cared what any of you thought about me, I wouldn’t be here.”
I reach for her and cup her jaw, running my thumb along her cheek, leaving a streak of blood in its wake. Shit. I’ll need Harper to fix that. It feels oddly symbolic.
"Are you okay?" I ask her.
She stares me in the eyes, not flinching or pulling away. My hand still vibrates from hitting the bastard. She nods and swallows.
It's going to take some time for her to trust me, for her to know not to fear every touch of mine.
“Are you sure? I’m sorry.”
“I’ve always wanted a hot, jacked bad boy to defend my honor,” she says with a hint of a smile and dripping sarcasm. “Really, Ollie, I’m fine. If something like that is going to ruffle me, I don’t belong in this family.”
She isn’t wrong.
Wait. Did she just call me hot? I can’t help but give her a self-satisfied smirk.
The ceremony is brief. Utilitarian. I hope for something meaningful when the older orthodox priest Mikhail arranged to marry us talks about love and marriage and commitment, but truthfully… I don't. All I'm doing is scanning the crowd, looking for any sign of disturbance. I half expect Carlos to come marching in with a machine gun, sending people running everywhere. But he doesn't, and they don't. I'm so distracted, but the ceremony marches on.
Until we get to our vows.
"Take this woman…" The priest's voice is warm, reverent. His bushy gray beard reminds me of a painting of Moses I once saw in Italy.
I swallow hard and meet Renata’s eyes. "I do," I say softly when the time is right. Her eyes widen as if surprised. I can’t help it. I feel it, too, as if the brief vow in the end is more than words but an incantation that stirs something magical.
"Renata," the priest begins. His voice carries the weight of tradition and authority. Our guests fall into a hushed silence. I cup her hands with mine. Her pouty lips part slightly as she draws in a breath.
"Are you coming here of your own free will and accord?" he asks, holding her gaze. What the fuck? Did he add that? I give him a sharp look, and the crowd behind us gives a collective gasp. I can feel Mikhail getting to his feet, and someone racks the slide of their gun. Mom speaks in a hushed, vehement whisper as if that will stop any of my brothers.
But Renata only looks at me, holding my gaze with her chin thrust in the air. "I am," she says.
He continues.
“Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health until death do you part?”
Her gaze locks onto mine, and in that moment, the world fades. The seconds stretch into what feels like hours as the world grows so small, it’s just the two of us in that brief stretch of time.
"I do," she finally says, her voice steady and clear. The words resonate, filling the space between us.
As he continues, binding our vows, I hold her hand, and our eyes lock.
She’s mine, now and forever.
The ceremony passes quickly, followed by the festivities I don’t fucking care about. I want her alone.
Finally, much later at night, when the guests leave and the grand hall is silent, I take her by the hand and lead her away to the garden. I want to savor my bride, wrapped in white, a vision of beauty and strength. Mine to have. Mine to protect. Mine to hold.
Mine.
Moonlight casts a silver glow over the hedges and blooming flowers.
“It feels almost enchanted here, doesn’t it?”
I can’t help but smile and shrug a shoulder. “Yeah.” I’m not the poetic words kind of guy, but she’s right. There’s something about the garden after a ceremony, filtered with moonlight and dusk, that feels as if magic is about to happen.
“I half expect a fairy to land on one of the flowers,” she whispers.
She shivers when the wind brushes her bare shoulders. I shrug out of my jacket instinctively and wrap it around her arms.
“Nice,” she says with a teasing glint in her eyes. “Will you pay for dinner and hold the door open for me too?”
I grunt. “Obviously. Anywhere you want to go now that the wedding’s over?" I ask her.
"Wow," she says with a smirk. "Is this just an illusion of choice, or are you actually asking me?"
I give her a sheepish smile and shrug my shoulders. "Illusion.”
She laughs out loud. "That's what I thought," she says. "Well, pretending for a moment it’s actually a choice, I would like to go somewhere far away from all of this," she says, gesturing to our surroundings. "Somewhere safe though." She looks up at the sky and sighs. "Do you think it will ever end? The constant danger, the fear?"