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She winces. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I know you’re strong. It takes incredible strength to do this. Don’t forget that.”
I nod, taking a deep breath. “I will.”
“Alright,” she says, brushing an invisible speck of dust from the length of her dress that falls to the floor in rippling silver. “What can I do to help?”
I stare at my mop of hair and face. “I can tell you how to pick any lock or find an exit in the tightest of situations. I can show you how to become invisible and stay resilient under pressure.” I tug at my mass of hair. “But something tells me a messy bun isn’t gonna work for this ceremony, and I don’t know highlighter from foundation from concealer, so… help a girl out?”
She claps her hands together with glee. “My God, yes. Yes. This is like giving a master painter a blank canvas in front of a breathtaking sunrise. I am honored.” I can’t help but smile. Her enthusiasm lifts my spirit. She sighs and tucks a wisp of hair behind my ear. “You and my brother will have the most gorgeous children on the planet.”
Children. Yikes. I’ve barely gotten past the part where we’ll have to consummate this shit, something I have to admit, I am very much looking forward to. But… children?
She does up my face with some magical potions or whatever, and when she’s done, I nod appreciatively. “Impressive,” I murmur. My eyes are brighter and my complexion flawless. My lips are fuller and a bit pouty. She even put this shimmery thing on my cheeks so when I turn to the side, I feel like I’m glowing.
“You are so pretty,” she says wistfully. “Now, they’re waiting for us. We’ve kept them waiting quite a long while, so there’s a nod to your Colombian heritage.” She’s not wrong. Colombians have what may be called a leisurely concept of time. “Hora Tipicia,” Colombian time, means that a bride might show twenty or thirty minutes late for her own wedding.
The preparations outside this door have died down, so now is as good a time as any. Plus, who knows how long this makeup will last.
Polina winks. “Let’s get this over with.”
It feels like she’s on my side.
Maybe I have more choices than he thinks.
The ceremony will be held in a grand hall, every inch of it screaming wealth and power. Lev stands at the altar, looking every bit the formidable Bratva leader. His suit is perfectly tailored, his posture rigid, his eyes fixed on me as I walk down the aisle.
My heart leaps in my chest when his gaze locks onto mine. God, why does he have to be so irresistibly handsome? That blend of ruthless bad boy, dominant male, and suave charisma makes it impossible to look away. My self-protective instincts scream at me to run, while my primal instincts bow down in submission to this alpha male who promises to take good care of what belongs to him.
I force myself to meet his gaze, to show no fear. Each step feels like a march to my doom, but I hold my head high. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.
Yeah, I can be a little dramatic, but it’s in my blood.
A priest stands nervously in front of us as if sensing the tension in the room. We didn’t do any of that dramatic walking down the aisle pomp and circumstance.
“This won’t change anything,” I say in a low voice, playing my part.
Lev’s response is icy, his jaw tight. “It changes everything. As my wife, you’ll be bound to me in every way.”
Is that so, Mr. High and Mighty? Heh.
The priest drones on and on, flipping through a well-worn book with tattered pages. The officiant begins the ceremony, his voice a dull drone in the background. I barely hear the words, my mind focused on my plans. I need to gather information, find allies, and wait for the right moment to make my move. This marriage is just a means to an end.
When it’s time to exchange vows, Lev takes my hand. His grip is firm. Possessive. “I, Lev, take you, Isabella, to be my lawfully wedded wife,” he says, his voice steady and unwavering. “To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”
I’ll remember that, Mr. Romanov.
I swallow hard, fighting back the scream rising in my throat. I never thought I’d be here. Here goes nothing.
“I, Isabella, take you, Lev, to be my lawfully wedded husband,” I say, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”
The rings are exchanged, cold metal slipping onto my finger. I stare at the physical reminder I’m shackled to him.
D’aw. How sweet. A mini handcuff.
When the officiant pronounces us husband and wife, Lev leans in, his lips brushing mine in a chaste kiss. I brace myself. I remind myself to stay aloof, not to allow him to have any power over me at all, but the touch sends a shiver down my spine. He’s hot, and I’m not dead. And now that we’re married… there’s no telling what he’ll do to me next.
When the ceremony ends and we turn to face the crowd, the applause is deafening. When I glance at Lev, his expression is inscrutable.
This is just the beginning, I remind myself. The game has only just begun.
