AllFreeNovel
Share Us
If Father Orlov doesn’t pick up the pace,Imight decide to call the whole thing off.
“Father,” I interrupt when he starts in with yet another Bible verse, “let’s cut to the chase here.”
Father Orlov blanches, but he closes his Bible. His lips move silently—probably offering up a prayer for my poor, ruined soul. I won’t tell him that it’s been a lost cause for a long time.
Truth be told, I’m not sure why I asked him to be here at all. My mother always hoped I’d be married in a church, but I’m not one of those people who believe the dead are watching over us. Even if my mother is up there somewhere, she’d be too ashamed to show up to this fucking charade.
Father Orlov lays the legal documents in front of Laila. “It’s time to sign, my dear.”
She’s chewing on her lip, staring down at the paper like it might bite her if she gets too close. “I guess this makes it official.”
“Only in the eyes of the law,” Father Orlov says helpfully. “The vows you’re about to repeat, though—those will make it official in the eyes of the Lord.”
“I’m not sure the Lord is watching this one,” she mutters, bending over to sign her name at the bottom of the page.
Father Orlov sweeps the papers away from Laila the moment she’s signed and presents them to me. “Arsen.”
I sign without hesitation, my scrawl sweeping across the page. “I think we can do without the vows.”
Father Orlov looks horrified. “You have to! The promises you two make to each other before the Lord are—they’re everything marriage is. I’ve never— I can’t sign this paper without?—”
“Say your vows and put the poor man out of his misery,” Dominik grumbles from behind me.
“Didn’t you get the memo, Father?” Laila quips miserably, rubbing her baby bump. “Arsen isn’t the traditional type.”
Up until now, Father Orlov has done a remarkable job of ignoring the evidence of our premarital intercourse, but his face flushes crimson as his eyes shift from Laila’s stomach to my face. If I push him too hard, I might turn this wedding into a funeral.
“Make it fast,” I sigh. “It’s late.”
“Whose fault is that?” Laila says under her breath.
“Someone who despises both of us, apparently.”
I turn my eyes to the pale-faced priest as he clears his throat. “Do you, Arsen Adamov, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” Father Orlov asks. “In sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for as long as you both shall live?”
Laila is staring down at the ground, hiding behind her curtain of sunshine gold hair. On a sudden, stupid spurt of impulse, I reach out and grab her hands.
She wants me to be traditional? Fine. I can be traditional.
Her wide eyes snap to mine and, would you look at that? I have my very own blushing bride.
I meet her gaze. “I do.”
She arches a brow in challenge. Is it possible to object at your own wedding? Knowing what I know about her, I wouldn’t be surprised.
But when Father Orlov asks the same question of Laila, she just shrugs and nods. “Sure, why not?”
Oh, this little she-devil.I can’t get mad—not here, not now, not like this. I’m making it too obvious where my buttons lie and how easily she can push them.
Father Orlov clears his throat once again and takes a step back. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. Arsen, you may kiss your bride.”
There’s a disbelieving snort behind me—Dominik, I’m sure—as Laila starts to shake her head.
I don’t have to play along. I could end this now without doing further damage to my morose little bride. But the monster in me is greedy.
So I growl, “Sure, why not?”
And then I claim her.
