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Yet, if I’d thought it was possible, this is exactly the kind I’d have fantasized about.
The priest announces something to the crowd, and then motions at us once again.
My world shrinks as Konstantin takes my hands in his again. Gone is the wide blue water and the rows upon rows of attendees with their probing stares. His lips part and my knees begin to wobble.
Remember, it has to look real.
His mouth closes on mine, warm and tender unlike his hard kisses before. His hand rises to caress my back, tracing my skin through the materials of my wedding dress. My heart races as his tongue sweeps into my mouth just like it did in Italy.
My hand rises to grip him by his immaculate shirt, clinging to him desperately as if I’m begging him to never stop kissing me.
This is all supposed to be fake, I remind myself as my lips trap his, nudging harder, deeper, until I can’t tell where he ends and where I begin.
I desperately want this to be fake.
Because as long as this marriage is fake, it won’t break my heart when the terms of our arrangement is finally over and we go our separate ways. It won’t break my heart when I have to confront the reality that this was never going to be something that lasts.
As long as this marriage is fake, I can keep my heart protected and whole.
But as Konstantin pulls me closer, and swallow the moans pouring forth from the bottom of my soul to deepen the kiss, I know—even as my heart starts to splinter and crack—that this is the most real kiss I’ve ever had.
31
KONSTANTIN
Every timeI lift my arm to stare at the ring, my shoulder aches, as if the damn thing weighs a ton.
How can a simple ring feel so heavy?
“Have you eaten?” Sima asks, coming up to me in the corner of the huge white tent. The valley wasn’t ideal for the reception, so I had three massive tents constructed on the upper grassy fields. My team assembled them while the ceremony went on, working quickly enough that when I finished kissing Emily, the caterers were already passing out trays of champagne to each attendee as they walked up the slope.
That fucking kiss.Emily’s lips were sweet as honey and soft as cream. I refused to drink any champagne afterward to make sure her taste isn’t washed away.
“Kostya.” Sima nudges me. “I asked if you’d eaten yet.”
“No,” I admit.
“Then get some before it’s gone, even if there’s enough food to last all summer. You really went all out.”
“Cutting corners at this stage would be foolish.”
“All in the name of appearances, huh?” Sima asks.
I look out at the crowd. “Is she surviving out there?” I ask Sima, trying to change the subject.
She’s going to hate me when I tell her that the terms of this agreement have just changed.
“For now.” Chuckling, he snatches a shot glass off a passing tray. “I’d save her from herself if I were you.” Draining it in a single draw, he lets out a laugh that ricochets around the valley. “Yebats, never mind the food—this vodka is the good stuff!”
Save her from herself?I move through the tent, acknowledging all who call my name, pausing where I must to spare a word. So far, this wedding is going exactly according to plan.
It’s what needs to happenafterthat I’m worried about.
Babies …
I catch sight of my grandmother. She’s difficult to ignore. The bright pink-and-green beaded dress makes her look like a parrot. The circle of men in black and gray suits around her make her stand out even more.
As I pass, her eyes drift up. The single good one spots me, the dark center black as night. She doesn’t stop speaking or smiling to her companions. But I can practically hear her voice in my head.
