Page 19 of Forced & Owned By the Bratva Boss

He extends a hand to me, which I gracefully ignore as I take my place by his side. It’s not that I don’t want to keep up with appearances, but it’s hard to put on a performance when the man who’ll soon become my husband looks like one of the gods from Greek mythology.

He’s wearing a finely tailored Armani suit that does nothing to hide his broad shoulders and athletic build. When his striking blue eyes met mine in the moment before he extended his hand to me, I completely forgot how to breathe.

Any contact between us would probably break whatever control I have left—whatever control I need to take him down.

I can’t risk that.

I can’t risk having these little feelings that’ve refused to die over the past couple years take over and ruin everything I’ve worked for.

“You look better than I imagined,” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear.

A smile tugs at my lips despite myself. “Well, I guess I should feel flattered my dictator finds me decent.”

I don’t look at him, but I can feel his lips curling with amusement. “Today’s our wedding day, and if you’re trying to provoke—”

“I’ve never tried to provoke you,” I whisper back sharply. “You forced me into marrying you.”

He’s about to shoot back when the Russian priest clears his throat. “If we may begin.”

I roll my eyes at Igor, then shift all of my focus to the priest.

The priest starts to read a Bible verse about love and submission and everything else. I barely hear a word he’s saying because I’m too busy trying not to show how much standing next to Igor affects me.

I hate the way his expensive cologne invades my nose and infiltrates my senses, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything that isn’t my soon-to-be husband.

There’s nothing about this man that isn’t appealing to my senses, and I despise that with all of my being.

When the priest asks Igor if he accepts me as his wife, he answers without hesitation. “I do.”

The same question comes to me, and for the first time, I lift my head and dare to look at the man standing in front of me in the eyes.

Memories from the last day I saw him years ago flood my mind. Memories of the coldness in his eyes when he told me I was nothing but fun to him. The harshness in his tone when he dismissed me and called me a kid.

Anger boils deep in my chest, but it’s not nearly enough to cloud the part of me that still desires him.

“I do,” I finally bring myself to answer.

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes that could pass for relief, or even a glint of joy, but it doesn’t stay long enough for me to decide what emotion it actually is before it vanishes, replaced by that blank expression I’ve grown used to.

He takes a ring from the small box one of his men brings to us, a small silver band adorned with crusts of diamonds around a huge rock at the middle that catches the sunlight shining through the open windows.

It’s beautiful.

And I can tell it costs more than a mansion just looking at it.

Igor slides the ring onto my finger, his thumb lingering against my skin for a second longer than necessary, his eyes never leaving mine.

His touch is warm and deliberate. It seeps into my skin like a slow burn, turning the air in my lungs to ash. For a moment, the air between us tightens, and I forget there are hundreds of people watching us.

I take the second ring from the box, sliding the platinum band over his knuckle without breaking eye contact until applause erupts around us, breaking the spell.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest says. “You may now kiss your bride.”

The crowd of Igor’s business partners, family, and friends erupts in cheers. White flashes burst from every direction. The sudden onslaught makes my stomach drop.

I hate being around crowds, especially strangers. I instinctively try to step back, but before I can pull away, Igor closes his hand around my waist and hauls me against him.

The impact knocks the breath from me.