Page 1 of Jetmir

PROLOGUE

ANYA

The late afternoon sun spilled over the stone streets of Albania, warming the pale facade of the small coastal church in Vlorë.

It was emptier and quieter here than I had ever imagined a wedding venue could be—no friends, no family, no voices rising in anticipation—only the hush of wind coming off the sea and the faint rustle of olive trees nearby.

But that was enough because he was with me. This place today was where I would become Mrs. Thorne.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the church carved from pale stone, its spires reaching up to touch the wispy clouds rolling overhead. It was picturesque enough to feel plucked from my wildest dreams.

Thorne opened the passenger door and I took his hand, stepping out with a bouquet trembling slightly in the other. White and red roses. Innocence and passion.

Because I planned to give my innocence to Thorne once the priest declared him my husband.

My breath caught as I looked over to him. Tall, steady, watching me with an expression that softened the moment I met his eyes. My heart raced in my chest in anticipation that soon, I would be his forever and he would be mine.

“Ready?” he asked, and I nodded. “You look so beautiful, angel.”

My dress, which I found in a local vintage shop, was simple. Its satin fabric followed my curves and came down to rest above my knees. It might have been cheap, but I’d never felt more beautiful than I did right now under this man’s gaze.

“I can’t breathe without you, Anya Santos. Always remember that I love you more than life itself. Wherever you go, I follow. Even to death.”

I gushed over his declarations of love. He embodied all the men I was guilty of swooning over in the novels I read. Passionate. Attentive. He made my body, soul, and heart sing. But most importantly, he wasn’t afraid to express his love. And God knew, I loved him too. After all, I lied to my family and friends so I could be with him.

Ignoring feelings of guilt that flickered deep in the pit of my stomach, I murmured, “I love you too, Thorne.”

A flicker of concern crossed his features, but it was gone too fast and I wondered if maybe it wasn’t my eyes playing tricks. Thorne wanted the two of us alone for the ceremony, and he refused to take my virginity until we were wed. He was old-fashioned in that way, and I couldn’t deny how much I liked it. He promised we'd celebrate with family and friends later. Today was just for us.

The world and all thoughts faded away as we stepped forward, making our way up the stairs and through the open doors of the church.

Inside, candlelight flickered against icons and stained glass, mixing traditions in a way that felt unexpectedly fitting. The aisle stretched in quiet symmetry. At the front stood three figures waiting in composed stillness: a Catholic priest in white vestments, an Orthodox priest with a dark stole embroidered in gold, and a civic official in a simple, formal suit. A triad of witnesses to a single union.

They were selected to honor my family’s faith; Thorne’s, who were Russian Orthodox; and to meet any legal requirements.

Because that was who Thorne was. He thought of everything.

The sound of my heels on stone echoed faintly through the church, keeping rhythm with the steady beat of my heart. The light through stained glass painted fragments of color across the floor and up to the altar, as if the building itself was guiding me toward my future.

When I drifted past the final pew, I could barely contain the smile threatening to break across my face.

The ceremony began and the Catholic priest spoke first, offering words of unity and blessing. The Orthodox priest followed, his voice steady as he invoked continuity and faith carried across generations. The civic official completed the circle with the language of law, grounding what we were doing in something earthly and final.

And Thorne… he never looked away from me. Not once. Even as the words shifted between languages of spirit and state, his attention remained anchored to me.

When it came time for vows, he spoke first.

“Where you end is where I begin. I’ll always come for you, my angel. Until my dying breath, it’s you and me. I’ll never give you up,” he said simply. “No matter what. Today and forever.”

When my turn came, my voice felt light, almost giddy.

“You and me,” I echoed. “Forever.”

His hands were steady as he slid the gold band onto my finger, a small weight settling into place, a tangible promise of our vows. Because in my world, marriage was forever.

When we finished the symbolic exchange, neither of us moved. The silence was full of promises, charged with ache and desire.

“You may kiss the bride.”