Going along with everybody else meant you belonged, that you weren’t alone.
So I did.
But kissing Nico was different.
I was different.
He wasso different.
The gentleness of his kiss dissolved the furtive want to push away and run.
Instead, I wanted to lean closer. I slid my hand up to the back of his neck, anointing oil from the chrismating still damp on my palm.
His kiss was curiosity and stumbling forward and being caught before I hit the ground.
His breath had a hint of mint under a dark taste of alcohol, and a whiff of warmth emanated from his open collar that made me think of clean cedar wood in sunshine, a rich green forest in summer.
I was on my toes in my high-heeled pumps, wanting more, and I overbalanced. I started to fall, but his arm around my back firmed and steadied me.
Lying against his chest surrounded me with his heat.
My fingers splayed over his chest, and my other hand accidentally dipped inside his suit jacket.
My palm and fingers pressed against the fine fabric of his dress shirt.
His heart pulsed steadily against my palm.
My heart fluttered and flapped in my chest.
The energetic surge in my body felt like terror, but the desperation was to be closer, not to run away.
I wished this wedding wasn’t fake.
His lips left mine, and then I was the one stumbling-drunk with intoxicating desire rushing through me.
I batted my eyes open to find him smiling down at me and running one thumb over my cheek. His smile reached his bright blue eyes and sparked there, like awe.
Something true shone in his eyes, something peaceful and genuine.
And he was looking at me, like I’d given him that joy.
“Hello, Mrs. Romanov,” he murmured.
My brain clicked, and I began to think again, a process that felt as foreign as flapping wings and flying. “I didn’t know your last name.
“Our last name,” he said.
I didn’t even bother protesting that the marriage wasn’t real. Nico was obviously either too drunk to remember or didn’t want to face that reality.
The church was bedecked in polished gold, with gilded portraits tiling the walls. Though it was night outside, the walls gleamed.
“It looks like something out of a play in here. MaybeA Midsummer’s Night Dream.”
Nicolai shrugged. “Nonsense. Theseus was merely a duke.”
“What?” I asked him.
“What?” he replied, his dark eyebrows lifted like I was the one who’d said the weird thing out of context.
