They’re everywhere today. Watching. Waiting. For what? A runaway bride? An attack? Both seem equally likely at this juncture.
Irina leans down, her feathery soft hair curtaining my face as she kisses my forehead. “I need to claim my seat in the front row.” She fusses with my dress one last time before gliding out the door.
Valeria materializes wearing a warm smile and a stunning ice blue dress. “Are you ready?”
I stifle an incredulous scoff. I’ve spent a whopping handful of hours with Alexei’s half-sister, yet she’s my maid of honor. My only attendant. The absurdity of the situation urges me to laugh, but if I start, I may never stop. “Yes.”
Is there still time to run?
The church is small but ornate, all gothic stonework, icons, and incense. Russian Orthodox, they told me. Not my faith. Not that I have much of one anymore. I hover in the dark wood paneled vestibule between two sets of double doors. One leads to freedom. The other leads to a room filled with criminals and killers…one of whom wants nothing to do with me.
If I could feel anything today, my heart might crack, but only numbness seeps through my body as Roman takes my arm.
The Pakhan is standing in for the father who abandoned me before I was old enough to hate him properly.
Roman pats my hand, his features softening as he gifts me a rare, genuine smile. “You look radiant.”
I murmur what I hope is an appreciative response, my brain drifting as the music starts. I take one step forward, then another. My body functions on autopilot while my detached mind floats. The chapel is even more crowded with iconography. Statues of saints occupy carved, gold-encrusted alcoves. Even dark wooden pews are covered in etchings and scarlet cushions with gold trim.
The guests angle toward us to watch our procession. So many unfamiliar faces. Men with hard eyes and expensive suits. Women with tight smiles and designer dresses. Bratva royalty, all of them.
Since none of the attendants are here for me, the groom’s family lines both sides of the aisle.
Irina and Mikhail, the parents of the groom, are in the front row. Irina dabs at her eyes. Mikhail stares down his long patrician nose with an unreadable expression in his dark eyes.
Alexie waits at the end of the aisle.
My mouth goes dry.
Straight-backed, stoic-faced, with his hands clasped before him, my gorgeous husband-to-be could feature on the cover of a fashion magazine. He wears a perfectly tailored tux with silk gray lapels that match the gray vest underneath. The stripe down the outside seam of the pants is crafted from the same cloth. There’s even a gray silk pocket square.
My monochrome man.
No, notmine. Alexei’s made it perfectly clear that our marriage is a business transaction. The only way to appease Roman and keep me alive.
When his blue eyes meet mine, they’re empty.
No recognition.
No hint of the man who brought me to life when he touched me, bought me art supplies, and rescued my cat.
All traces of that man have disappeared.
I continue shuffling forward, placing one foot in front of the other. A prisoner approaching her sentence.
Roman halts, grasps my hand, and places it in Alexei’s. “Treat her well.”
“Of course, Pakhan.” No warmth to be found in his voice.
All my remaining hope crumbles.
This isn’t a wedding. It’s the transfer of a prisoner from one man to another.
For life.
My bouquet suddenly weighs too much.
Valeria gently extracts the expensive floral arrangement from my hands. Alexei tugs me down to kneel with him, signaling the priest to start his prayer.
