It made me want to rattle her as much as it tugged at something soft in me.
“I now pronounce you, man and wife.”
The entirety of the small audience stood with a bold cheer. Hats were raised. It was all smiles and light glances.
“You've chained yourself to fire, Viktor,” Dimitri's voice came in a sharp whisper in my right ear.
“No. I've chained the fire to myself,” I corrected, a chuckle escaping my lips.
“You may kiss your bride.”
I leaned in, holding Emilia's hand, and felt the heat. Her pulse increased, and she stood looking somewhat hopeless before my lips merged with hers. They were soft and tender. Her lips tasted of mint as I claimed them with mine, my domination passing my message of ownership. She didn’t quite move her lips, but I hadn’t expected her to.
“Your father made the wrong choice. You're mine now,” I declared as I ended the kiss, which, in retrospect, was a bit more than a show of domination.
I could feel the resentment and anger in her gaze, but it wasn’t enough for me to think of going back on my decision. I had Romano’s daughter, and no one would ever dare stand in my way.
It was a done deal.
Chapter Five
Emilia’s POV.
Okay, the idea of drowning myself in the bathtub was the silliest thing I’d ever tried.
I didn’t last two minutes under the water before my lungs started to cry out for air. So I had rushed back into a sitting position, feeding myself heaves of much-needed air. But the physical discomfort wasn’t the only thing that pulled me out of the water.
I didn’t want to die.
While I would do almost anything to get out of this house with its numerous rooms and hallways, while I would love to wake up in a world where a criminal didn’t just declare his marital intentions towards me, I had too many things in front of me to just end my life in a bathtub.
Well, not that my plans have a chance of coming to fruition if I became a mob boss’ wife.
I barely slept all night. And, even as I threw the covers off me in resignation at dawn, the same thought whirled around me.
Am I really going to marry this Viktor guy?
More than once, I had found the idea of mail-order brides and match-made couples a little appealing; blame it on the plethora of classical novels I’ve read. I’d read about so many of these kinds of unions that ended up successful, that I had seen myself being one of those lucky brides: being doted on by a husband who would be entranced by my boring experiences and would light up at every opportunity to teach me something new.
But those fantasies were nothing like this.
My feet landed softly on the wooden flooring and, after another deep sigh, I rose from the bed. I strolled the length of the walls of the room, occasionally gazing out the single window as I tried to think of ways to get out of the ugly situation I was now in.
Running away wouldn’t be as lucky and smooth as in fiction novels; yesterday was enough proof of that. I could still feel slight tremors at the thought of one of the guards catching me and meting out whatever punishment they deemed fit. Not that they didn’t catch me, anyway; thankfully, there was no punishment involved.
I pulled the ends of the two-set nightwear I was wearing closer to my chest as I heard a shuffling sound on the other side of the door.
Anybody but Viktor, please.
The clicking sound was followed by the door opening wide enough for the young maid who delivered the dress-my fucking wedding dress-yesterday.
“Hello, miss,” she greeted, a wary smile on her face. “You’re awake already.”
“You would be comfortably asleep in my position, I suppose,” I quipped.
And then I regretted it immediately- even before I saw how her face fell.
“Sorry, I…” I started before she cut in, shaking her head side-to-side as she carried the wide tray in her hands and placed it on one of the stools.
