“I’ll check them before we go down,” my mother says. “If they need anything, I’ll text.”
“That’s our deal.” I take her hand and squeeze. “Thank you for being here. For all of it.”
“Always.”
Marcus and Tanner straighten when I walk out. Marcus’s mouth twitches like he wants to say congratulations and won’t. Tanner’s eyes flick to the monitor in my mother’s hand and back to the hall. Professional. Appropriate.
“Ready?” Marcus asks.
“Yes.” I step into the quiet hall that leads to a louder decision. My mother goes into the nursery, and Marcus escorts me. The house smells like polish and something green from the courtyard. I pass a mirror and catch my reflection. I don’t slow.
As we round the corner, I feel something I haven’t let myself feel since the boys were born. It isn’t joy. It isn’t relief. It’s a steady kind of rightness that doesn’t depend on dresses or judges. It comes from the choice I made and the reason I made it.
I will keep us safe. No matter what.
10
ROMAN
It’s notthe morning’s coffee that makes my heart stutter. Nor is it my blood pressure medication. Vitaly may brave a showing today, but my entire security team is here, we’ve made many upgrades to the grounds, and he will not get far if he acts so irrationally.
None of that is making my heart skip in my chest.
Every time I think of Mina and me saying our vows, something inside of me lifts.
Odd, to be nervous. The feeling amuses me. I don’t remember the last time my hands bothered themselves over anything that wasn’t a weapon. Not a fight, not a shipment, not an ambush. Today I can feel my pulse in my throat and I know exactly why. Not the guest list. Not the security plan.
Her.
There is something about Mina Harbor that vexes me. She is heat and sex and muted grace all at once. There is a fire in that woman, and I want to stoke it. I want to see what she couldbecome with the right tools. And when she smiles, something goes tight in my chest.
That shouldn’t be. We are practically strangers. But even the night we met, when she was so bold as to approach me on my throne, there was no fear in her eyes. Only seduction.
How does someone from such a normal background become the person she was that night? I’m lost in thoughts of her when my houseman, Sergei, steps into the doorway and waits until I look up. “Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Perimeter is set. Street teams in position. Gate screening running. Caterers are ready. Tanner wants to know if you want the north lot closed early.”
“Close it now and make the cars use the south entrance. Less line of sight from the park.”
“Copy.” He doesn’t write it down. He won’t forget. “Fyodor asked if you’ll walk the floor before the ceremony.”
“I will.” I check the time. The ceremony is public because it has to be. The legal part happened last night with a judge who came through the service entrance. Today we dress the decision in a way men like to see it. The aisle, rings, music, witnesses who will enjoy the spectacle.
The house changes faces when it hosts. Staff have moved furniture since dawn. The winter garden is a hall now, with other rooms rearranged and prepared to host guests. Today is one of the few times I have an excuse to be pretentious enough to have a ballroom. It’s been set up for the reception.
I walk the path she will walk. The aisle is long by design. The men who came to be seen will have time to look. I want them to finish their looking before the vows. If they keep looking at her after the wedding, they’ll lose an eye.
Among pakhans there is a rule older than our oaths. Wives are off-limits. You can appreciate their beauty, but there is a difference between appreciation and making plans. You greet, you nod, you move on. A man who forgets that earns enemies faster than money can fix.
The truth under that rule is uglier. In my world, wives are often treated like property that happens to breathe. Displayed. Moved. Traded in exchange for peace. My father believed in that. He called it order. My mother was a product of that environment.
He called her ornamental, and she became ornamentation.
And she gritted her teeth every time he complimented her dress. She resented her role, and that resentment ate away at her as much as the alcohol did. When it stopped working to numb her resentment, she turned to pills. My father didn’t care, so long as she was still pretty. And quiet.
That will not be our life together.
