"Yes." Louder this time. Steadier. "Yes, I'll marry you."
The relief that crashes through me is so powerful it's almost painful. I don't let myself think about what that means. Don't let myself examine why this woman's answer matters more than any territory I've ever won, any enemy I've ever crushed.
I just kiss her.
Not like in the car. Not careful or controlled or testing. This kiss is claiming and possessive and everything I've been holding back since the moment I saw her kneeling on her father's floor.
She gasps against my mouth and I deepen the kiss, one hand still in her hair, the other sliding to the small of her back to pull her closer. She's soft everywhere I'm hard, yielding everywhere I'm unyielding, and the contradiction of her is going to drive me out of my mind.
When I finally pull back, we're both breathing hard.
Her lips are puffy, her eyes dazed, and I've never seen anything more perfect in my life.
"We're doing this today," I tell her.
She blinks. "What?"
"Getting married. Today."
"That's—you can't just—"
"I can." I run my thumb along her jaw. "I'm the Pakhan, Matilda. I can do whatever I want. And what I want is you legally bound to me before anyone gets ideas about taking you away."
"Who would take me away?" She asks, her face folding into lines that tell me she is searching for answers in her own mind.
"Your father. My enemies. Anyone stupid enough to think you're not protected." My jaw tightens. "Once you're my wife, you're untouchable."
She stares at me, and I can see her trying to process. Trying to catch up to a decision that's already been made.
"I don't have a dress," she says finally.
"I'll get you one."
"I don't have—"
"I'll get you everything." I kiss her again, softer this time. "All you have to do is show up and say yes. Can you do that?"
She looks at me for a long moment, then nods.
"Yes," she says. "I can do that."
I smile. It's not something I do often. But right now, with this woman in my arms who just agreed to tie herself to me in every way that matters, I can't seem to stop myself.
"One more I thing," I add. "Call me Gennady."
She nods, and suddenly the urge to hear her say my name overwhelms me.
"Gennady," she whispers softly causing something to ripple beneath my skin that feels like a promise. Then, stronger this time, "Gennady."
"Good girl," I murmur against her temple.
She shivers.
And I know exactly what kind of wedding night we're going to have.
Matilda
The door closes behind Gennady and I stand there, alone in the sudden quiet, trying to remember how to breathe.
