"Cancel them or get your staff to do them, I only want the best. The best is you." My voice drops. Not quite a threat. Just a statement of fact.
A sharp intake of breath. Then, quietly, "What aesthetic are you looking for?"
"Spring. Fresh. White and green with touches of color. Nothing too formal. Make it look like the garden decided to bloom indoors."
She's silent for a moment, and I can hear her mind working. "I can do that. I'll need immediate access to the space."
"You'll have it. And Anya?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
I end the call before she can respond.
The rest falls into place with ruthless efficiency. My tailor will have my charcoal suit pressed and delivered. The caterers Stefan uses for events will provide champagne and light refreshments.
Then I force myself to sit down and think through what happens after the ceremony. After I make her legally, irrevocably mine.
Tonight.
The wedding night.
I've had plenty of women. Enough to know what I'm doing, enough to know how to make it good. But those were transactions. Physical release and nothing more. I'd learned early that attachment was weakness, that caring too much gave people leverage.
But Matilda isn't a transaction.
She's mine in a way that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the way she looked at me when she said yes. The way she held her ground against her entire family. The way she worries her bottom lip when she's nervous and how her breath catches when I get too close.
I want her. That's not in question. I've wanted her since I saw her kneeling on that floor in her nightdress, all soft curves and unexpected steel.
But I also need her to want this. Want me. Not because she owes me or because she's grateful or because she thinks she has no other choice.
Because she chooses it.
My phone buzzes. Stefan: Rings acquired. Suit en-route. Men notified. Orangery being set up now.
I check my watch. Two hours until the ceremony.
Time to get ready.
***
I'm standing in the orangery when Stefan finds me.
The space has been transformed. Anya pulled off something close to a miracle. The citrus trees are woven with tiny white flowers that catch the afternoon light streaming through the glass panels. Simple wooden chairs form two sections with an aisle down the middle. Everything is green and growing and alive, spring made tangible.
"Impressive," Stefan says, coming to stand beside me.
"It'll do." I adjust my cuffs. The charcoal suit fits perfectly, as it should. "The men?"
"Arriving now. Vasily's already here. The others are five minutes out."
I nod. "And Matilda?"
"Mila says she's ready." He pauses. "She's nervous."
"Good. So am I."
