Stefan actually laughs. "You? Nervous?"
"Terrified," I admit. "What if I fuck this up before I’ve even figured out what it is?"
"You won't." He claps a hand on my shoulder. "And if you do, you'll fix it. That's what you do."
Judge Varney arrives looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. He's sweating despite the pleasant temperature, tie slightly askew.
"Gennady." He nods. "This is... quite the setup."
"I don't do things halfway, Albert. You know that."
"Yes, well." He mops his forehead with a handkerchief. "Let's make this official, shall we?"
The guests filter in. My captains and their wives, a few trusted soldiers, key staff members including Marie and her husband, Thom, the groundskeeper for the estate. There’s maybe thirty people total. Enough to witness without being a spectacle.
They take their seats, murmuring to each other. I catch fragments.
"—didn't even know he was seeing anyone—"
"—the Lazovski girl, can you believe—"
"—heard she gave up her own brother—"
I turn and look at the two men in the back who said that last part. They see me watching and shut their mouths immediately, faces paling.
Satisfaction courses through me. Let them be afraid.
A string quartet begins playing. I didn't arrange this. Marie or Anya must have. The music is soft, classical, perfect.
Every head turns toward the entrance.
And then I see her.
Matilda appears at the end of the aisle, Mila a step behind, and the rest of the world disappears.
The dress is simple but devastating. White with pleats gathering at the center, creating a neckline that showcases her collarbones, her throat, the delicate line of her shoulders. The sleeves rest just off her shoulders in bands that make her look both innocent and sinful at once.
Her hair is up, styled elegantly with soft pieces framing her face. Minimal makeup except for her lips, a soft pink that makes my mouth water.
She's beautiful.
Not in the manufactured way of women who spend hours perfecting their appearance. She's beautiful in a way that makes my chest feel too tight, that makes me want to clear this room so we can be alone.
Her eyes find mine across the distance and lock.
I watch her take that first step, then another. She's trembling slightly, I can see it in her hands, but she doesn't look away. Doesn't falter.
She keeps walking toward me like she's made a decision and she's going to see it through, consequences be damned.
Pride surges through me, hot and possessive.
That's my woman walking down the aisle. My wife. Mine.
Then she stands before me, close enough to touch, and I can't help myself.
I extend my hand.
She takes it without hesitation, and the rightness of it nearly brings me to my knees.
