Throughout the vows, she keeps her eyes defiant, refusing to bow her head or soften her gaze. Each word feels like a challenge. I am infuriated and yet utterly captivated.
The priest looks at us, voice steady and deliberate. “You may now kiss the bride.”
I don’t hesitate. I seize her with an intensity that makes the entire garden still. My lips meet hers. It’s short, but potent, a shock of fire and defiance. She tastes of determination and something sharper, something that pulls at the parts of me I’ve tried to keep buried.
For a brief moment, time collapses. The world around us—the soldiers, our family and friends, the soft music, the sun glinting off her veil—falls away. Her stubborn resistance is almost unbearable; it makes me want to dominate, to claim, but also…to break, to bend. Every inch of her presses into mine, every heartbeat drags me closer to the edge.
Then she pulls back slightly. Her eyes, wide and blazing, meet mine. Angry, defiant, daring me to overstep. I feel it like a physical blow: the challenge, the refusal, the fire of her spirit.
I inhale sharply, hands still brushing her cheeks, trying to reconcile the pull she has over me with the fury she ignites. For a second, I just stare, captivated and infuriated in equal measure.
When I eventually pull back, she leans close and whispers in my ear, sharp and unyielding:
“You can put a ring on me, but you’ll never own me.”
A faint smile curls on my lips, sharp and dangerous, the kind of smile that promises war. “We’ll see,” I murmur.
The ceremony ends. Our hands remain clasped as we wave at the family and step down from the podium. Every step she takes away from me feels like a provocation. When she untangles her hand from mine and is whisked away by the women, I feel a violent, possessive surge. I want to pull her back,to keep her beside me, but I don’t. Not yet. I let her go and join my brothers, though my mind doesn’t follow.
“You’re finally married,” Kaz says, clapping a hand on my shoulder.
“Finally,” I mutter, forcing myself not to glance at Elara.
“Someone’s here to surprise you,” Niko adds, a laugh in his voice.
I frown. “Who?” Not many things catch me off guard.
Lev rolls his eyes and nods toward the entrance. “Dimitri?”
Dimitri? No. I haven’t seen that bastard in over seven years. The only Rusnak brother as elusive as me, because he thrives on luxury and travel. He’s hard to reach—one morning in Paris, that afternoon in Monaco, then who knows where the next morning.
Dimitri steps in, blond hair catching the light, icy blue eyes gleaming with amusement.
“When did you arrive?” I ask, laughing despite myself.
“A few minutes ago,” he says, hugging me. Everyone in the family knows I don’t do casual touch, so he keeps it brief.
This bastard is more aristocratic than any of us. Polished. He spent his teenage years in a fancy London boarding school and refused to come home after graduation. Always about the opera, horse races, and car shows. He claims his manicure is too expensive to ruin with blood. Always sleek, always poised, always untouchable.
I cross my arms and narrow my eyes at him. “Why are you back in New York?”
Dimitri grins, that aristocratic smirk that always makes me want to punch him just a little. “I wasn’t about to miss your wedding for the world. I had to see the woman who managed to tie you down.”
Lev groans. “But you missed mine. And Kaz’s. In fact, you missed everyone’s wedding.”
Dimitri lifts a hand, shaking his head. “Let’s be serious. All of yours were…kind of expected. I was a little shocked, sure, but I got over it. But Roman?” He gestures at me, eyes widening in genuine disbelief. “I’m standing in his wedding venue, and I still can’t believe it’s happening. Feels like someone’s about to jump out and yell prank! Is that what this is?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not a prank. It’s real. I’m married.”
He lets out a theatrical shudder. “Wow. I hope this marriage disease in the air doesn’t rub off on me. I’m only thirty.”
“Uh, we’re the same age,” Lev cuts in dryly.
“Shut up, Lev.”
We all burst out laughing. One of those rare, unguarded moments where the tension lifts for a second and I almost forget the war outside these walls…and the woman inside them.
“Is there an after-party?” Dimitri asks, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve.
