The moment Viktor had been dreading and anticipating in equal measure. He stepped closer, close enough to smell her perfume. It was different now, something darker and more sophisticated than the light floral scent she’d worn at twenty. Everything about her had changed, evolved, grown more dangerous.
Viktor cupped her face in his hands, feeling her sharp intake of breath as his thumbs traced her cheekbones. For just a second, her mask slipped, and he saw something raw and vulnerable flash through her eyes. Something that looked almost like regret.
Then he kissed her, hard and possessive, claiming her mouth like he had every right to it. She kissed him back, and fuck, she tasted exactly the same. Like coffee and something sweeter, something that was purely her. For a heartbeat, Viktor forgot where they were, forgot why they were here, forgot everything except the way she felt in his arms.
Then reality crashed back down, and he pulled away, his breathing ragged. The crowd was cheering, throwing rice and flower petals, as if this were a real wedding instead of an elaborate revenge plot.
“Congratulations, brother,” Ilya said, clapping Viktor on the shoulder as they made their way down the aisle. “She’s beautiful.”
“Yeah,” Viktor managed. “She is.”
The reception was held at the Volkov estate, a sprawling mansion that reeked of old money and older blood. Viktor kept Anka close as they made the rounds, his hand possessive on the small of her back, playing the devoted husband for an audience that included some of the most dangerous men on the East Coast.
She was good at this; he had to give her that. She charmed everyone she met, laughing at their jokes, asking about their families, playing the perfect hostess even though this wasn’t her party. She had them all eating out of her hand within minutes, just like she’d done to him four years ago.
“Your bride is delightful,” Romano commented as they stood near the bar, watching Anka dance with his daughter, Valentina. “Ilya chose well.”
Viktor took a long sip of whiskey, letting the burn distract him from the sight of Anka’s body moving to the music. “She’ll do.”
“High praise from you,” Romano chuckled. “Though I have to say, she doesn’t look like a woman madly in love with her new husband.”
Viktor followed his gaze and saw what he meant. Even as she smiled, laughed, and played her part, there was a distance in her eyes, a careful emptiness that spoke of walls built high and thick. She was protecting herself, just like he was.
“Love is a luxury in our business,” Viktor said. “This is about family. About alliance.”
“Of course.” But Romano’s eyes were knowing as he studied Viktor’s face. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to make an effort. She’s your wife now, after all.”
Before Viktor could respond, the music changed to something slow and romantic, and tradition demanded he dance with his bride. He set down his glass and crossed the dance floor, ignoring the way conversations died as he approached.
“Dance with me,” he said, holding out his hand.
She looked at it like it might bite her, but she couldn’t refuse without causing a scene. Her hand slipped into his, and Viktor pulled her into his arms, one hand on her waist, the other clasping her fingers.
She fit against him perfectly, just like she always had. Her head came up to his shoulder, her body soft and curved in all the right places. Viktor could feel the warmth of her skin through the silk of her dress, could smell her perfume mixing with something that was uniquely her.
“You’re quite the actress,” he said as they swayed to the music. “Anyone watching would think you’re actually happy about this arrangement.”
Her mask didn’t slip, but Viktor felt her stiffen in his arms. “I’m doing my job.”
“And what job is that? Professional liar? You certainly have enough experience.”
That got a reaction. Her hazel eyes flashed with anger, and for a moment, Viktor saw the real Anka underneath the perfect facade. The woman who used to argue with him about everything from politics to pizza toppings, who had opinions and fire and wasn’t afraid to use both.
“Fuck you,” she whispered, her voice so low only he could hear it.
“Careful, wife. People are watching.”
She leaned closer, her lips barely brushing his ear as she spoke. “Let me make something very clear, Viktor. The only reason I’m here, the only reason I agreed to this farce, is because I love my family. Not because I want to be here, not because I have any illusions about what this marriage means, and certainly not because I give a fuck about you or your feelings.”
The words hit like physical blows, even though Viktor had expected them. Known them. But hearing her say it out loud, hearing the ice in her voice when she talked about not caring about his feelings, made something crack in his chest.
“Good,” he said, spinning her around so her back was pressed against his chest. “Because the feeling is mutual. I wouldn’t want you to get confused about why you’re really here.”
“And why am I here, Viktor?” Her voice was steady, but Viktor could feel the tension radiating through her body.
He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Because four years ago, you made the mistake of fucking witha Nikolai. And now you’re going to spend the rest of your life paying for it.”
She turned in his arms, and for just a second, her carefully constructed mask cracked completely. Viktor saw pain flash across her features, raw and honest, and so familiar it made his chest ache. This was the woman he’d fallen in love with, the one who felt everything so deeply it sometimes overwhelmed her.
