"I do."
The words finally came. My knees buckled, nearly dropping me.
The rest blurred. Holding back heartbreak was all I could manage. I'd known my groom didn't love me, but his hesitation still gutted me.
Even in a deal, it hurt like hell.
"You may kiss the bride."
Kiss me? He'd probably just peck and pull away in disgust.
I thought bitterly, fighting tears.
His hand clamped my neck. Before I could react, his mouth crashed down.
His tongue forced my lips apart, diving in, claiming everything. It tangled with mine, fierce, like he wanted to steal my breath. Whistles and cheers erupted, but I tuned them out.
My first kiss, nothing like I'd imagined. I felt like I was drowning, fingers clutching his jacket, worldspinning.
He pulled back when I gasped for air.
"Breathe," he whispered in my ear, mocking. "You're suffocating yourself."
I gulped air, face on fire.
It was over.
We walked out to applause and cheers, those same mockers now flashing fake smiles.
A black stretch Lincoln idled at the steps. Boris yanked the door open.
Kirill slid in first. I wrestled my heavy skirt inside. The door slammed, shutting out the noise.
I fussed with the folds, sneaking glances at him. He grabbed a tablet from the side, yanked off his tie, tossed it, and lit the screen.
Blue glow lit his stony profile.
"Mr. Orlov," I tried.
I wanted to ask where we were headed.
"Quiet." He didn't look up, fingers flying. "I'm checking quarterlies. This damn wedding backed up everything."
Irritation dripped from his voice.
I shut up, swallowing my words.
He didn't want this. Tolerating me was a chore. I was a hassle, a duty, a box checked for Olga.
The sooner I accepted I meant nothing to him, the better.
No tears, Harper. This was no big deal.
The car rolled up to Orlov Manor.
A hulking Gothic pile, black spires stabbing the sky, radiating grim authority.
It stopped. Kirill chucked the tablet to Boris and stormed inside, leaving me behind.
