My breath comes in short, sharp pants. Is he serious?
My brain scrambles for the reason he would legally bind himself to a woman who works for another bratva. Does he think the marriage protects him somehow? That Pavel won’t retaliate against family? Or is this about leverage, about having a Syndicate hacker on a leash he controls through vows and legal paperwork? I don’t know, and the uncertainty makes my skin crawl.
Kirill’s expression is carefully neutral as he leans in again with a message meant only for me. “My hand is getting very, very itchy.”
I blink, coming to the slow realization there’s no easy way out. I could fight him. Make a scene, refuse, but to what end? He knows who I am. He has all the leverage. He’d do what he wants to me anyhow.
At least as his wife, I keep some illusion of control. Illusion being the operative word.
I take a deep breath and then seal my fate. “I do.”
Heat flares in his expression and I wonder what the hell I just got myself into.
Rings appear in Kirill’s hands. His is a simple platinum band, but the one he slides onto my finger takes my breath away. It’s an emerald-cut diamond, at least three carats, set in platinum with a halo of smaller stones. It’s elegant and timeless and it fits like it was made for me.
“It was my mother’s.” His eyes hold mine, serious now. “And now it’s yours.”
Air leaves my lungs in a rush. What does it mean he’s giving me his dead mother’s ring?
My hands shake as I slide the ring onto his finger, the simple platinum band a contrast to the heirloom now weighing down my left hand.
“You may kiss the bride.”
I barely have time to brace myself before Kirill’s hand is on my neck, tilting my head back, and then his mouth is on mine.
His mouth crashes against mine and this isn’t a chaste wedding kiss. This is claiming. Possessive and deep and absolutely obscene for a ceremony.
His tongue slides against mine and despite my spinning head, despite the shock reverberating through my system, I kiss him back. My hands fist in his jacket and I’m lost in it, lost in him, lost in the moment entirely.
He kisses me like I belong to him now. Like the ring on my finger gives him the right to take whatever he desires. And my body is responding like it agrees, heat flooding through me and making me forget why this is supposed to be fake.
When we break apart, we’re both breathless.
The room is dead silent. His brothers are staring at us with their mouths parted, like they weren’t expecting that level of PDA. The priest looks faintly scandalized. Katya is the only one who’s clapping, her hands coming together in delighted applause like she just witnessed the most romantic thing she’s ever seen.
Kirill’s thumb brushes across my swollen lower lip and he smiles. “Hello, wife.”
Wife. The word sends a shiver down my spine.
Kirill keeps his hand on the back of my neck, his thumb brushing against my skin in a way that makes it hard to think straight. He turns us toward his siblings and I’m suddenly very aware that I’m about to meet his family as his wife.
“Katya,” he says, voice full of warmth. “Come meet Dinara.”
The young woman hurries over, practically vibrating with excitement. Up close she’s luminous, untouched by the darkness that seems to cling to her brothers.
“It’s crazy to meet at your wedding, but I’m so happy to be here,” Katya enthuses, pulling me into a hug before I can preparemyself. “Kirill doesn’t date, so when he called this morning and said he was getting married, I thought he was messing with me.”
“That seems to be a theme,” I grumble.
Kirill shoots me a subtle but clear warning look, reminding me to play along. I will. Not for him though, for her.
She pulls back, holding me at arm’s length and studying my face with those bright eyes. “You’re so beautiful, I see why he was dying to lock you down. And giving you Mom’s ring…” Katya’s eyes fill with tears and she fans her face. “Sorry, I’m just emotional. I never thought I’d see anyone wearing it. Kirill always said he’d never get married.”
Guilt curls in my chest. If I feel like shit for keeping up this charade, Kirill should feel ten times worse, but when I glance at him, his conscience seems perfectly clear. Another indication he’s a sociopath.
“Turns out I hadn’t met the right woman yet,” Kirill says, his hand finding the small of my back. He presses a kiss to my temple that feels far too intimate. “Why don’t you two get to know each other?” he says. “I need to handle a few things. I’ll be back shortly.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me alone with his sister, who’s looking at me like I hung the moon.
