Page 218 of Arrow

The congregation erupted in applause, though I noted my father remained seated, his expression unreadable. Arrow kept my hand firmly in his as we turned to face our audience—enemies, allies, and everyone in between.

As we walked back down the aisle together, I caught glimpses of familiar faces through the crowd. Orion, looking more sobered up now and genuinely pleased. Luna, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. Frank, standing tall and proud. And my father, watching us with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher.

The paparazzi had gathered outside the cathedral, their cameras flashing as we emerged into the afternoon sunlight. Arrow’s hand tightened protectively at my waist as his security team formed a barrier between the photographers and us.

“We’ll take the car around back,” Arrow murmured, guiding me toward a side exit where a black town car waited, engine running.

As we settled into the back seat, I leaned my head against Arrow’s shoulder, suddenly exhausted by the emotional weight of the day. His arm came around me, drawing me closer.

“You did it,” he said softly. “You became a Romanov in front of everyone.”

I looked down at the diamond on my finger, watching it catch the light. “It’s official,” I said, my voice barely audible above the hum of the engine. “I’m Harlowe Romanov now.”

Arrow’s fingers intertwined with mine, his thumb tracing the edge of my new ring. “How does it feel?”

I considered his question, searching for the right word. “Like I’ve finally come home,” I admitted, surprising myself with the truth of it.

The car pulled up to the reception venue—a grand hotel that had been closed to the public for our wedding. A red carpet stretched from the curb to the entrance, flanked by security personnel whose eyes never stopped scanning for threats.

“Ready?” Arrow asked, his hand warm at the small of my back.

I nodded, straightening my spine. The bride had arrived.

The ballroom had been transformed into something out of a dark fairytale. Black crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting prisms of light across white marble floors. Tables draped in black silk were arranged throughout the space, each centerpiece a cascade of blood-red roses and black calla lilies. It was elegant and dangerous, like us.

A small orchestra played in the corner as guests mingled, champagne flowing freely despite the early hour. I spotted Luna across the room, glowing in a blue dress that accommodated her growing belly. She caught my eye and raised her glass in a silent toast.

“You’re staring,” Arrow murmured, his lips brushing against my temple.

“I’m taking inventory,” I replied. “Counting enemies, allies, and the undecided.”

His laugh was low and appreciative. “That’s my wife.”

The word sent a shiver down my spine. Wife. I was his wife now. The word felt both foreign and right. I was Arrow Romanov’s wife. We were bound together by vows made in front of God and enemies alike.

“Let’s get you a drink,” Arrow said, guiding me toward the bar where Orion was already ordering a round of vodka shots.

“Not the traditional wedding toast, but fitting,” I observed as Arrow handed me a crystal flute filled with champagne.

Atlas approached, Luna on his arm, her blue dress flowing elegantly around her pregnant form. “The happy couple,” he said, raising his glass. “Who would have thought?”

“Not me,” Orion admitted with a grin. “I had money on you two killing each other within the week.”

Arrow’s arm tightened around my waist. “That’s still a possibility.”

I laughed, the sound genuine despite the tension humming beneath the surface of the celebration. “Depends on how this reception goes.”

As if on cue, I spotted my father entering the ballroom, surrounded by his capos. He wore the same tailored tuxedo, but his expression was thunderous as he surveyed the room.

“Showtime,” I murmured, taking a long sip of champagne.

Arrow followed my gaze, his jaw tightening. “Remember what we discussed. No matter what happens, we face it together.”

I nodded, steeling myself for the confrontation I knew was coming. My father wouldn’t let my public rejection go unanswered. In our world, every slight demanded a response.

Arrow and I circulated through the room, accepting congratulations from guests who’d been our enemies mere weeks ago. The Virelli capos regarded me with suspicion and grudging respect, while the Romanovs watched me like a viper in their midst—beautiful but potentially deadly.

Dinner was a tense affair, with Virellis and Romanovs seated at opposite ends of the long table, neutral parties strategically placed between them. I sat at Arrow’s right, my hand resting on his thigh beneath the table, a silent reminder of our alliance.