Page 133 of The Pakhan’s Accidental Bride

The music changes, and everyone stands as the doors at the back of the church open, and my breath catches in my throat.

Kiera appears, flanked by all four of her brothers. Kevin and Jack are on her right, Devin and Kaleb on her left. They're all wearing matching dark suits, their expressions a mixture of pride and protectiveness as they prepare to walk their sister down the aisle.

But I barely register them. All I can see is Kiera.

She's wearing a gown that makes her look like something out of a dream. The dress is ivory silk that flows like water, fitted through her torso and hips before falling in soft waves to the floor. The neckline is elegant, showing just enough skin to be enticing without being inappropriate. The sleeves are long and delicate, made of sheer lace that matches the intricate detailing on the bodice. Her small baby bump is visible but not prominent, just a gentle curve that makes my chest swell with pride, protectiveness, and love.

But it's not just the beauty of the dress that stops my heart. It's the realization that hits me as she starts walking down the aisle. She made this too. This gown, this stunning, perfect gown that fits her like it was painted on, that moves with her like it's part of her. She designed it. She created it. Just like she created my suit. Our wedding attire is entirely her work. Her vision. Her talent.

As she gets closer, I can see the details more clearly. The tiny beads sewn into the lace. The way the silk catches the light. The perfect drape of the fabric. Every element is flawless, professional, the work of someone with real skill and artistry.

She's not just beautiful. She's brilliant. And soon to be officially mine.

When she reaches the altar, her brothers each kiss her cheek before stepping back to take their seats. She turns to face me, and the smile on her face makes my heart stutter in my chest.

"Hi," she whispers.

"Hi," I whisper back. "You look incredible."

"So do you." Her eyes travel over the suit she made, and I see satisfaction and pride in her expression. "It fits perfectly."

"Everything fits perfectly," I say, and I'm not just talking about the clothes.

The ceremony passes in a blur. I hear the words, say my vows, and slide the ring onto her finger. But all I'm really aware of is Kiera. The way she looks at me. The way her hand trembles slightly in mine. The way she says "I do" with conviction that makes something settle deep in my chest.

And then the priest says, "You may kiss your bride."

I cup her face in my hands and kiss her, slow and deep, pouring everything I feel into it. The church erupts in applause, but I barely hear it. All that matters is this woman in my arms, this woman who's now my wife.

When we finally break apart, she's smiling up at me with tears in her eyes. "We did it," she says.

"We did," I agree. "You're stuck with me now."

"I can think of worse fates," she says, and there's warmth in her voice that makes me believe she means it.

The reception is a success, from what I can tell. People eat, drink, dance, and celebrate. Kiera is radiant, moving through the crowd with grace, accepting congratulations and compliments on her dress. I stay close to her, one hand always on her back or her waist, unable to stop touching her.

But as the evening wears on, I find myself getting impatient. I want to be alone with my wife. I want to take her home and show her exactly how much this day means to me.

Finally, after what feels like hours, we're able to slip away. Luca has the car ready, and we drive back to the estate under heavy security. Kiera leans against me in the back seat, her head on my shoulder, her hand resting on her small bump.

"Tired?" I ask.

"A little," she admits. "But happy."

"Good."

When we arrive at the estate, I dismiss the staff for the evening. They've been working nonstop for days, and they deserve rest. Besides, I want privacy. Complete privacy.

I lead Kiera upstairs to my suite, the one with the private pool that's now officially our suite. Inside, I close and lock the door behind us. Kiera turns to face me, and the look in her eyes makes my cock twitch.

"Help me with this?" she asks, turning to show me the row of tiny buttons running down the back of her dress.

I step closer, my fingers finding the first button. "You made this incredibly difficult to get out of," I murmur.

"I know." There's amusement in her voice. "I wanted it to be special."

"You succeeded." I work the buttons slowly, revealing inch by inch of her smooth skin. "You're incredibly talented, Kiera."