Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
"Begin the fucking ceremony," he growls to the priest.
Wow. So he just went there. No respect for the cloth?
I hear the sound of a thump and a cry. I stifle a gasp, but no one moves. Another thump and another, followed by a muffled scream.
Someone…someone’s getting beaten out there. Maybe even killed. I glance out the window and see not one but three men on the ground outside the window, about twenty feet from where we stand in the living room. Blood pools on the concrete. I stare, stricken.
Oh my God.
“Aria.” Mikhail’s voice snaps like a whip. I look back at him. “Keep your eyes on me.”
I swallow, my heart pounding in my throat, but I do what he says. My adrenaline pulses so hard I feel dizzy. I stare into the depths of his dark brown eyes beneath slashes of angry brows. I stare at his eyes on me, unwavering, as he stands over me and reaches for both of my hands. “Nothing else matters,” he says in a low voice. “Nothing but keeping your gaze on me.”
I'm not going to be able to take these vows if I see people being murdered right outside. Polina told me what was at stake — if we get married, their enemies will revolt.
Even the priest’s hands shake as he goes about the ceremony. I stumble through my vows. I’ve never been to an Orthodox wedding, but this one is definitely an abbreviated form.
“Are you here freely of your own accord?"
Mikhail narrows his eyes. “That’s not part of the ceremony and you know it.”
The priest holds my gaze.
He’s trying to save me. He knows exactly who these men are and the chances of me being forced to do exactly what I’m doing.
The truth is, I could probably walk…and then deal with the aftermath of my choice.
Yes, I’m being forced to marry Mikhail, but do I truly have another choice?
"Yes,” I say in a breathy whisper and for a moment, it doesn’t quite feel like a lie.
Mikhail goes quickly through the vows, likely meaning them as much as I do, until we both get to “I do.” I half expect the priest to say that he may kiss the bride, but Mikhail doesn't wait.
Right outside the window— as in right there, I hear a sharp cry and thud as Mikhail leans in to me. I can hardly process that he’s going to kiss me, right while someone’s being maybe murdered right outside this window. He presses me to him, one arm wrapped around me so tightly I can’t move. He yanks me closer with his right arm and with his left, drags me to his chest, effectively drowning out the rest of the world. Then tips my face, bends down, and claims my mouth.
My knees wobble from the intensity of the kiss. I feel vulnerable, as if he can feel the beating of my heart when we’re connected like this. I feel windswept, bared to him, unable to think beyond the feel of his lips on mine.
When he turns us around to face everyone, my hand fisted in his with triumph, I'm suddenly aware of all the photographers. Flashes blind me, seemingly coming from all directions. I’m trying to smile, but it feels forced, of course. I look at the cameras and remember what Polina told me. These pictures will be posted everywhere.
In my peripheral vision, I see two men in handcuffs right outside the door, another bloodied, and another one on the ground unconscious. Dead? Alive? And still, the cameras flash, a reminder that what you see in a photograph is only a very small part of the whole picture. The priest is behind us, wiping his sweaty brow when I turn to look at him.
Outside the huge plate glass window, it looks like a battle scene. Weapons are drawn, there's still one man prostrate on the ground, his leg twisted at an odd angle. Another man holds someone still fighting, and while I watch, he slumps to the ground as well, choked out.
Whoever his enemies are, he has many, and they are vicious.
Mikhail leans in close. “Are you alright?”
I blink. I look up at him, and then comically look over my shoulder, wondering who he's talking to.
“Aria,” he says sternly. “I asked if you’re alright?”
I shake my head. “It’s all a little much. But yes, I’m fine.”
“I know.” He reaches for my hand and gives it a little squeeze. Why is he being…nice to me now? Is he? He’s been downright mean and borderline abusive, but now…
Leaning forward, he whispers, “You do not leave my side today. If something unnerves you, gesture. Tell me. You’re mine now. We’ve made this legal and defeated Volkov.”
I don't know what it means, but I can tell that something’s shifted in him.
He keeps saying things like…You’re mine.