Page 91 of Seduction (Wicked Vows)

His brothers aren’t quite as warm and fuzzy, but it’s probably because of the possessive grip Nikko has on me. He’s sort of exuding a “touch her, and I will fucking kill you” vibe to literally everyone, so it makes sense Mikhail and the rest only wave from a distance. Nikko has, after all, fought through hell and back to be where he is now.

Finally, we turn and face the darkness of the night, barely lit by the overhead twinkling of stars and the garden lighting. Hand in hand. . . our journey has only just begun.

EPILOGUE

Vera

A week flutters by since the wedding—seven days as Nikko's wife, and I can hardly believe where we are, who we are.

Vera Romanov... his wife. Though I'd almost felt like his wife when we pretended, and it often even felt real, nothing could have prepared me for how it really is.

Each morning, I wake up to the soft light filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow that seems to highlight the new ring on my finger. The simple act of waking next to Nikko, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing, and seeing the calm on his face as he sleeps is a daily reminder of the profound change in our lives. It's both surreal and deeply comforting.

I like calling him by his real name. It brings a layer of authenticity to everything, a freshness that makes my heart swell. Here, in the rustic charm of The Cove, our days are filled with laughter, shared stories, and the casual comfort of familiarity. I grew up not far from here. This is a side of life Nikko hasn't often experienced, yet he fits in seamlessly, his usual guarded demeanor softened by the easy camaraderie and open hearts of my family.

He takes me to his home. I love it here. It’s large and spacious, clean and simple, warm and comforting…like him.

It's the kind of place that honors old memories and hearkens new ones. As we mingle with his family, Nikko's hand finds mine and squeezes.

“I don’t know if I ever thought this could be real. I wouldn’t let myself believe it.”

I lean over and kiss his cheek. “Believe it.”

However, despite the joy and celebration, there's an undercurrent of something else—something reflected in the eyes of Viktor, who has taken his duties as best man from the wedding into a kind of solemn guardianship even here. He visits often, and for some reason, keeps asking me about my family, my home, and on his third visit, my sister Lydia. His large, heavy frame leans against the rough wood of the doorway, his eyes occasionally scanning the perimeter before returning to observe the festivities with reserved detachment.

I approach him.

"Viktor, are you all right?" I ask as I reach him, noting the way his posture stiffens slightly, ready to revert to his role if needed.

He gives a slight nod, his gaze flickering to meet mine before looking away. “Fine, yes."

Nikko approaches us, a drink in hand, his presence an immediate comfort. "What’s going on?"

"I want to ask you about your sister Lydia. What do you know of her engagement?"

"Lydia? Oh. I don’t know much about it except that it was arranged by my father. It’s new, and she doesn’t know her fiancé that well... when she went to boarding school, we grew apart."

"Are you concerned about the plans Mikhail has?" Nikko asks.

"Yes," Viktor confirms, his jaw tightening. "Her engagement poses issues with our alliance." The men exchange a look I don’t quite comprehend.

"We’ll have to discuss this," Nikko says his tone firm yet compassionate.

Viktor nods, a brief smile breaking through his usual sternness. "I know, and I'm grateful for that. One wrong move and we could unsettle more than just family dynamics."

The gravity of his words lingers between us.

Later, as the night draws to a close and the last of the guests are leaving, I stand beside Nikko, looking out at the starlit sky. The cool breeze off the ocean is refreshing, yet my thoughts are warm with the love and support of the people around us. Despite the challenges ahead, I feel a profound sense of belonging and purpose, tinged with an air of sadness for what I mourn. Vera Ivanova is no more. Vera Romanova stands in her place.

Who is she?

Hand in hand, we begin to walk along a dimly lit path that circles the perimeter of our house. Nikko squeezes my hand gently, an unspoken affirmation of the connection that pulses between us.

“Do you think it’s really possible?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, “Everything we talked about—our future, the kids, even the dogs?”

Nikko stops, turning to face me, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. “Children aren’t an option. I have to catch up to my brothers.”

I laugh out loud. “Catch up? Like it’s some sort of contest?”

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