Page 11 of Forced Bratva Bride

Spiced, and wild. It smells amazing.

“I’m fine,” I mutter.

“Look, I know this is going to be difficult, but we can get through it all together, okay?”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, I'm here for you. Just stay close, and when things get crazy out there, squeeze my hand to let me know, and we can find a quiet place to take a break.”

“I told you, I'm fine. I'll be fine out there. I know how to handle myself without your help.”

“I know, I was just—"

“Don’t,” I snap, not wanting his comfort or gentle reassurance. I know it’s fake. I am not interested in fake people. “Let’s just get this over with,” I say, pushing past him, walking out of the door, and heading to where my father is waiting.

Maxim walks past me, his hand touching my waist for the briefest of moments. It sends a spark through my body, which I angrily refuse to acknowledge.

“We'll see you there,” my father smiles at Maxim, then loops his arm through mine, and I take a very deep breath as we head towards the ceremony and waiting spectators.

I hear the music begin to play as we step out into the afternoon sunshine, and the scent of the garden wafts over me. My father pauses to pull the veil over my face, and a little girl of about three or four years old, dressed in a pretty pink flower girl dress, rushes over to hand me a bunch of flowers. My bouquet. I clutch it in front of me as though I can hide behind it as we step onto the red carpet and begin the slow walk between the row of chairs.

I don’t look up at Maxim, not even once. I keep my eyes on the little girl in the cute pink dress as she scatters rose petals in front of me.

At the end of the carpet, my father lifts my veil and kisses my cheek.

I turn toward Maxim but keep my eyes off his face. The little girl grins at me, and I grin back at her and hand her my flowers. “Please look after these for me,” I whisper.

Then, the priest begins to speak.

He talks of love, and union, and respect, and companionship.

I listen, but I hardly hear the words, because they make no sense to me at all.

I look past Maxim, around him, at the garden, my face blank.

When we have to exchange rings is the only time I really take note of him at all; he gently holds my hand in his and slides a beautiful square diamond onto my finger.

The priest asks us the most important question of all, and I drag my attention back to the moment.

“I do,” I whisper quietly, my heart feeling heavy and numb.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

I freeze, my eyes wide. I forgot about this part. I didn’t—

He steps close to me, wrapping his arm around my waist, pulling me right up against his chest, and then his lips press to mine, and the kiss blocks out absolutely everything else.

Fire spreads wildly through my body. Heated, burning flames of lust rush over me.

His lips lock over my mouth, and the kiss seems to last forever. I take in every moment of it. His fingers against my lower back, the way his muscular chest feels beneath my hand where I'm touching him. Everything I felt when I first met him in the garden rushes back to me. Before I knew who he was, when I was flirting and interested in him.

Then he steps away, and I feel breathless, my cheeks heated and flushed.

He grins down at me.

I forget about the people watching us and stare at his lips, my body wanting to kiss him again. Then I hear clapping and cheering, and I'm pulled back into reality.

I gently touch my finger to my lower lip, and then quickly drop it away. He reaches his hand out and slips his fingers through mine, holding me tightly in his grip.

---