Page 119 of Sweet Animosity

A fourth man joined us. Unlike the others, who were dressed in clearly expensive suits, he was dressed entirely in black, like he’d just come from S.W.A.T. I also recognized him from the warehouse.

He held up his phone. “The Chinese know about her. They just hacked her Etsy account.”

What?

The one called Mac stepped forward.

I raised the gun in alarm.

He lifted his arms, showing me his palms as he gestured with his head. “Vivian, this super scary man who doesn’t know how to properly dress for a wedding is Serg. He handles our… security. Do you understand what he just said?”

I wanted to scream that they were all lying just to scare me, but I knew they were telling the truth. I’d never told Var I booked my forgery clients through an Etsy account.

Before I could consider what to do next, Var lunged.

Snatching the gun from my hand, he racked the slide to un-chamber the bullet, then lifted his arm and with one hand dropped the bullet magazine. It clattered to the marble table surface.

His arm wrapped around my waist and yanked me to his chest. With his hand on my neck, he towered over me as he rasped against my lips, “Do you know what that means, beautiful?”

Not trusting myself to speak, I just shook my head as I stared into the dark depths of his angry eyes.

“It means without the protection of my name, you’re dead.”

“Couldn’t you just say I was under your protection?”

“No.”

His hand moved to grip my hair at the back of my skull as he half dragged me the rest of the way. In the living room, the judge stood there in silence.

He wiped his brow with the sleeve of his robe. “We are here today to celebrate the union of?—”

Anton leaned forward. “Skip that part, judge.”

The judge swallowed and nodded. “Marriage is a commitment to?—”

Mac cleared his throat.

The judge’s eyes widened. “Okay, moving along.” He flipped through the pages of the leather portfolio he was holding. “You have both come here today freely and without restraint—nope, skipping that part.”

This farce was really happening.

I was marrying Var.

My heart beat so fast, I feared I would pass out.

A wave of heat washed over me, making me lightheaded.

“Do you, Varlaam Romanovich Rubashkin, take Vivian Grace Peyton to be your spouse and to live together as partners, to treat them with love and respect, and to build a marriage that grows stronger and more loving as time passes?”

Say no.

Say no.

Please say no.

Stop this madness.

Var trained his gaze on me and, without the slightest hesitation, said, “I do.”

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