Page 11 of Emerald Malice

She makes a cross over her heart with her index finger. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Oh, you will die if you don’t keep that promise. I’ll make sure of it.”

She laughs, grabs my wrist, and pulls me out of the utility closet. We join the last exodus of people streaming through the doors and find seats tucked alongside a looming onyx vase bursting with flowers.

Everyone settles into their places. The conversations slowly dwindle.

It doesn’t take me long to spot Andrey Kuznetsov. He’s standing at the head of the aisle, looking impossibly huge and impossibly gorgeous. A mountain in charcoal with eyes too bright to be real. My lips tingle with the flesh memory of his lips on mine.

“Damn, is that Viktor’s brother?” Katya interrupts my guilty thoughts. “Forget Leo—I’ll take one of those, please.”

It’s weird how instantly my hackles rise. I have absolutely no claim to that man. So why do I care if Katya is attracted to him?

I don’t, I tell myself firmly. I don’t care one little bit.

Luckily, Katya’s quickly distracted by the bride’s entrance. “Oh my God, look at her dress. My freaking grandma would’ve encouraged her to show a little more skin. Is she the bride or a nun?”

I shoot her a glare. “Hush!”

Katya rolls her eyes, but falls silent while the bride is walked down the aisle by her short, balding father. People rise to their feet as I try to make sense of the little lump that’s forming in my chest.

What the hell is that?

It’s only when my fingers reach instinctively for the locket around my neck that it hits me.

I’ll never have this. A father to walk me down the aisle, someone to hand me off.

Tragedy. There’s that word again.

I hate it more and more every time.

The bride looks like a shrinking violet. She’s pale as snow, with strawberry blonde hair styled into a tight chignon.

“We’re veering into pedophile territory,” Katya jeers. “She looks like she’s twelve years old.”

Viktor looks bored as he accepts her hand from his soon-to-be father-in-law. Then the ceremony starts. Katya chews at her nails as the officiant goes through the blandest marriage vows in recorded history.

“Is it almost over, do you think?” Katya whispers.

“I sincerely hope so.”

She nods once, her blue eyes glowing a little brighter. Up on the altar, the officiant plows into the home stretch. “Do you, Viktor Kuznetsov, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Another nod, like Katya is preparing herself for something. It leaves a sinking feeling in my belly.

“Kat—”

Viktor opens his mouth, “I?—”

“I OBJECT!”

I stare after Katya, my jaw hanging to the literal floor.

I’m not the only one. The crowd twists in their chairs.

And just like that, Katya has stolen the show.

All eyes are on her—including Viktor’s.

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