Page 12 of Koroleva

I forced a dry smile and offered him a slight nod, which he overlooked.

He wasn't going to limit himself to a greeting like that. He grabbed my shoulders with total familiarity and planted two firm kisses on my cheeks that I immediately wanted to wipe off.

I restrained myself and counted to ten.

"Thank you," was my only response.

He was dressed in a sober suit, strictly black, with a white shirt and a green tie. Overall, he was handsome, a bit overweight but handsome.

Massimo told my mother and sisters to take a seat, saying we wouldn't leave until they were settled.

For my part, only they three attended as direct family along with seven of my trusted men.

I didn't think it appropriate to involve anyone else; after all, it was a damn charade, I wasn't getting married for love nor was I happy. This was nothing more than a play, and I was its lead actor.

With no male relatives, my mother and Massimo agreed that he would walk me down the aisle.

This reminded me even more of the absence of my father, my brother, and my uncle. I had called the latter to break the news of the wedding, asking him to accompany me and to call Putin to convince him that my plan was solid. Of course, he agreed. Besides giving me some advice, he pulled strings minutes before a bastard ended his life.

I looked through the glass window without seeing. Everything was set up in the amphitheater. The flowers, the guests, the arch covered with white flowers, the string quartet that would play during the ceremony, and of course, the priest.

The Capuletos were Catholic and would not have accepted a civil wedding for anything in the world.

Luckily, my father was Orthodox Christian, so we were all baptized and there was no major issue in formalizing the marriage in the church. For Massimo Capuleto, it was a sine qua non condition.

I raised no objections when we discussed it. We would be married by the same priest who baptized his children and gave them their First Communion.

The Capuletos had a son and a daughter; there would have been more if Luciana, the matriarch and late wife of Massimo, hadn't had three miscarriages. Lucky for me, fewer people to kill.

I glanced at him sideways. He looked pleased, much more than I was on the inside.

"Did you have a good time last night with your sisters?" he asked. I wasn't sure whether to take it as a reproach for having left him dressed up with no future daughter-in-law.

"Yes, a thousand apologies, I know you wanted us to dine with you, but it was the last single night I was going to spend with them, and we made plans before traveling from St. Petersburg to Marbella. Everything was tied up."

"No need to apologize, I understand, I was young once too. We have a whole lifetime to get to know each other and for you to integrate into the family. I'm sure my son is just as pleased as I am to see such a beautiful, educated, and intelligent woman he is going to marry. You will give me handsome, strong grandchildren."

I tensed up; children were not in the contract and definitely not in my plans, and I would least of all harbor a seed of evil in my womb.

Massimo handed me a bouquet of white flowers.

"I hope you like them, they are peonies, my wife's favorite flowers. She used to say they symbolized abundance, wealth, good fortune, and prosperity, exactly what I want for my son and for you. It's my way of having her present at the ceremony."

"Thank you, they are beautiful."

"Per favore, call me by my first name, you are almost my daughter." «Not in this lifetime, » I thought.

"As you wish," I forced the response.

Right now, my father must be turning in his grave wherever he was. "I'm sorry, dad, it's necessary," I excused myself.

The first chords of the string quartet reached my ears. Massimo asked for permission to lower my veil and I consented. I didn't have to stoop. The Capo was a tall man, which made me think of the biker from the warehouse. He truly matched my level in terms of sexual matters.

As soon as my face was covered, he placed one of my hands on his arm, the other held the flowers.

My palms were ice cold and sweaty, the result of nerves. I might have had a reputation for being as cold as steel, but I also suffered from bouts of nerves. Composure under pressure was not my greatest virtue. I had to work hard on that too, as I was quite volatile.

Two little girls, daughters of a cousin of my future husband, carrying little baskets full of petals, were encouraged to go ahead of me by a woman from the wedding planning team.

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