Page 46 of Hating the Bratva

I take a deep breath and turn to face him. Reflected in his eyes is the same pain I’m experiencing. He brushes a thumb across my cheek, wiping away the teardrops.

“I love you.”

“Alek, don’t—” I beg.

“I know you don’t want to hear that right now.” He’s right. The words are like an extra stab in the heart because it’s a reminder that he can’t change the situation no matter how much he loves me.

“But it’s the truth,” he continues. “I don’t want to see you cry or hurt like this. Just know I’ll make sure you’re happy.”

“You can’t promise that.”

He dips his head and softly presses his lips to mine. Everything about this is wrong, but I kiss him back anyway. For a few seconds, I relish in the taste of his lips. Too soon, he pulls away and wipes another loose tear from my cheek. We stare at each other for a minute, and then without another word, he turns his back on me and walks out of the room.

As the door shuts, I get the overwhelming urge to curl into a ball and let the sadness take me. I don’t have it in me to smile and act like I’m okay in front of all those people when my heart has just been ripped from my chest by the only man I’ll ever love.

A knock sounds at the door. I look at myself in the mirror. My eyeliner has smudged a bit, but besides that, I don’t look like I’m dying inside.

“Come in.”

Jessica peeks her head inside. “They’re ready for you.”

With a deep breath and a shattered heart, I grab my bouquet and leave the room.

I don’t fake a smile or give my audience any indication that I’m happy about today. No, I keep my face blank, dead, as I walk toward Ivan. The clergy tells me the words to repeat, and I do it. They burn on my tongue because they’re lies. I won’t love Ivan in sickness and in health, rich or poor. I won’t love him at all. He stands in front of me with a look of annoyance. It’s probably because of my bored tone, but if he thought I would pretend like this is the happiest day of my life, we have a long, difficult marriage ahead of us.

“You may kiss the bride,” the officiant says. Ivan lifts the veil, and I feel like I might throw up as he presses his lips against mine. His kiss is all wrong. It’s sloppy and uncomfortable—nothing like Alek’s soft kisses. I don’t kiss him back. When he pulls away, a mischievous smile coats his lips.

He leans forward to whisper in my ear. “I hope you’re more responsive in the bedroom.”

My stomach rolls, and I do think I’m going to throw up this time.

“I now pronounce you, man and wife!” the officiant says. Our guests stand to their feet and clap. Ivan grabs my hand a little too roughly and leads me back down the aisle. I search for Alek in the crowd, but I’m not able to find him before I’m pulled through the doors of the house.

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