Page 7 of Arranged Mafia Marriage

We browse through racks of dresses, and I try on several before settling on a sleek, ivory sheath dress with delicate lace sleeves. It hugs my curves in all the right places, making me feel beautiful despite the circumstances. I find myself wondering if Kiril will like it. I should’ve brought him in with me, but he seemed content just waiting in the limo.

As I emerge from the dressing room, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. For a moment, I forget why I’m here, briefly lost in the fantasy of a normal wedding. Then reality crashes back, and I blink away the tears that rush to my eyes.

“You look stunning. Your fiancé will be speechless.” She lifts a short veil from a display and arranges it on my head, pinning it in place. “What do you think?”

I force a smile. “Thank you. I’ll take it, and the veil.” I don’t bother to change out of the dress, not worried about superstitions and figuring we’ll head straight to the chapel. I hand over my credit card, trying not to blink at the total and ask if she accidentally rang up two dresses for that price. I’m sure she didn’t, but I just spent half my rent.

Well, no, I guess I didn’t. I won’t have to worry about rent for my Chicago loft anymore, and it doesn’t appear that Kiril is lacking the funds to take care of me.

Back in the limo, Kiril’s looks at me appreciatively. “You look lovely.”

“Thanks,” I say, smoothing the dress over my lap. “We should get you a new tie. Something colorful to match.”

He arches an eyebrow but agrees, and we make a quick stop at a men’s store. Kiril selects a bright red tie. When he starts to get in the car, he pauses as a young man on a bike approaches.

I try to watch the exchange but can’t see what’s happening until Kiril turns to face me, presenting me with a small bouquet of babies’ breath, white lilies, and a deep crimson rose in the center. “I didn’t expect this.” I take it, discovering they’re real flowers. “Thanks.”

He nods as he gets in. “My assistant arranged it while you were buying the dress and veil. It seemed wrong not to have a bouquet when you were putting forth so much effort.”

“I appreciate it.” I’m sure it’s just a lucky guess, or maybe it’s traditional to use lilies, but I can pretend he somehow knows my favorite flower without it being creepy.

As we approach the chapel, my heart races. This is really happening. I’m about to marry a stranger to save my life and secure my place in a world I never knew existed.

The chapel is more luxurious than I expected, with crystal chandeliers and plush carpeting. A coordinator greets us, all efficiency and fake smiles. “Welcome. Are you ready to begin?”

Kiril nods, his hand finding the small of my back again. “Yes, and we’d like the photography package as well.”

The coordinator beams. “Excellent choice. Our photographer will capture every moment of your special day.”

I almost laugh at the absurdity of it all. Special day indeed.

We’re ushered into separate rooms to prepare. As I touch up my makeup and adjust my dress, I catch my reflection in the mirror. Who is this woman staring back at me? Just a few hours ago, I was Felicity Morris, dance teacher. Now, I’m about to become Felicity Pimaslov, mafia wife.

It feels so jarring and sudden. Everything is a blur. Time is moving so fast I can barely keep up with it, and the details are lost in the chaos.

A knock at the door startles me. “It’s time,” the coordinator says.

I follow her out. Kiril waits at the end of the aisle, looking impossibly handsome in his suit and new tie. Our gazes meet, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades away. I recognize his driver as one of our witnesses. The other woman appears out of place standing next to the stern-faced Russian man in her violet peplum dress, and I assume she’s a witness who works for the venue.

The ceremony passes like a dream, the detailed washed out like a pair of old bleached jeans. I repeat the vows mechanically, not feeling anything as I agree to bind my life to Kiril. I should feel something, even if it’s anger or fear, but I’m numb inside. When Kiril slides the ring onto my finger, his touch lingers, sending a jolt of electricity through me that brings me to life again.

“You may kiss the bride,” announces the officiant, and suddenly I’m aware of everything.

I take a deep breath, smelling Kiril’s spicy cologne. It’s strong scent, but with something sweet lingering underneath the initial aggression of the pine. I taste it a little in my mouth, but it isn’t bitter like alcohol. Maybe its oil based, or perhaps it’s Kiril’s natural scent mixed in that makes it taste good.

I look at him, at his piercing blue eyes, and I realize I’m only just now taking in the features of his face. He’s handsome, more so that a man in the bratva should be, but the ruggedness in his appearance paired with the thick stubble on his jaw reveal the brutality of his occupation.

My heart beats a little faster as he leans forward. I knew I would be kissing him, but now that I look at his lips, my knees feel weak and my breathing can barely keep up with my body’s desperate need for oxygen. I’m afraid I’m going to pass out.

Kiril cups my face gently. Then his lips are on mine, soft yet insistent. I melt into the kiss, forgetting for a moment that this is all for show. His kiss is firm but sensual, and he takes control. I’m still clinging to his lapels when he gently eases me away. His words are only for my ears when he says, “We have chemistry, at least.”

I nod, seeing no reason to pretend otherwise. Goosebumps are already forming on my arms and legs, and there’s a warmth in my belly that wasn’t there before I tasted his peppermint lips.

The photographer snaps away, having captured our first kiss as husband and wife and a few subsequent moments afterward. I’m breathless, and my cheeks are hot.

“Congratulations.” The coordinator shifts us subtly to another room to allow the next couple into the chapel. The hired witness remains as the driver joins us but steps out into the hall. “Let’s get some more photos, shall we?”

We pose for what feels like hours, the photographer directing us into various embraces and poses. Kiril plays the part of doting husband perfectly, his arm wrapped possessively around my waist, his smile never faltering. It almost feels like he actually loves me, but I know it’s an illusion that will fade the moment we leave.

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