Page 15 of Mafia Christmas Vows

I mean, being in love soundednice, but it wasn’t something I dreamed of.

And I definitely did not think it would happen like this.

I thought that Russia was kind of a religious place, but the ceremony seemed pretty darn agnostic. I repeated a bunch of words, which Elena translated for me quietly and quickly behind my shoulder, and before I knew it Alexei and I were married.

Afterwards, Elena, the priest, Alexei and I were alone in the room where the ceremony had happened.

Alexei had a glass of vodka, and was doing his best to mainline it straight into his veins. Elena and the priest chatted softly in Russian, and she gently ushered him to the door.

She cast a meaningful glance at Alexei, and barked something at him, then left.

I looked away.

The room’s silence felt deafening.

“She told me not to move,” Alexei said softly.

I blinked, glancing over at him.

“The priest is worried about the storm. Elena agreed that he should get moving, or he’d have to spend the rest of the day at Orlov House until the storm lifted.”

“Oh,” I say softly.

Alexei pulls out his phone and looks at it, then snorts. “The weather doesn’t call for anything so dramatic. No one will be stranded anywhere.”

“Why were they worried?”

The very corner of his lips pulls into a smile. “Elena said her knees hurt, and the priest agreed that the storm was pulling on his back.”

“That happens to my mom too,” I murmur, my lips curling slightly.

Alexei looks at me.

I look down at my hands. “When the weather changes, or when there’s a big storm, she always says that her hip hurts.”

“I guess that’s one benefit of getting older. You can predict the weather,” he says.

“Yeah. Well. I guess we’ll find out.”

I meant it in the sense that we’d just said vows. Granted, they were in Russian, but they can’t be all that different than when they’re said in English. For better or for worse, as long as we both shall live, is kind of part of the whole thing.

Alexei, however, seems to interpret my attempt at a joke very poorly. He makes a snarly noise in his voice and downs the rest of the vodka in one gulp.

Great.

I’m married to a man I don’t know anything about, and I have pissed him off.

Again.

I tuck myself close, my hands wrapping around my elbows.

The silence is thick again.

“Your mother. Is she… she should be here,” Alexei says.

My head snaps up, and I stare.

He’s looking at me, his eyes studying me. He’s intense. I realize that I’ve been spending so much timenotlooking at Alexei, that I don’t actually know what my new husband looks like.

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