Page 34 of Bloody Lace

“Whatever else happens,” she tells me firmly, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “You’ll have some good memories from this. And you’re getting the boutique back. That’s worth all of this, right?”

I nod, breathing slowly as I try to keep the writhing nerves from becoming overwhelming. “Right,” I echo, and we head down to where the car is waiting for us.

The ceremony is being held at St. Nicholas, and the reception will be back here, at the Plaza hotel. My heart is pounding in my chest as we head down in the elevator, my fingers clutching my bouquet of red and white roses as I try to breathe.

My parents aren’t here. I haven’t told them about any of this, because I can’t imagine even beginning to try to explain it. Dahlia is all I have for my side of things, and I’ve never been more grateful for her, because I can’t imagine walking into a church full of strangers alone. I cling to that, that at least I have my best friend with me, all the way to the church.

It looks like something out of a fairy tale, all white stone and gold domes. I step out of the car, too nervous to even notice the cold, and walk up the steps with Dahlia just behind me.

Inside, it’s warm and smells like incense. Dahlia straightens my dress, checks my hair, and gives me one more reassuring smile as we hear the music starting inside, and the doors open.

The church is full of people I don’t know. I don’t recognize anyone except Dimitri, standing at the end of the aisle looking unfairly handsome. He’s wearing a perfectly tailored dark suit, a rose pinned to his lapel, his jaw clean-shaven for the first time that I’ve seen, without a hint of stubble. His gaze slides right past Dahlia to me as I start to walk down the aisle behind her, and when his eyes find mine, a shiver runs down my spine.

This isn’t real. This isn’t real.I repeat it to myself like a mantra as I walk towards him, forcing myself to remember it with every step. I keep repeating it as he takes my hand, as his gaze sweeps over me with a look of desire that’s entirely inappropriate for where we are, and I feel a blaze of answering heat sweep through me.

No man has ever made me feel like this before, but he does. He makes my knees weak just from the feeling of his fingers curling around my hand. And it’s terrifying. It’s dangerous. It could ruin my whole life, if I let it.

I barely hear the vows. I repeat what I’m told to, numbly, unable to tear my gaze away from Dimitri’s as he does the same. I slide a gold band onto his finger, and he slides a matching one onto mine, nestling against the vintage ring sitting there as he holds my hand for just a moment too long.

“...you may kiss the bride,” the priest says, intoning the words in a voice that sounds as if he’s said the words a hundred times before, and my heart suddenly leaps into my throat as I realize that Dimitri is going to do just that. He’s going to kiss me again, in front of all of these people, and it won’t be like the kiss up against the door, but?—

He pulls me closer, his hands wrapped around mine, and leans in. His lips brush against my mouth, a gentler kiss than that first one, an appropriate one for a wedding in a church, with his family and God knows who else looking on. But it sends that heat rippling through me again all the same, the gentleness of his hands on mine doing nothing to make me forget how he gripped my wrist, the chaste kiss still reminding me of how it felt to have his tongue lick along the seam of my lips, wanting me to open up for him, to give him everything.

My knees feel weak, and my lips part as I suck in a shaky breath. I feel Dimitri tense, and for one brief second, I think he’s going to slant his mouth over mine and deepen the kiss, slide his tongue into my mouth and devour me the way he wanted to that day in my apartment.

But instead, he pulls back, and turns to face the waiting crowd. His hand wraps around mine, and I hear clapping, guests standing to see us out as we walk down the aisle. The churchdoors open and we step out into the cold, the frigid air hitting me like a slap in the face.

It’s done.

I’m Dimitri Yashkov’s wife.

13

DIMITRI

WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING?

Iwas an idiot to agree to Evelyn’s stipulation that there be no wedding night, no consummation of our marriage, no physical aspect to it at all. I could have pressed her, could have made it a stipulation that we have at least the one night—but I don’t want it if I have to coerce her into bed. I want her willing or not at all, but mygod, I want her.

She had to have picked the dress to drive me out of my mind. The moment the church doors opened and I saw her walk in, her curves hugged by every inch of that lace, I thought I was going to get the hardest erection of my life while standing at the altar of a church.

Everything about her seems made to tempt the darkest parts of me, the parts that want to devour and take and ruin her so thoroughly that she’ll never find pleasure with another man like what she could feel with me. Her hair looks so soft it makes me ache to run my hands through it, her mouth so perfect that all I can think about is kissing her until neither of us can breathe, and then putting her on her knees so I can find out just how those lips look wrapped around my cock.

Her body drives me out of my mind. She’s driving me insane, and we’ve been married for five minutes. As soon as we’re in the car to drive back to the Plaza hotel, it takes everything in me not to pull her into my lap and kiss her the way I wanted to at the altar.

The only thing stopping me, besides the fact that I know she’d tell me no, is that there’s no way I could get the skirt of that dress up. It’s molded to her in a way that I know is impossible to get past, and somehow that makes me feel even more feral with lust.

My cock twitches, thickening, and I grit my teeth, wondering if I can slip away long enough to do something about it.That’s what I’m reduced to now, I think grimly, flexing my fingers against my palm. Considering jerking off in a hotel bathroom, because there’s no chance I’ll ever be inside my wife.

The reception itself feels like a fog. There’s members of the Yashkov family there—my father, cousins, other relatives, and business associates who merited an invitation. The Armand family was invited, of course, but they declined. Pictures are taken, and Evelyn goes upstairs to change, coming back down in a gorgeous satin and feather gown that shows off her long, toned leg on one side, and makes me feel slightly dizzy with lust. I’ve never been so fucking turned on from the sight of a woman’s leg before, but all I can think about the moment I see her again is the way I want to run my hands up her thigh, brush her skin where those feathers lie, slip my fingers up between her legs so that I can hear her sigh and moan. I can imagine pinning her to the wall, hooking that leg over my shoulder as I eat her out surrounded by that cloud of feathers, and my cock hardens until I have to excuse myself for a drink, going to sit down until I can make my way around the room without a visible ridge tenting my fly.

We eat the gourmet meal that was planned for us, duck breast with orange sauce and roasted vegetables with a lemony feta dressing and wedding cake, drink champagne, and watch as the guests mill about. Evelyn is quiet, as I thought she might be, going through the motions, and I feel a heaviness in my chest too, every time I see members of my family and remember that my brother isn’t here.

This isn’t a real marriage, but I would have liked to have him next to me this morning at the ceremony, all the same. And I think he would have liked Evelyn. He was a romantic, so he would have disapproved of a marriage for business’ sake, and not for love. But he would have liked her all the same.

“I think we’re supposed to have our first dance now,” Evelyn says, her soft voice cutting through my thoughts. “Are you alright? You looked a million miles away.”

That startles me. I’m surprised that she would care. “I’m fine,” I tell her quickly, pushing away the thoughts of Alek. For a moment, I’m almost tempted to tell her what I was thinking about, but I push that away, too. There’s nothing to be gained from opening up to her like that, and plenty to lose.

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