Page 110 of Beautiful Cruelty

The smile that spreads across her face makes my blood run cold.

The necklace suddenly feels like it's choking me. Olga's warning echoes in my mind: "If I can spot this little inconsistency, others at the wedding certainly will too."

And the look in Sayanaa's eyes tells me that she's seen the same thing as Olga.

Without another word, she turns on her heel and strides back down the aisle, and her men fall in behind her like a funeral procession.

32

VADIM

The heavy cathedraldoors close behind us as we step outside.

Lacey's hand trembles in mine, but her steps remain steady despite the weight of the Archbishop's bible beneath her dress.

A line of black Mercedes waits, three abreast, at the bottom of the steps. I guide Lacey into the nearest one. As soon as the door closes, I open door facing away from the church and the door to the middle Mercedes.

Demyon stays in the one we just exited. He'll serve as the decoy meant to throw off anyone following us, and rejoin us at the airport in Melun Villaroche.

The rest of my men arrange themselves in formation, blocking potential sight lines from surrounding buildings while we complete the ruse.

"Almost there," I whisper to Lacey. "We'll be alright."

She squeezes my hand in response, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips. The cathedral bells toll overhead as we descend, marking what should be a joyous occasion.

But all it does is send my pulse racing with controlled urgency.

As soon as our doors close, I tap the partition. "Champs-Élysées. Keep it fast, but smooth."

Through the bulletproof glass, I watch the Alexander Nevsky recede behind us. Lacey's wedding dress rustles as she shifts closer. The scent of her perfume, citrus and lavender, fills the space between us.

"Did anyone notice?" she whispers.

"No." I brush my thumb across her knuckles. "You did well in there."

Traffic moves surprisingly well along the famous avenue. Tourist buses and taxis fight for their space in the lanes, providing the perfect excuse for our car to weave through them towards the Seine.

Lacey peers out the window at the Arc de Triomphe rising before us. "It's beautiful."

"We'll come back someday," I say, surprising myself with how much I mean it. "When this is finished."

The boat is exactly where Demyon arranged it, tucked against the riverbank under the bridge. It's hidden in plain sight among the tourist vessels. Just a few more minutes and we'll be free of this place.

I watch Lacey's face as she takes in the view of Paris on both sides of the Seine as I put the boat in motion.

Her beauty in the soft light of day makes my chest tighten. The engagement ring catches the glow from the riverbank, and her blonde hair flutters in the wind.

For a moment I dare to let myself forget why we're really here.

A flash of movement catches my eye. Three boats trailing us, keeping pace but trying to look casual about it. Lacey notices too. I can see it in how her shoulders tense.

"Kirsan's men?" she whispers, leaning closer to me.

"Most likely." My hand slides inside my jacket, fingers wrapping around the familiar grip of my Glock. "Stay down."

The boats edge nearer, their wakes creating ripples behind them. I push the speedboat faster, and they keep pace. I count six men on each. Too many to be tourists out for a cruise.

Looks like Sayanaa is acting exactly as I predict she would.

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