Page 109 of Beautiful Cruelty

I lean forward slightly, edging the wedding dress forward to give Vadim easier access to the pocket that contains our replacement bible.

"You think this little nobody can replace me?" Her laugh is cruel and sharp. "Look at her. She's nothing! A whore playing dress-up in clothes she doesn't deserve!"

The Archbishop starts stammering, but she cuts him off with a stream of harsh Russian words. Her men being spreading out along the walls, their intentions clear by the murderous look on their faces.

My heart pounds so hard I can barely breathe, but I force myself to stay still.

Vadim promised me that I'd be safer than anywhere else in Paris. That Sayanaa wouldn't be this crazy. But I'm having a hard time believing that right now.

I feel the weight of the real bible still on the lectern under our joined hands, even as its replacement hidden in my dress presses against my thighs trembling in fear.

"Stop this wedding," Sayanaa demands, her voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "Or I promise you will regret it."

My heart nearly stops as Demyon suddenly laughs behind me—a sharp, mocking sound that cuts through the tension.

He holds the ornate crown high, letting candlelight catch its jewels.

"Is this what you want so badly, Sayavochka? Then have it!"

The crown spins from his fingers, hitting the marble with a musical ring as it rolls toward Sayanaa's feet.

"Pick it up like the yapping dog that you are," Demyon mocks her. "And then get the fuck out."

Gasps echo through the cathedral. Several older women cross themselves. The Archbishop mutters something that sounds like a prayer.

In that moment, everyone's attention remains fixed on the crown spinning to a stop at Sayanaa's stilettos.

Her ice-blue eyes narrow at the golden band, hands clenching into fists at her sides. The muscle in her jaw ticks as she stares down at the symbol of everything she believes should be hers.

This is it! This is our chance!

Quickly but deliberately like we practiced in Irina's store, I give Vadim's hand a light brush. Our signal.

He springs to action, fingers moving with practiced precision as he reaches beneath my dress, pull out the fake bible from the hidden pocket, lay it on top of the real one for a brief second, before taking our target and shoving it inside. The weight of the fake bible shifts against my thigh. My pulse thunders so loudly I worry it will give us away.

Then, Vadim's hand rests back on mine, and gives it that same light brush. I glance at him from the corner of my eye, and see the tiniest nod that tells me it's done.

We did it!

Holy shit!

We actually did it!

"Enough!" Olga's voice cracks like a whip through the tension. She rises from her pew, her elegant figure radiating aristocratic disapproval. "This is a house of God, Sayanaa Kirsanovna.Whatever grievances you have with Pyotr's bastard, they will not be settled by blood within these walls."

My heart pounds as Sayanaa's face transforms into a mask of contrition.

"Forgive me, Olga Romanovna." She bows her head with exaggerated deference. "You are right—thisis not the place for such unpleasantness."

The way she says 'this' sends chills down my spine. She raises her hands, and her men begin backing away from the walls, their hands leaving from their jackets.

The entire congregation seem to breathe a long sigh of relief.

But Sayanaa isn't finished. Her gaze locks onto me, and I fight the urge to shrink back against Vadim.

"My sincerest congratulations to the happy couple." Her voice drips with honey-coated venom, and she kicks the crown back towards us. "I believe this belongs to you, little thief."

Those piercing blue eyes travel slowly down my body, examining every detail of my wedding dress as if memorizing it for later. When her gaze reaches my throat, she pauses.

---