Page 15 of The Bratva's Sold Bride

“I’ll see you up there,” he said, heading through the vestibule doors.

He wasn’t just making me go through with this, he was perversely determined that we do everything just right. I supposed I should have been grateful he wasn’t dragging me down the aisle, but at the moment, I wasn’t grateful for shit.

“Why are you going to such lengths to make this look real?” I asked, jumping forward to stop him. Who was even around to see it?

He wasn’t the biggest practical joker of his siblings, so I couldn’t wrap my head around all this fanfare. I thought he was just taking me somewhere safe.

His eyes darkened as he gave me a serious look. “Because it is real,” he told me. “We’re really getting married, and you’re really going to be my wife. That’s the deal.”

“But I didn’t agree to the deal,” I yelped.

The girl behind me shifted on her feet at my sudden outburst, and I wondered how much she understood. Not enough to have the police here at any rate, or she really was on Dima’s payroll somehow. Did he own the whole damn village?

Dima only shook his head and disappeared into the church, appearing a few moments later at the pulpit. He stepped up onto the platform, smiling at the priest. The girl gave me a nudge just as an organ began to play, but I was rooted to the spot, transported to a time and place far away.

This wasn’t right. My mother had been gone for four years, but it seemed so much shorter than that, like no time had passed at all. It was as if we were discussing my future just last week. She was always so proud of me, and that made me workextra hard to get the grades she said I needed to be able to go to college and get a good job.

It never even mattered that I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life because she was confident in my ability to succeed at whatever I eventually chose. The most important thing—the only thing that mattered—was that it had nothing to do with the Bratva.

‘Don’t you worry about me and Papa,’ she’d say when I asked if I’d still get to see her. Because she certainly didn’t want me around my father’s associate. ‘That will all work out the way it should,’ she’d assure me. The only thing she was really forceful about was me getting away from a life that revolved around organized, and, in my father’s case, not-so-organized crime.

And never, ever marry into it.

But here I was, being forced to marry into the Bratva, both of our worst nightmares somehow coming to fruition despite all my hard work. Even though I couldn’t keep the first promise to go to college and get a normal job, I still thought I was on the right track. Eventually, somehow, I was going to put the life behind me and live on a small farm in the Midwest, maybe become a substitute teacher or something. Marry the local football coach or a dentist.

Anything but continue on in the life I’d been born into. Now, it seemed like I was being forced to stay in it. I nearly sobbed with despair when it hit me that even in the backwoods of Russia, I might have found a chance to slip away and disappear.

The girl nudged me again and I staggered forward, pinning Dima with my fiercest glare as I found my stride and made my way towards him. He had an inscrutable look on his face, but I wasn’t too concerned about his feelings.

Standing rigidly by his side, I dutifully repeated everything I was supposed to, barely hearing his deep, rumbling voice as he said his half of the vows. My mind was somewhere else, working in overdrive.

Before I knew it, I was Mrs. Dimitry Fokin. It was done.

But not forever like we’d promised in our vows. Not even close to that. Just until I could find a way to make him regret the day he ever met me. Not a moment longer than that.

Chapter 10 - Dimitry

The priest announced us husband and wife, and if looks could kill, my bride would have been on her way to a murder charge by now. Not that the fiery glare could mar her beauty. All of her wild curls had been tamed and twisted into a knot on top of her head, but a few tendrils had fought their way free to fall against her cheeks. Cheeks that burned with dark spots of anger, and glossy lips that were pressed into a thin line.

I was a married man now, to this rare woman who’d been slowly consuming my thoughts for the last two years. That subtle flame had grown to an inferno over the last few months, and nothing I tried could douse it. She simply had to be mine.

And she was, well and truly, and I couldn’t quite wrap my head around how easy it had been. Well, not counting everything I’d paid to take care of her father’s debts, or the chance that the Kuzmins could get wind of me being the one who’d paid them off, or even the fact that Benedikt might still need bailing out if the problem with the missing guns didn’t get resolved.

None of that seemed important at all, with Olivia standing across from me, her small, cold hand held tightly in mine.

“You may now kiss your bride,” the priest said, beaming at both of us in turn.

I raised a brow at Olivia and she gave me a look that said she might bite my face off if I tried it. However, I was so ecstatic I leaned down to risk it. I had to taste her, feel her give in to these feelings that were burning me up.

Her lips were hard and unyielding at first, but the heat of her, the soft scent of raspberries coming from her hair, ignited the ever-present flame she lit within me. I completely forgot thepriest and the few locals recruited as witnesses and yanked her closer, snaking my arm tight around her back.

Her hands curled into my jacket lapels, and for a brief moment, she shoved against my chest. Then her lush curves melted against me, and her hands went slack, moving to rest against my shoulders as her mouth opened to me. My groan had her gasping, and just as I was about to slip my tongue between her parted lips, she seemed to come to her senses and shoved away. Swaying slightly on her feet, she blinked up at me in confusion.

I had made her lose those senses, at least for a moment, and grinned down at her as she was back to trying to kill me with another glare. Stomping ahead of me down the aisle, the organist quickly tried to catch up with some music to play us out of the church.

I followed, smiling and nodding at the gathered locals, recognizing one or two from the last time I’d been down this way. If they thought anything was off, they didn’t let on, clapping and cheering for us.

Outside, my car was waiting, surrounded by more curious locals who’d heard that there was an impromptu wedding in their little village. I held the door for her and waited to see if she’d make a scene or bolt. Scowling, she looked around at all the delighted people wishing us well, and got in.

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