Page 48 of Possessive Vows

“And so are they.”

His no-nonsense answer slaps me upside the head like my mother’s open palm, but unlike her vicious cruelty, his shock carries meaning so heavy my heart hurts.

“You all loved her very much, didn’t you?” I say.

He lifts a bracelet from the display case and offers it to me. I nod and raise my uninjured arm. He steps forward and wraps it around my wrist as he speaks.

“I cannot promise you an easy life, but you will never be alone. I will protect you,” he promises.

I nod again before stepping back and meeting his eyes.

“And I cannot promise you anything other than I will try my best,” I say.

“I look forward to every moment,” he murmurs.

The sincerity in his expression and tone as he says my words back to me steals my breath. I nod like a dummy and shuffle to the vanity to tackle the disaster that my hair has become.

A few minutes later, he pays for everything with his black card and leads me back to the car. We drive in comfortable silence, and I take his hand and walk with our arms brushing against each other as he maneuvers us through the building to my brother’s lawyer.

I blink in surprise as a woman, Mrs. Tamsin, introduces herself. My father would have never allowed a woman to handle anything important, but I know my brother is nothing like my father, so the comparison isn’t fair. I give myself a mental shake to rid myself of my preconceived notions, take the pen the lawyer offers me, and pull the stack of papers closer.

“I included a basic prenuptial agreement—your individual assets will remain separate—but if there’s anything you want to change—”

“I do not need a prenuptial agreement. Camilla will have full access to everything I own, including legal guardianship of my children,” Dimitri interrupts.

My insides tremble. I blink at his uncompromising expression. My finances aren’t extreme, but I started investing early and built a portfolio strong enough to retire early—modeling is lucrative only for a short while—but Giorgio and Serenity have handled so much for me over the last year, I haven’t even thought about it.

I want to give Dimitri everything. I trust him.

“We don’t need a prenup,” I confirm.

Mrs. Tamsin nods, pulls a few pieces of paper out of the stack, and adds a few from the shelf along the wall.

“Here’s a version to keep your options as fluid as possible. Even if you never use it, having it on file will ensure everything else runs smoothly. Since you’re different nationalities, we’ll cover all options, then expedite everything so it’s completed in the next few days,” Mrs. Tamsin says.

She takes our identification cards before pointing through the stack of papers, indicating where we need to sign versus initial, and after officiating a truncated ceremony, she pronounces us husband and wife, gathers her pens, and scoops the files into her arms.

“You’re all set. Here’s my card.” She slips two business cards onto the table. “There’s an empty meeting room down the hall if you need a few minutes alone. Otherwise, you’re free to leave. I’ll start filing this right away,” she says.

“Thank you,” I reply.

Halfway risen from the couch, my hip locks, so I sit back down again and stretch my leg under the coffee table. Dimitri’s concern tightens his expression into a ferocious scowl, but I shrug and slowly work my joints until the sharp pain eases to a dull ache.

When I lean forward to rise, Dimitri offers me his hand. I meet his eyes and accept his help.

We leave the office with our fingers as intertwined as our future and step out onto the sidewalk for the first time as husband and wife.

Part of me can’t believe we actually got married but wonder slowly builds in my chest. Despite all the trauma I carry around and the faults I struggle with, this powerful, lethal bratva man wants to spend the rest of his life with me.

Less than a few feet away from the car, my thoughts implode when a voice from my nightmares filters into my ears. Although the streets teem with people, my brain singles out the voice and amplifies it until it blasts through my skull.

Even as I feel my mind sequester itself away from the world, I urge my mouth to open and tell Dimitri I hear one of my attackers, but after the long, emotional last few days, I dissociate so quickly I don’t get a chance. My jaw stays firmly locked as my body moves on autopilot. Dimitri uses his hand to shield the doorframe as I lower myself into the back seat of his car. I fasten my seatbelt and tuck my purse in my lap as though nothing is amiss.

My husband shuts my door and wedges his massive body behind the steering wheel.

Nothing can reach me. No one can help or hurt me.

With my body numb and my mind tucked safely away, I shift my gaze out my window to the sidewalk.

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