Page 29 of Convenient Vows

But Mara keeps poking through my thoughts and defences no matter how much I try to shove her down and box her up. She’s vibrant, sharp, brave, and young. She’s sharp. And she’s not supposed to get under my skin.

Not like this.

I grab my keys from the dresser, the cold metal biting into my palm. For a moment, I just stand there, the house around me silent and empty. Then I square my shoulders, shake the thoughts off, and head for the door. There’s no space for doubt. No space for longing or softness or hesitation. Today, I walk into this as a soldier. A strategist.

Not like a man quietly unraveling on the inside.

The car door shuts with a soft click behind me, and I adjust my jacket as I stride toward the ceremony location, shoes hitting the stone path in steady, measured beats.

Cartel men with familiar faces and deadly reputations glance up and nod as I walk by. Bratva associates, also standing in quiet clusters, offer small, respectful dips of their heads. I return each gesture with the faintest nod, no more, no less.

Every step brings me closer to the heart of it — to the altar where, in just minutes, I’ll stand and wait for the woman I’m about to call my wife.

My pulse pounds steadily in my throat, sharp and insistent, no matter how much I tell myself to ignore it.

Inside, there’s a weight — a heaviness in my chest, a restless coil tightening and tightening, refusing to let go.

Get your head right, Zasha.

I force my breathing to be slow and measured, drawing from the same focus I use before operations and before hits. I’ve handled deals that would’ve left me gutted if I made even one wrong move. I’ve walked into enemy territory knowing I was one breath away from death. Why, then, does this — standing here on the edge of marriage — make my heart slam like I’m walking into a goddamned ambush?

I shift my shoulders, exhaling through clenched teeth. It’s not nerves. It’s not emotion. It’s just… noise.

Noise I need to cut through before I step up to that altar. Because when Mara walks down that aisle, I need to be ready to say I do.

I stand outside the ceremony room, adjusting my cuffs, fingers tightening slightly on the fabric.

My heart pounds harder than I want to admit — a slow, relentless drumbeat that echoes louder the more I try to ignore it.

I remind myself that this is just like any other business deal: a one-year alliance that will strengthen both sides, stabilize territories, and open new channels.

Nothing more. Nothing to get worked up about.

But inside, my chest feels tight—too tight—as if a fist is slowly curling beneath my ribs. Suddenly, I realize my apprehension stems from knowing that Mara and I will be living under the same roof, and I’ll have to keep my hands to myself.

I’ve tried not to kiss her again since our date. I’ve attempted to keep my distance, to maintain sharp and clean boundaries. But every time I think of her — her sharp wit, her unflinching gaze, the quiet fire that lingers just beneath her composed surface — something slips, and fractures just a little inside me. I exhale slowly, adjusting my cuffs again, trying to steady myself.

How is she feeling right now? Is she nervous? Is she regretting this?

A flicker of something sharp cuts through me at the thought — something too close to jealousy, too close to longing.

I shut it down and tighten the grip around it. Because I can’t afford to walk into that room rattled.

Not when I’m about to stand at the altar and claim her — if only for a year.

I shift my weight, rolling my shoulders back in an attempt to loosen the tensions in my muscles.

“Why do you look like you’re about to face a firing squad?”

The voice cuts through my thoughts, sounding sharp, amused, and playful.

I snap my eyes open just as Scarlett enters my line of sight. Viktor’s wife moves with the same confident grace she has always possessed. She has managed to step into our world and fit in so seamlessly, as if she were born into it.

Yelena trails beside her, elegant and watchful, a spark of mischief in her blue eyes.

And behind them, Alina, Viktor’s youngest sister and Lev’s wife, grins widely, her eyes twinkling as if she knows exactly where this is going.

I straighten immediately, schooling my face back to neutral.

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