Page 37 of Convenient Vows

Viktor, sharp-eyed as always, gives me a long look, one brow arching slightly.

“Leave the poor groom alone, Lev,” he says smoothly — but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes that tells me he’s in on the teasing too.

I narrow my gaze at both of them, shaking my head.

“You two are impossibly worse than your wives.”

Lev smirks, and Viktor gives me a slow nod of agreement.

I let out a quiet breath, finishing the last sip of my drink. I've had enough of standing here like a carved statue. I set the glass down, straightening slightly, and step away from them. I can feel their smirks follow me all the way across the room.

As I make my way toward Mara, weaving through the clusters of powerful men and sharp-eyed women, I tell myself it’s just for appearances. That I have to stand beside my wife to show the room that we are united.

But deep down, there’s a truth I can’t shake.

I want to be near her.

Not just for strategy. Not just for the deal. But because her true self—those little flashes of warmth, sharpness, and the spark she tries so hard to hide—cuts through every wall I’ve built.

And they make me crave something I have no business craving.

The night drifts toward its end.

Mara stands beside me, graceful and poised, her soft laugh sliding through the air as we exchange thank-yous and polite handshakes.

Guests pass by in a slow stream — cartel captains, Bratva associates, old family friends, men with sharp eyes and dangerous smiles.

We smile back and nod. Accepting toasts as they come. She moves through it all with effortless grace, her hand resting lightly on my arm when needed, her voice smooth and controlled.

But beneath it, I can feel the tension crackling between us.

There’s no honeymoon planned. No glamorous escape, no five-star suite, no whirlwind trip to some private island. This isn’t that kind of marriage. While I now wish we had all those things planned, I have to remind myself that she doesn’t want me touching her.

She made it clear this isn’t love. This is her escape hatch. Her one-year ticket to freedom.

I am her fucking escape route.

As the last of the guests drift away, Mara turns to her parents.

Thiago Delgado, the man so many fear, leans in to kiss his daughter’s cheek gently, his eyes soft in a way I’ve never seen. His hand lingers briefly on her shoulder, his voice low and affectionate as he murmurs something just for her.

Beside him, Lola — elegant, and sharp-eyed — wraps Mara in a hug, smoothing her hair back, also whispering words I can’t hear. Mara’s eyes glimmer slightly as she pulls back, giving them both a warm smile.

And for the first time, I see it.

The soft underbelly of the Delgado family. The part the outside world never gets to witness.

They love her fiercely, and although they’re letting her go tonight, it’s clear they don’t do it lightly.

We step out into the cool night air, the hush of the world wrapping around us. Mara shivers slightly, hugging her arms around herself. For a second, just a second, I almost reach out to take her hand and pull her close.

But I stop myself.

Instead, I clear my throat, forcing my voice steady.

“Did you pack your things?”

She glances up, eyes soft and curious.

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