Page 36 of Convenient Vows

“I do,” Zasha says, quiet but firm.

His answer lands hard in my chest, sending a pulse through me.

My turn comes, and I say “I do.”

I keep my voice clear, letting each word fall with quiet conviction. Zasha takes my hand, sliding the ring onto my finger. Cool metal against warm skin. And just like that, it feels like a countdown has begun —

Three hundred and sixty-five days. That’s the time I have to turn this arrangement into something more.

The officiant gives the final pronouncement.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

A hush settles over the room, heavy with expectation. Zasha leans in, his hand brushing lightly against my waist, and our lips meet.

It’s meant to be a formal kiss, a careful display for the guests —

But beneath it, I feel the tension. The unspoken pull, the quiet crackle in the air between us. His mouth lingers just a second longer than necessary. When we pull back, I steady my breath, a faint tremble at the edge of my pulse.

Calm down, Xiomara, your plans to have Zasha are already in motion.

11

Chapter 10

Zasha

The room purrs with tension.

Not loud or flashy—no, this kind of tension is subtle and sharp, the kind that settles into the corners of a gathering like this. All glittering crystal, polished marble, silk tablecloths, and cold calculations hide behind polite smiles.

Cartel power players shake hands with Bratva associates under the hum of soft music. Waiters glide through with champagne and delicate canapés, and somewhere in the corner, old men laugh too loud over cigars, their wives glittering at their sides.

I stand off to one side, a glass in hand, Viktor and Lev flanking me.

We’ve done this a hundred times before — the power gatherings, the alliances, the masked games — but tonight feels different.

Tonight, my eyes find Mara across the room without meaning to. She glows under the lights, her soft ivory dress fitting her like a second skin, understated with minimal beadings yet unforgettable.

She moves through the crowd with practiced grace — polite smiles, quiet nods, delicate thanks — the perfect cartel daughter. But every now and then, I catch a glimpse of something else.

The way she laughs when someone says something genuinely funny, head tilting slightly, eyes crinkling at the corners.

The little flick of her fingers when she tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The flash of something sharp and alive beneath all the polished surface.

I take a slow sip of my drink, reassuring myself that it’s just physical. Just admiration. After all, she’s a beautiful woman, and it’s normal to notice.

But deep down, I know it’s more.

It’s the pull I’ve been fighting since the moment I agreed to this arrangement — the quiet, insistent itch under my skin that refuses to go away.

Lev leans in slightly, grinning faintly.

“Careful, Zee… if you keep staring, people will start thinking you actually like your wife.”

I grunt, muttering under my breath,

“Shut up, Lev.”

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