Page 66 of Viripotent

“We all know I’m doing this to be happyafterthis marriage.”

He lets out a long breath and taps my hand in his. I don’t expect apologies or remorse, but he lifts my hand and kisses the back of my fingers. There’s a slight pause when he sees the brand that’s poorly hidden under the new engagement ring Vlad gave me. He speaks so low, below a whisper, that I have to strain my ears to pick up the words.

“I don’t think there will be an after.”

I’m not able to ask what that means, and he doesn’t offer me his gun to protect myself as he turns, standing at my side again before knocking on the door for it to be opened.

My grandfather doesn’t think that I’ll survive this marriage. That’s not helping my nerves as we walk out. Misha tries to catchmy eyes to check if I’m okay, but if the Pakhan can’t save me what fucking hope is there.

Dariya is already turned around in her seat with tears in her eyes as we walk towards the devil. It’s inappropriate where my thoughts go, not explicit. But I shouldn’t be laughing inside at how the devil hasn’t set aflame when stepping into the cathedral.

Valentin stands beside his brother and Anastasia is waiting on the other side. Everything disappears when I lock eyes with Vlad. There are no teary eyes or soft smile. He’s filled with determination and it’s comforting, knowing how we’ll end before it’s even begun. Hopefully, he won’t kill me like everyone is so fearful of. He’s an asshole and says the wildest shit possible, but he’s never physically hurt me. He plays the gentleman too well and shakes my grandfather’s hand before he carefully takes mine. I can’t feel his touch fully with the long lace gloves, but he strokes between my thumb and forefinger like he can feel my skin through the mesh.

The service is too long for someone that’s not even religious and I make the right sounds in the correct places as we’re guided to the center of the cathedral. Anastasia and Valentin are behind us waiting for their parts as we stand on the cloth and the priest begins the crowning. Turning to Vlad first, there are no nerves in his voice and he speaks with authority as usual.

“I am marrying Inessa Alexandrovna Mikhailovya of my own free will. I have not been promised to another, nor do I belong to another.”

The priest smiles warmly at me, waiting for the same. Swallowing around my nerves I do the same declaration.

“I am marrying Vladislav Marlenovich Vartanov of my own free will. I have not been promised to another, nor do I belong to another.”

I can see the corner of Vlad’s lips twitch. He’s probably going to remind me I said that every day for the rest of our short marriage.

My legs are cramping from being still for so long as the priest goes through each blessing and something strokes my hand. Keeping my head straight, I look down to see Vlad stretching his little finger towards me and he hooks it around mine when I do the same. The prayers come to an end and my neck feels the strain of the crown as soon as it’s placed on my head. Squeezing Vlad’s finger, I try to communicate that I’m a queen and his lips quirk in my periphery like he’s understood. Doing it back as he’s crowned, I feel lighter despite the significant weight added to my head.

I’ve been to weddings and sat mesmerized at the crowns so many times in my life, but no one tells you they’re heavy as fuck. When Stasya and Valentin move forward, lifting them above our heads, I feel better, but I know their arms will ache as we go through the rest of the prayers. The brief moment our fingers unhook while our hands are wrapped in cloth makes the nerves come back with a vengeance, and I relax when Vlad rejoins them as we start the procession, going round in a repetition of three.I wish we could talk to each other so I could give him shit about his favorite number.

My stomach takes flight as we stop in our original positions, and I tense my muscles to get it to stop as we’re officially pronounced husband and wife. He turns to face me fully, the tips of his shoes an inch from the hem of my gown. He slowly moves one hand to my hip, the other on my nape blocking out the crowd, as he leans into me. I close my eyes expecting his lips to touch mine for the first time. There’s barely a brush as they land on the corner, pressing into my cheek. To everyone else it looks like a normal first kiss, but disappointment fills me that it isn’t.Maintaining the façade because he hasn’t actually done anything wrong, I play the part as we turn and hide my emotions.

I should be happy, ecstatic, that he didn’t kiss me. Vlad hasn’t ever kissed me or even touched me fully. There’s always a barrier, even when I was naked and covered in blood his hand didn’t go between my legs. If I’ve been getting out of the shower his eyes don’t dip from my face. But he gets hard, and he made me come without actually touching me. I’m going to fucking hell for my thoughts in a church.

I focus on the guests as we walk down the aisle with our hands clasped, and anger chases away any other emotion. My mother is sat front and fucking center in a white dress. It’s lace and silk, like a wedding dress. For some fucked-up reason, I thought she wouldn’t do that shit. That, for once in her life, she would act correctly. Turning to look at the other side, I want to laugh as Anika is dressed nearly identical. They’re like the same person minus the promiscuity I witnessed on their last visit and Vlad tightens his hold on my hand to get me to move at a normal pace again.

Getting in the waiting car, he puts the privacy screen up straight away and pulls me closer, whispering in my ear.

“What’s wrong?”

Shaking my head because they aren’t worth my time, the violence comes out promising murder in my name.

“You’re a Vartanova now, under my protection and responsibility. Speak, meelaya.”

I sound immature, not liking that someone wore the same color dress as me, but he relaxes and straightens my veil.

“It’s rude to wear white to a wedding, and they both did it. It’s not even like they’re party dresses. They look like bridalwear with lace and silk.”

He raises one brow and waits for the rest. My whisper is barely audible, not wanting to admit it fully.

“Why didn’t you kiss me?”

I stare at the privacy screen instead of his stupid face. It reflects the image back of a picture-perfect bride and groom. Physically he is perfection, and he even has a flower pinned to his suit. His hand moves, coming to my jaw, and he tilts my face up. His voice is low, directly in my ear.

“Because I wouldn’t have stopped.”

Everything inside of me pauses at the husky declaration, my brain stops working, and I nod like an idiot as though it makes sense.

He kisses my cheek, his lips lingering, and my brain shuts down at his declaration.

“Moya zhena vyglyadela ochen' bozhestvenno.”

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