Page 163 of Bratva's Vow
“Will you stop crying now?”
“I’m crying because I love you!” I sobbed. “And I don’t want to die before marrying you, and I want to wear a veil. A dramatic one. With lace. Like out to here.” I tried to stretch my arms, but one of them was taped to an IV line, so it mostly looked like I was trying to mime an awkward hug.
Maxim leaned in and kissed the back of my knuckles. “You’re not dying.”
“But what if I do, and we’re not married?”
I was crying again. I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t. The tears kept falling while he tried to dab them away.
“Wren, please stop crying. You’ll make yourself sick again.” He kissed my forehead. My nose. “Okay, how about this? I find the chaplain, and we get married right here, right now?”
“You mean that?”
“Will it make you stop crying?”
I nodded, smiling through blurry eyes. “Yes, please. I want to be your forever mister.”
I didn’t remember everything.
Just… pieces.
The chaplain’s voice, sharp and sputtering, “This isn’t right! He’s barely conscious?—”
My voice, hoarse and cracked and heavy with desperation: “Please. Please marry us before I die.”
Maxim’s hand was wrapped around mine, grounding me through the fog. “You’re not dying.”
But if I wasn’t, why did I feel like a hollowed-out jack-o’-lantern left too long in the sun? Why did everything taste like pennies? Why did my lungs rattle like an old radiator in winter?
Still, I begged. “I want to be his husband before I go. Please.”
I might’ve added something about haunting the hospital and rearranging all the floor numbers so everyone got lost.
The chaplain groaned like he was being personally cursed. There were papers. Some mumbled vows. Or maybe I imagined those. I might’ve called Maxim my “sexy stallion.” I also might’ve promised to obey him and be his forever slut. The chaplain might have had a coughing fit.
Then came the words.
“You may kiss the groom.”
Maxim leaned in.
And just as his lips brushed mine, everything shifted.
“Oh no,” I croaked.
“What?”
“I’m gonna be sick.”
Maxim grabbed the basin like a pro. He’d done it so many times now and never seemed disgusted at the sight of me puking out my guts.
I turned my head and promptly hurled up every drop of blue Gatorade and potassium supplement inside me. The chaplain made a horrified noise and bailed. Probably reevaluating all his life choices. I overheard some hasty congrats before others left as well.
I started crying again.
“I ruined our wedding kiss!”
Maxim wiped my mouth with the gentleness of someone used to violence but choosing softness. “You didn’t ruin anything. It was perfect. Nik got the whole thing on camera.”
