Page 20 of Pregnant Bratva Wife
“Elena and Gastone are as happy as can be,” I declared, and received a wide smile from my sister. Well, at least I now had Elena on my side.
“But it could have gone sideways,” Caspian insisted.
“There wouldn’t be any such problems,” I assured them. “She’s innocent. Not from our world.”
“Then why the rush?” Caspian asked. “Why not wait, do this properly?”
Because she might change her mind. Because I couldn’t risk losing her. Because something about her had gotten under my skin from the moment I saw her.
“I don’t want to wait,” I said simply.
My siblings exchanged looks. They knew me well enough to know that when I made up my mind, it was nearly impossible to change it.
“What’s her name?” Kate asked with a sigh.
“Autumn Malone. She’s twenty-four.”
“Twenty-four?” Kate’s eyebrows shot up. “She’s fifteen years younger than you.”
“She is,” I shrugged. “But she’s the one for me.”
A silence fell around the room. Still tense, but a little more accepting.
I took my seat. Took a bite of my food, all gone cold. Looked around the table. “The wedding is three days from now. This Saturday, 2 pm. At my estate. I expect you all to be there.”
“That’s... very soon,” Beatrice said carefully. “I assume it will be small?”
“Just family and a few close friends,” I confirmed. “Not a big deal.”
Dante snorted. “Not a big deal except that you’re marrying a complete stranger.”
I shot him a warning look, and he raised his hands in surrender, but I could see the concern in his eyes. The same concern in Caspian’s gaze.
They thought I was making a mistake. Perhaps I was.
But something told me that Autumn Malone was worth any complications that might arise. Let them worry. Saturday couldn’t come soon enough.
***
The day of the wedding arrived with perfect weather—sunny but not too hot, a gentle breeze coming off the lake. The kind of day that photographers pray for.
I stood at the altar we’d set up in the garden, surrounded by beautiful flowers and the handful of people I trusted most in the world. Caspian, Giovanni, Luca, and Achille stood behind me. Fidgeting. So much for groomsmen. Their anxiety put mine to shame.
Dante, my best man, stepped over to fix my tie.
“You doing okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” I lied.
But I wasn’t. I was a mess. I was petrified I’d be the star groom in the next version of The Runaway Bride.
My palms were sweating. Federico Lebedev, the man behind the building of a great empire, was nervous about a wedding.
A fake wedding, no less.
Except it didn’t feel fake. Not with the minister standing beside me, not with the legal documents waiting to be signed, not with my heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape.
I couldn’t stop staring at the aisle, waiting for her to appear.
