Page 42 of His Darkest Obsession
"There are some things that only family is allowed to know," she says softly. "You're not family yet, Indigo Malcolmovna."
She gives my arm a gentle squeeze.
"But you will be soon."
As we reach the final steps, Svetlana gives my arm one final squeeze before she slips away, leaving me standing alone before Anatoly.
He holds out his hand to me, and I can't tell if he's offering me safety or locking on a handcuff.
I place my trembling hand in his. The moment skin kisses skin, his familiar warmth surges through me again, like electricity finding the path of least resistance.
His fingers close around mine, and the sensation of being anchored overwhelms me all at once.
"You look beautiful," he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear.
Then his lips curl upward into a genuine smile. Something soft and almost tender.
My heart actually skips a beat. My stomach flips. I've never seen him look at me this way before, like I'm something precious rather than a tool in his game against Bennett.
This is all just for show,I remind myself. A performance. For anyone who might question the legitimacy of our union.
But the way his blue eyes seem to darken as they drink in every detail of me feels real.
Then, he turns and gives a wave of his hand.
The priest raises his hands and starts chanting in Russian. The unfamiliar shushing words wash over me. They feel heavy, ancient, and utterly disconnected from the world that I know.
A bead of sweat rolls down my temple and I wonder if Anatoly's sweating too in his tuxedo.
The priest drones on, and then he stops and gestures.
Roma steps over—the mark on his face that I saw yesterday is gone—and places a ring in each of our hands. I sneak a glance down at the unusually shaped ring and see that there is a flat side with what looks to be a double-headed eagle imprinted on it.
This must be the family signet ring he was talking about.
Somehow, seeing this ring in my palm, the reality of what I'm about to commit to crashes down on me. My knees start trembling, and suddenly it feels like the dress is choking me.
The priest gestures toward Anatoly with a nod. Anatoly extends his hand to me.
My fingers tightening around the heavy signet ring.
"It's time, Indigo," he says quietly. "Put the ring on my finger."
I glance up at his face, searching for something to reassure me, something to tell me that maybe this won't be permanent. That maybe there will still be a way for me to go back to who I was before his path crossed with mine.
I search for the face of the man who held me in his arms yesterday, asking who hurt me.
Instead, I find the face of a pakhan—cold and distant.
My hand trembles as I hold the ring between my fingers. If I do this now, I cross a line I can never uncross. The commitment is starting to feel frighteningly tangible.
Not that I have a choice. I don't think I ever did, not from the moment Anatoly walked into the barbershop ready to kill me.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself as reality continues to squeeze around my throat. The breeze from the ocean seems to mock my hesitation, and the salty taste in the air now carries a tinge of bitterness.
"Indigo." Anatoly's voice takes on a slight edge of command. "Put the ring on my finger. Now."
My body responds before my mind can protest further. I slide the ring onto his finger, watching as the double-headed eagle shimmering against his knuckle before coming to rest at the base.
