Page 12 of Dark Bratva Christmas
And for good reason.
The car parks outside of a church, and I don't know why I'm surprised, but I am. They did, after all, force me into a wedding dress.
Fucking bastards. My father is never going to let this happen.
I take in the ornate cathedral, decorated for Christmas with a nativity scene on the front lawn and white lights lining the roof. A beautiful Christmas tree is visible from the front window, but my stomach only feels sicker when I take it all in.
It’s all beautiful, but it’s allwrong.
Before I can think about it anymore, I'm pulled out of the car, a pink and white bouquet is shoved in my hand, and I’m told to stand in front of the door until they're ready for me.
After a few moments of painful silence,Here Comes the Brideplays, and the doors are pushed open by both of the burly guards who watched me get ready.
The pews are empty with the exception of my father standing in the very first pew on the bride's side, looking back with an expressionless face.
What the ever-loving fuck?
And standing at the end of the aisle, under the marital arch, is none other than Matysh Volkov.
Chapter four
Matysh
Eto vse strogo biznes(This is all strictly business),I tell myself, as my cock twitches beneath my slacks. I can’t fuckingstandthe sight of Catarina.
But also, my dick can’tstandnot to entertain the idea of lifting that goddamn wedding dress and taking her right here over the altar.
“What the hell is happening right now?” Catarina’s voice shakes as she reaches the altar, her eyes bouncing between myself and her father—who only smiles.
“We have to do what’s best for the family,milaya dochka(sweet daughter). This is your new husband. I think you will have a lovely marriage.”
I see the wheels turning in her head as her gaze jumps to the door.
“I wouldn’t try that,” I chuckle, and her head whips back to me. “You’re not going anywhere,moya zhena(my wife).”
She gives me a disgusted look. “Donotrefer to me asyour wife.That is a title that was reserved for yourbrother.How dare you—”
“Catarina,” her father cuts in, his voice sharp. “You know what it means to be a Petrov lady. Act like one.” His cutting tone even has me raising my brows.
And I’m not sure how I feel about it, actually, as my pulse quickens slightly.
Do I give a shit how her father speaks to her?
No, obviously.
“Move forward with the vows,” Boris gestures to the officiant, an older priest, who I’m certain has done these kinds of weddings before.
And fifteen minutes of Catarina glaring at me later, we’re married. Honestly, I expected her to put up a little more of a fight, but maybe I overestimated her.
Regardless, the certificate is signed. No kissing required.
Boris follows us from the church to my car as the two of us climb in together. “Remember what we discussed,” he says, leaning to speak through the window. “Treat her like your own.”
My own fucking plaything.
“Of course,” I mutter, and then instruct the driver to take us home.
As the SUV pulls out of the church parking lot, I see a few reporters taking photos. I know they were fucking tipped off and paid to be here.
