Page 70 of Santa Daddy
His face was a mask. Calm. Remote. The softness I’d seen in bed, the heat from the shower, the momentary cracks when he’d bandaged my hand—gone.
There he is.
The man from the tree lot.
The one who’d checked a pulse and made a decision about my life in a heartbeat.
As I walked toward him, his eyes locked on mine.
Possessive. Assessing. Like he was making sure the package he’d ordered had arrived undamaged.
My skin crawled.
My treacherous body warmed.
The priest looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. His hands trembled as he opened his Bible, incense burner clinking beside him. Smart man. He probably agreed to this under violent duress.
“Dearly beloved,” he began, voice cracking like a teenager’s, “we are gathered here tonight, on this Christmas Eve, to witness the union of Konstantin and Daniela.”
Daniela.
My full name landed heavy. It sounded like it belonged on a saint’s statue, not on a girl whose last three days had been sex, murder, and Stockholm Syndrome Lite.
He droned on about love and honor and cherishing. Words that had never set foot in this building when it came to these men.
All I could feel was Konstantin’s hand closing over mine.
Firm. Unyielding. His thumb settled on my pulse like a man checking property, not a groom.
A shackle disguised as affection.
“The vows,” the priest said, glancing nervously at the first pew, then back at us. “Konstantin, do you take Daniela to be your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better, for worse…”
“I do,” he said.
No hesitation. No warmth.
He might as well have been saying,I accept the terms.
The priest turned to me. “Daniela, do you take Konstantin to be your lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold?—”
Till death do you part.
Very on-brand for this guest list.
Run. Say no. Spit in his face. Throw the bouquet, not the first punch.
His fingers tightened just enough to hurt. Thumb pressing into the frantic flutter of my pulse.
A reminder.
He could end me right here with a twist.
My mouth went dry. The words clogged behind my teeth like glass.
Silence stretched. Long. Thin. I felt all those guns shift imperceptibly in their holsters.
Predator-still, Konstantin watched me.
