Page 19 of Til Death Do Us Part (Kornilov Bratva Duet 2)

“Different?” I ask, standing up and walking over to her.

Molly pulls her hands away when I reach for them, but I grab them anyway and lay them against my chest, pinning them there with my own hands. “You are different now. You should feel different.”

“Not really,” she whispers, glancing nervously towards where the hairdresser is pretending not to listen to us.

I know what she means. She isn’t really different. We aren’t really married.

I shake my head. “No, really. You are.”

“But I’m not.” Molly raises her voice and pulls away from me, tucking her hands behind her back. “I’ve been dirt poor my entire life, and now, overnight, I’m some rich Bratva wife who has a hair stylist. This. Isn’t. Me. I feel ridiculous.”

I don’t know how to fix this right now. Not when we need to be at the ceremony in twenty minutes.

“If it is about your hair, I’m paying this woman twice her normal fee. She can change it.”

The hairdresser turns around, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and nods. “I can. I’ll do whatever you like.”

“It isn’t the hair,” Molly says more gently, addressing the stylist. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine. Let’s just finish up and get this over with.”

Molly turns away from me and goes to sit at the chair in front of the vanity again. I can see tension in the hunch of her shoulders, but I can’t do anything about it now. Based on what I overheard before walking in, my presence is only making things worse.

So, I turn and leave, pulling the door shut firmly behind me.

I’m not sure what happened between last night and now. I’m not sure how Molly went from clutching me and surrendering to me to this, and even worse, I can’t fix it.

As her husband, I should know how to calm her. I should know what to say. Yet, I don’t.

I run a frustrated hand through my hair before I remember it has been gelled into a respectable style. I try to flatten it back down as best I can and then go back downstairs to sit with Theo until Molly is ready. Once we get through the ceremony, we can talk about everything. I can comfort her.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

* * *

Molly claimsshe isn’t ready to be a Bratva wife, to be the queen, but she could have fooled me.

The ceremony is a success.

She smiles and looks at ease, even as her finger is pricked and her blood is spilled over the Bratva symbol. When she is asked to repeat her oath of loyalty, she stumbles over a few of the words, but she remains confident and strong. I can tell my men respect her when they make their own oaths. I can feel it in the tone of their collective voice. They will protect her.

When we walk back to the car afterwards, I open Molly’s door for her and then walk around the front, hoping the strangeness from before has passed. Hoping I can chalk it up to pre-ceremony nerves.

Those hopes are dashed the second I close the car door.

“How much did I fuck up?” Molly asks, dropping her head in her hands.

I’m so surprised by the sudden change in her that I don’t say anything for a second.

Molly tips her head back against the seat, her eyes closed. “Everyone knew something was wrong. I used the wrong silverware and misspoke during the ceremony. And God, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I might as well have hung a sign around my neck: FAKER.”

“No one noticed anything. I thought you did great.”

She looks up at me, her face twisted in disbelief. “Don’t lie to me. You more than anyone know how important it is that we each play our parts, and I’m fucking it up.”

“No, you aren’t,” I say, this time more forcefully. “My men loved you. If they don’t now, they will. You did great. You’re safe now. We are safe.”

She takes a deep shuddering breath, and I can see her lips trembling. Her hands shake in her lap. “You don’t know what it is like to be me, Viktor. You have always been wealthy. You’ve been a part of this world forever, and you are always, always, in control. Of yourself. Of those around you. You don’t know what it feels like to be tossed around by life.”

I want to let Molly thinks whatever she wants. I want to throw the car into drive and speed away from this night, from this conversation. Soon enough, Molly will find her footing. Everything will work out, I’m sure.

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