Page 103 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

I feel a surge of anger, but I bite it down.

This was always the plan. No sense in getting riled up about something I can’t change.

So I just nod again. “I’ll watch her.”

“I’m sure you will,” Budimir says salaciously.

I turn away from all of them and move down the stairs towards the limo. Cillian is the only one who comes with me.

“You are one lucky bastard,” he tells me. “She looked like a fucking treat up there on the altar.”

I scowl. “A treat that might kill me, you mean.”

“Some treats are worth choking on, my friend,” Cillian retorts with a wink. “Just… one bite at a time, you know?

“That’s exactly what I plan on doing.”

Cillian grabs my hand and pulls me in for a brotherly hug. Then he claps me on the back. “Enjoy your honeymoon. Don’t break the bed.”

“Stay out of trouble while I’m away,” I tell him.

Cillian shrugs. “I’ll do my best. No promises.”

Then I duck inside the limo.

I glance towards Esme as we pull away from the cathedral, but she’s not even looking at me.

She’s sitting on the other end of the seat, as far away from me as she can manage, and staring out of the tinted windows.

I can’t see her face at all. I’m sure that’s not an accident.

I glance out the window myself. If she wanted to be left alone, then I’m happy to give her space. Fussing over her feelings is not my fucking job.

If she has issues, she can handle them herself.

Only when we come to a stop on the wide, open tarmac of the Bratva’s personal airstrip, does she look toward me.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going on our honeymoon. Where else?”

She clenches her jaw. “I didn’t agree to that.”

“Do I look like I give a damn, princess?”

Before she can ask me anything more, I get out of the car, leaving her to maneuver out of the limo in her billowing dress on her own.

I’m halfway across the tarmac by the time she manages to unfold herself from the car. Against my better judgement, I glance back to see how she’s doing.

Wind tugs against the folds of the skirts. Her hair has come loose from its bun, unruly locks whipping around in the harsh breeze.

She looks like my perfect fucking wet dream.

“I’m in a wedding dress,” she snaps at me from where she stands a few yards away.

“You know what? I did notice that. Been meaning to say something.”

“I can’t travel in a wedding dress.”

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