Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
But as I move to push open the sliding door, I spot Natalya step into the hallway. Her hair’s up and some stray wisps hang down around her perfect oval face, and my breath gets swept from my lungs again.
I’m doing this for my baby—but I’m also doing it for her.
God, she looks beautiful. Perfect, really, a perfect fucking bride. She glows in her dress and seems to float as she awkwardly greets the priest, an old Russian man from a small Orthodox parish, a man that used to owe the family some money, but now all his debts are officially paid.
I’m doing this for my baby, because that’s the right thing to do.
And I can never admit that it’s also because I want her.
Because if I ruined this alliance and potentially started a war out of pure selfishness—
I don’t know how I could live with myself.
That’s not the man I want to be.
“Sorry, Lev, I got to go.”
“Wait, hold on. There’s got to be another way. Alex, don’t be fucking stupid. Let’s talk about it.”
I hang up on my friend and toss my phone aside as I step into the apartment.
I welcome the priest and help him get settled. There’s not a whole lot to do though, and we kill time by making strained small talk until the buzzer rings and Dasha comes inside.
She kisses both my cheeks. “This has to be the craziest thing I’ve ever heard,” she says, holding to my shoulders and speaking very quietly. “Are you sure about this?”
“Thanks for coming,” I tell her and steer her to the living room, which should be answer enough. “I think we have everything we need now.”
Father Gorbachev clears his throat. “This is everyone?” He glances from me to Natalya and gestures at Dasha. “Just the one witness?”
“We need to do this quickly, Father.” I pull Natalya over and make her stand across from me. We’re in front of the fire place in my living room. Dasha’s sitting on the couch looking even more nervous than I am while Father Gorbachev opens and closes his bible.
“I can, ah, speak an abbreviated ceremony.” He glances at Natalya. “If that’s okay with you?”
“That’s fine, Father.” She’s looking anywhere but at me.
“Very good then. Please, hold hands.”
Natalya’s palms are dry and warm in mine as the old priest says the words. He skips over nearly everything and walks us through the vows. I say them without hesitation, and my voice doesn’t tremble. The idea of being Natalya’s husband doesn’t scare me—and neither does becoming the father of our child.
When it’s her turn, she stares at the floor the whole time.
“By the power vested in me by God, you are now husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Natalya’s face snaps up, her eyes going wide like this wasn’t what she expected—
I step forward, and fuck it, even though I try like hell to be as perfect as I can be, I’m a flawed man. I have my demons and my needs.
And right now, there’s only one thing I want.
I claim her mouth with mine.
I pull Natalya against me and I bury her lips and invade her tongue with my own. I kiss her deep and her taste floods my mouth as she releases the most erotic little whimper I’ve ever heard in my fucking life, and I don’t care if there’s a priest standing a few feet away or if Dasha’s watching from the couch.
This woman is mine. She’s fucking mine now, my wife, all mine, and she’s carrying my god damn child.
I won’t let anyone get near her ever again.
I kiss her until it feels like my lips might fall to dust before finally pulling away.
Natalya’s looking at me now. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are bright.
“Hell yeah,” Dasha says with a cheer.
“I should get going,” the priest murmurs, already gathering his things, as Natalya seems to melt away from me, face turning even pinker with embarrassment.
But I only have eyes for my wife right now.
A strange, bestial hunger rolls through me, and if there weren’t two other people only a few feet away I’d grab Natalya by the hair and kiss claiming her, and I wouldn’t stop until she was moaning my name.
But fuck, that isn’t why I married her.
That’s the selfish, broken part of me again, and I will keep it under control.
Only right now it’s hard with my wife looking so fucking beautiful and her lips hanging open and her taste still lingering on my tongue.
The rest of the wedding is paperwork. We fill out the documents and everyone signs, including Dasha. Father Gorbachev gets the hell out of my apartment as soon as humanly possible.
“Here’s to the happy couple,” Dasha says, proposing a toast. She hands out glasses of wine, but I take away Natalya’s and pour it into my glass.