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Is it the metal, or is it because all the blood has left my body?
Waving his fingers over the rings, the priest raises his voice so it belts around the church without the aid of a microphone. “The servant of God is betrothed to the maid of God in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
Arsen takes my hand; I jump at the sensation of our skin touching as memories of him fucking me invade my thoughts again. He slips the ring on my finger to settle beside the engagement ring. When he lets go, my arm feels like it weighs ten times more than before.
“Arsen Kirilovich Isakov,” the priest says, his hand held in the air. Arsen cringes when he hears the name. It’s the first time I’ve heard him addressed like this. I try to catch his eye, but he purposefully avoids it. “Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
There—now he looks at me. “I do.” His voice is solid as stone. It gives me strength, helping the shaking in my knees evaporate. How strange that two simple words could have so much power.
“Galina Stepanovna Rubinova.” It’s my turn. Focusing on the priest, I will my heart to slow down. It’s punching against my ribs so hard I’m afraid it’ll break them. “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
My tongue drags over my stiff lips. I’ve forgotten how to speak. Around me, the air in the church becomes tepid and stale. The sky peeking through the windows in the ceiling presses on me until my neck twinges. All around me are eyes. Arsen’s soldiers, people who obey his every command, the ones who would turn on me in an instant to please him.
There’s no one here that feels excited for me.
My mother doesn’t even know this is happening.
The moment stretches until I think I’ll black out. And maybe that’s for the best; if I’m unconscious, I don’t have to keep playing this fake wedding game. I’ll have an out. I’ll find more time to wiggle free of this insidious plan crafted by Arsen.
Arsen.
His face swims into my vision. The world is still crumbling around me, but he’s something vibrant to focus on. That severe mouth is set in a light smile, like he’s waiting for something exciting. The heat in his black eyes is a remnant of the night we slept together.
He’s waiting for me to say yes … And I swear, he has the capacity to wait as long as it takes.
My body moves without stability, like an earthquake is happening. It takes immense concentration to push the ring over Arsen’s knuckle.
“I do.”
The phrase exits my lips in a hush. Only the priest and Arsen hear it, but that’s enough. He grins as joy takes him in its grip. I’ve never seen him this pleased. It’s contagious, my inner demons shrinking under the power of his radiant sun.
I can breathe again; the air is sweet from the roses on the altar. His unique scent pierces through everything else, filling my nose. There are soft murmurs in the crowd. Ulyana, holding the crown over my head, smiles kindly. Olesya, her hands gripping a bouquet of marigolds and baby’s breath as she waits on the sidelines, smiles as well.
Clearing his throat twice, the priest lifts his hands high. “By the power invested in me, under the eyes of God, I pronounce these two husband and wife.”
Ulyana comes forward, and the gorgeous crown is finally placed atop my braided scalp. She whispers in my ear, “Congratulations, devushka.”
I glance at Arsen, who sports his own crown with effortless ease. The man who placed it leans in to whisper his own blessings. The words make Arsen’s eyes narrow, and he looks around the church, searching for something.
But whatever he’s seeking isn’t here. He gives up; his attention glides back to me. The annoyance is replaced with warmth. I’ve seen this look before when we’re bound together, sweating with our hearts beating at top speed. And I know that his want for me is real.
“The servants of God, Arsen and Galina, are crowned in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.” The priest begins to add, “You may kiss the bride.”
Arsen is already moving at the first syllable. His arms wind around my waist, dipping me while his mouth seeks mine out.
It’s a longer kiss than is appropriate for a wedding. But I don’t care. I lose myself in it, in him, and believe—even if it’s for a second—that all of this is real and let him chase the last shred of doubt from my mind.
Cheers erupt from the crowd. Someone whistles, inciting more laughs and clapping. I can forget that this group is full of gun-wielding soldiers. I can even forget that none of my friends or family are aware of what I’ve done.
But I didn’t do anything. This is all pretend.
Right?
But the ring on my finger that I keep rubbing with my pinkie is real. The way Arsen is kissing me with abandon is very real. And the sensation like carbonation fizzing in my belly, this emotion that warns me that I’m falling—if not into love, then into something I’m not prepared for …
That’s real too.
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