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One moment, I’d be gazing at the flowers during the funeral service and the next I’m thinking of the first time I saw her in that white dress with little blue flowers all over it. How if Arianna were a flower, she’d be a primrose because she’s so prim and proper all the time. Then I wonder, what is her favorite flower? I know she likes fresh flowers, but I haven’t been able to figure out her favorite yet.
What kinds of thoughts are those? Absurd. That’s what they are, absolutely absurd. I’m losing my goddamn mind because of this woman.
I mentally shake my head at myself and stare out the window.
Arianna begins to stir by the time we reach the church. She’ll be loopy for some hours still, and probably sleep well tonight, but I need her awake for a while. Pliable, but conscious.
Maks parks and I hand him my briefcase to carry while I lift Arianna into my arms. We enter through the front, and the sight before me is pleasing. The priest is ready, candles burning, everything set up for the ceremony. I didn’t have time to purchase Arianna a wedding gown, but I do have the papers to legalize our union.
“Good evening, Mr. Kozlov,” Father Misha greets us. “Did you bring the marriage license?”
“I have it here.” I nod to Maks, who retrieves it from the briefcase. Sure, I could bribe the priest like I did the clerk to get this license in the first place, but I want everything from here on out to be as above board as possible. As legit as possible.
“Very good. I will sign this after the ceremony is complete.” The priest briefly eyes Arianna. “Is she okay?”
I level a stern look at him. “Just do your fucking job, Father.”
“Yes, sir.”
With Arianna propped up beside me, Father Misha performs the ceremony. We keep it simple. The priest rambles on about marriage and oaths and such for a while before getting to the good part.
“Do you, Dimitri Kozlov, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do.” My chest warms as I gaze down at her gorgeous face.
“And do you, Arianna Pontrelli, take this man to be your husband?”
She frowns in confusion. “I don’t—” she slurs.
I place my palm over her mouth and force her to nod in response. “Obviously, she does.”
The priest swallows hard, but this isn’t the first questionable marriage he’s performed, so he continues, “By the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
I angle my wife’s face up to mine and stare into her unfocused eyes. Cupping her cheek, I brush a chaste kiss to her lips. Her memories of this will most likely be vague, and I want her to fully remember the first time I kiss her for real. This peck is a promise to be fulfilled at a future time.
“What’s happening?” she murmurs, her body swaying into mine.
I catch her before she falls and lift her bridal style in my arms. “Father, sign that marriage license so we can get this over and done with.”
“Yes, sir.” He does as he’s told. “Congratulations.”
I grunt in response, carrying Arianna back to the car. Maks grabs my briefcase, then runs ahead to open the door.
Once we’re inside, I glance at Maks, “You know where to next.”
“Sure do, Pakhan.”
Arianna pushes away from me, wedging herself against the far door. Her eyelids droop, then spring open, as if she’s struggling to stay awake. I snap a photo of her as she gazes at me.
“What…” she trails off.
She’s my wife. I let that realization settle over me for a moment before I proceed onto the next part of my plan. My chest feels so full that it’s tight. I’ve bound her to me before man and God, now I need to play the rest of this game carefully.
I send the photo to her father.
My phone immediately rings.
“Mr. Pontrelli,” I answer his call.
