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“From this day until death separates us.”
She holds my gaze, her own voice clear and lovely, like a church bell.
“And I take you as my husband, Demyan.” The way she says my name, her own special benediction, like she’s wrapped my name as a gift and presents it now to me, her clear, soft voice caressing the harsh letters and somehow softening them.
“To be with you always.” She doesn’t look away. She doesn’t flinch. What does this mean? Is she a better liar than I thought, or does this somehow mean something to her?
I’m not a romantic man. There isn’t a sentimental hair on my body, and yet… as she tugs our clasped hands to her heart, I imagine there’s sincerity in her words. “In wealth and in poverty, in sickness and in health.” Her voice catches. “In happiness and grief.”
I wonder what she sees right now. What vision does she hold in her mind? Are the words something she states, like an actress’ lines?
It isn’t until she’s nearly halfway through I realize she’s saying the words in Russian. She’s practiced them, memorized them in my native tongue, and for some reason, this is a gift she’s giving me. Something I will treasure and hold close to my heart. No matter where we go from here. No matter what happens next. She’s stated her vows in the words of my homeland, and I will not forget that. With a deep breath, she finishes her vows.
“Do smerti.”
Until death.
And after the final words leave her lips, I say a silent vow only I can hear.
I will not be the one to cause her death.
She came to me as she is. I made her pay the debt she owes.
And once she’s paid that debt in full… I will have to set her free.Hours later, I have her alone, still dressed but her hair is limp and her face etched with fatigue. We danced and celebrated, ate and drank, and I’ve never been prouder of the woman by my side. With the grace befitting a queen, she graciously accepted well wishes and embraces. Amaranov and his wife were there, along with several other prominent politicians. Toasting us. Congratulating us. Amaranov had the nerve to try to bend in to give her a kiss, but I whisked Calina to me before he touched her and I’d have to kill him in front of everyone.
We celebrated until well past midnight, and it’s nearly sunrise when I finally get her back to our room, alone.
“You made me proud tonight,” I tell her. “So proud.” She danced and tossed back champagne as we toasted our union. She smiled and shook hands and was every bit the perfect Russian bride. I can’t think of anything we need more but to seal our vows by taking her, my cock already hard and throbbing as she stands before me clothed in ivory.
“Come here,” I tell her. I stand in the bedroom… my bedroom. Ours. The lights are dim and the compound is quiet now. Guests have left and we’re all alone. A nervous excitement gathers in my chest, because tonight is the first time I’ll make love to her as my wife. We’ll consummate our marriage, and it feels like this was meant to be.
Tonight isn’t about marking her or dominating her. Tonight, I want to make love to her.
When she reaches me she puts her hands on my shoulders.
“That was a lovely ceremony,” she says. “I have to admit, I enjoyed that. Even knowing…” her voice trails off and I’m glad she doesn’t voice what we both know hangs between us.
Even though this was not consensual.
Even though this is only part of the greater plan.
Even though this won’t last because it can’t.
Even though there is no love here.
Is there?
“I did, too,” I tell her. “I am proud to call you my wife.”
She bows her head, hiding a little smile. “Thank you,” she whispers.
I take my time undressing her, as if she’s a gift I want to savor. And she is. Christ, she is. All curves and luscious, creamy skin, so supple and yielding to my mastery over her. I slide her dress off her shoulders and help her step out of it, my own hands trembling a bit as if this moment actually means something.
Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it’s the ceremony, or the way the light catches her hair just so, but as I hold her there in front of me, this moment feels tender and right.
Or maybe there’s magic in the vows we said, and they had a transformative effect on us. Because as I hold her, I know.
I would do anything for this woman. I swallow, dismissing the notion as preposterous. How could she ever willingly stay with a monster like me?
And does that matter now? How she feels about me almost doesn’t matter. I can’t control what she stirs in me any more than I can stop my heart from beating, my eyes from blinking, or the rising of the moon outside my window.
