I don't respond. I can't respond. My throat is too tight.
He crosses the room and stops in front of me, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is gentle, almost tender, and it makes my chest ache.
"Are you ready?" he asks.
"No." The word comes out as a whisper. "But I don't have a choice, do I?"
His jaw tightens. "You always have a choice, Mariya."
"Do I?" I meet his gaze, letting him see the anger and fear I've been trying to hide. "Because it doesn't feel like it. It feels like I'm trapped, and this is the only way out."
He's silent for a long moment, his hand still cupping my face. Then he leans down and presses his lips to my forehead. "I'll keep you safe. I promise."
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him so badly. But trust doesn't come easily to me anymore.
He takes my hand and leads me out of the room. We walk through the hallways of his estate, and I try to memorize every detail as we descend the grand staircase. The beast is waiting at the bottom. He's wearing a suit too, looking uncomfortable in the formal clothing. When he sees me, something that might be approval flashes in his dark eyes.
"Ready?" he asks Andrey.
Andrey nods once, his hand tightening around mine.
We walk into Andrey's office. The room is large, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a massive desk. But what catches my attention is the man standing by the window. He's older, maybe in his sixties, wearing a simple black suit and holding a leather-bound book.
"This is Father Dmitri," Andrey says. "He'll be performing the ceremony."
The priest turns and smiles at me, his expression kind. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my dear."
I manage a nod, not trusting my voice.
The ceremony is short and simple. There are no guests, no flowers, no music. Just me, Andrey, the beast as a witness, and the priest. Father Dmitri reads from his book, his voice steady and calm, speaking in Russian about love and commitment and the sacred bond of marriage.
I barely hear the words. My mind is spinning, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure everyone can hear it. This is really happening. I'm really doing this.
"Do you, Andrey Melnikov, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" Father Dmitri asks.
"I do," Andrey says, his voice firm and clear.
The priest turns to me, and I feel like I'm going to be sick. "Do you, Mariya Pushkin, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I can't do this. I can't say those words. They'll make it real, make it permanent, and I'm not ready for that.
Andrey's hand squeezes mine, and I look up at him. His blue eyes are steady, patient, waiting for me to make this choice. And in that moment, I realize he's right. This is a choice. Maybe not the one I want, but it's still mine to make.
"I do," I whisper.
Father Dmitri smiles. "Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Andrey turns to face me, his hands coming up to cup my face. He leans down slowly, giving me time to pull away if I want to. But I don't. I let him kiss me, his lips soft and warm against mine. It's not a passionate kiss, not like the ones we've shared before. It's gentle, almost reverent, and it makes tears burn behind my eyes.
When he pulls back, I see something in his expression that I haven't seen before. Possessiveness. Satisfaction. Like he's just claimed something that belongs to him.
I'm his wife now. For better or worse.
The priest congratulates us, and the beast shakes Andrey's hand. Then they're gone, leaving us alone in the office. Andrey's hand is still holding mine, his thumb rubbing circles on my palm.
"Come on," he says. "Let's go upstairs."
My stomach drops. "Why?"
