“Your future husband wouldn’t leave your side.”
“He’s loyal like that.” A playful smile dances over her lips as she runs her knuckles along my jaw.
I grab her hand, press a kiss to those same knuckles, then bark, “Fuck off, Misha. We’ll be down in a minute.”
He graces me with a mock salute, then leaves.
I turn to her, seeing her hair’s wet, her face is scrubbed free of the grime from her incarceration, but the stirrings of the bruise Bordeau left behind are hidden with clever makeup. Only the smallest of nicks is visible on the apple of her cheek. She’s stunning in the simple black sheath dress she picked out from the closet earlier.
I thought she was about to have a conniption until she saw the tags and the fact that the full wardrobe was in her size.
“Your cheek?”
“A little sore. It’s fine.”
“It isn’t.”
“I’m used to it.Training,” she tacks on quickly. “AndPapa.”
“I begrudge your sister her kill.” I hold out my hand for her. “Are you ready,kotik?”
“Of course. The priest’s here?”
“Eating us out of house and home as well as drinking us out of it.”
“He better not be drunk!”
“I had the cook put him on a four-shot limit.” At her derisive sniff, I ask, “Still sure about Seamus being your only witness?”
“Yes. He’s here?”
“Downstairs. With the priest. Also on a four-shot limit.”
Victoria snickers. “Okay, let’s do this.”
I get to my feet and tug her into my arms. “This is less decorative than you deserve.”
“This serves a purpose. I don’t want a fancy dress or people cooing over my engagement ring while they’re stripping off your suit with their eyes. I don’t want a cake or a reception. Not right now, anyway. I just want to be yours.”
I cup her cheek. “I can deny you nothing when you seek to give me what I’ve wanted for so long.”
The smile hits her eyes. “I’m not sure I deserve you.”
“The reverse is true. Plus, that’s guilt from earlier talking and you have no need to feel any guilt at all. You are a smart woman. They fed you multiple lines that would push anyone to put two and two together, yet you refused to be swayed.”
She presses her forehead into my chest and her fatigue seems to absorb all the energy in the room. “Make me yours, Maxim.”
I kiss her temple. “Gladly.”
And I do.
I take her downstairs to the conservatory at the back of the property. Soft fairy lights, I assume at my staff’s insistence since they weren’t there before, glow as the priest struggles to stand tall at the makeshift altar.
When he sees us, he staggers over to the doorway with two lit candles in his hands.
Misha pops up with four rings in his palm. One’s hers. The other three…
The tension in her softens as she studies the titanium rings.
