Page 53 of Fractured Empire

“By the power vested in me, by God and the men in front of me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now seal this union by kissing your bride.”

It’s Katya who moves first, surprising me with the bold step toward me. Whether it’s a move to show me that she consents to the traditional kiss, or an unconscious desire to perform the action, I take it in stride. Our hands finally part and mine reach up, not only to cup her face, but to guard her mouth from the crowd as I press it against my own.

Our lips meet in a gentle, but firm brush. My eyes seal shut as hers flutter closed, and my head tilts, body shifting to blur our connection from prying eyes. I’m unsure how my new wife feels about public displays of affection, but our first kiss should be our own, either way. It’s a short one, but an impactful, intimate moment all the same.

My stomach swoops as I pull back, feeling the loss of our kiss in an instant. Katya’s eyes flick open and she breathes shakily, her minty breath mingling with mine. For a moment, we’re the only two people in the room. We’re lost in one another, until noise shatters our illusion of peace and privacy.

The crowd has erupted into cheers and applause, some polite, and some more rowdy than others.

Leo, for his part, is standing on his chair and clapping hard, yelling happily for both of us. Rayna is cackling as she witnesses his excitement, and Bastian simply claps politely, smiling at his little brother’s antics.

A warm, soft hand folds around mine, and my eyes swing back to Katya.

My wife now.

“Shall we?” she asks, nodding to the aisle.

“Yes,” I agree quickly, pulling her closer by the hand. “Let’s get out of here before it gets even louder.”

She chuckles, tucking into my side. “That’s possible?”

Oh, she has no idea.

The reception should be interesting.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Katya

My lips are still buzzing from the kiss Leon and I shared when we’re finally swept into our private room. It’s a small space with comfortable seating, and an ensuite bathroom—a room meant for the bride and groom to freshen up before the reception. If I were to have a second dress for the evening, this is where I would traditionally change into it. Instead of going through that whole ordeal, I only need to calm myself down.

I was oddly calm and collected for most of the day. I didn’t wake up with a pit of anticipation anxiety bubbling in my gut, and cold feet never came for me in the hours of getting ready with my mom and Gaia. I was comforted by all of Leon’s offered assurances, and by the relaxed energy of my family. No one was on edge, and therefore my body and brain somehow realized that I needn’t be either.

My nerves didn’t truly spike until Leon’s lips pulled off mine. My body thrummed with heat that couldn’t be quelled nor denied. I flushed from head to toe, hoping that my hair and my veil helped to shield the red cheeks I knew would be beaming on my pale face. Kissing Leon, even just for a moment, nearly knocked me off my feet.

I couldn’t have predicted such a deep, undeniably intense reaction to the press of his mouth against mine. I stepped toward him first, thinking the kiss would be a small peck that echoed the nature of our arranged marriage. And instead of a little, meaningless graze of our lips, I was met with profound tension and desire that snapped into place in a manner so quickly that I nearly lost my breath.

“Katya?” Leon asks, catching me drifting off into space as the moment replays in my mind for a fourth time. “Are you all right?”

Concern dips his brows and I quickly nod, trying to remedy any thoughts of doubt that my silence may have just created.

“I’m good,” I answer, not entirely dishonest. “I think I’m just coming down from a bit of adrenaline. I didn’t want to mess anything up, and I was focusing on that but now it’s over and I…I’m digesting, I think. A-are you okay?”

“You did well,” he replies with a soft look of sympathy. “I’m okay too. The harder part is over with. All we need to do now is attend a party. Eat, maybe dance, talk. It should be easy enough, if you’re up for it?”

My lips part, a smile curving them up.

Asking if I’m up for it is a bit silly, considering neither of our families would be particularly thrilled if I didn’t show up for my own wedding reception. Gossips would whisper about the new Moretti bride disappearing before dinner has even been served or cake has been cut. They’d theorize about my absence for weeks, if not months, coming up with possible nefarious reasons of why I was missing from every photo.

Maybe I would be a forced bride who refused to cooperate for the party.

Maybe I would be a lush who was so nervous before marrying such an important man that I drank myself silly before I could even get to the reception hall.

Maybe I’d be a kidnapped sob story, never to be heard of again.

Maybe I’d even be replaced by an imposter to bury the story.

No, skipping out on my reception wouldn’t do.