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At least that’s what he told himself. This was the only way she could be truly safe—if he was there to watch over her. And she hadn’t been living any kind of life before anyway… or so he’d told himself again.
But he hadn’t been minimizing the danger. “I didn’t know what Dimitri would do with the Tereshchenko boy. But I knew if you were left out there it wouldn’t be good. And is marrying me so bad?”
“I-I—” she sputtered. “I would have liked the choice!”
“You lost all choices the day Olezka Tereshchenko discovered you and became obsessed.”
She threw her hands up in the air. “None of this is— This is all insane!”
“It’s the world you live in now. And you had better wake up and get with the program. You can’t make waves. I need to go find you something to wear and you better put it on and wear a smile and look grateful for what you’ve got.”
“Or what?” she asked, looking furious again. Her eyes flashed bright and Nicholas had never wanted more to pull her into his arms or underneath him. Only proving that maybe this place had made him more of a sick fuck than he’d wanted to admit.
Either way, he told her the truth. “Or Papa Dimitri could still change his mind and order me to take you down the road to where he keeps the brothel girls.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and looked towards the wall, her lips a tight line. “Fine,” she spat. “Bring me a dress and let’s get the farce over with.”
“Fine,” he ground out. He yanked on clothes and shoes, then slammed out the door, his temper hot. Now he had—he pulled out his phone—half an hour to find a fucking wedding dress.
Chapter 15
SLOANE
Sloane wasn’t one of those girls who’d dreamed of a big wedding or a big white dress. Especially the last few years of being a shut-in. She hadn’t let herself dream.
But this?
She clung to Nicholas’s arm, not out of any real affection, not after this morning. But she was wearing a sheer little piece of nothing that felt less like a dress and more like a slip. She wore things like this during her cam shows—it dipped so low her cleavage was spilling out and her pink bra straps were showing.
Apparently it was all Nicholas had been able to get his hands on in the time allotted and she hadn’t bothered asking where he’d gotten it—she had her suspicions and let’s just say she hoped there wouldn’t be any black lights around to highlight the invisible stains she suspected were all over the fabric.
She shuddered and clung tighter to Nicholas. A glance up at him was no help. He was stone-faced as he led her forward into the little shop where all the tables and chairs had been pushed up against the walls to allow for a makeshift aisle down the center.
The room was stuffed full of intimidating men all dressed in dark clothing. There were only two women—an older woman in an azure suit who watched on with a severe expression and a young woman who was a striking beauty. She could have been a model gracing the pages of any magazine. She stood near Papa Dimitri, the showman of this circus at the front of the restaurant in a black silk shirt unbuttoned at the neck. He grinned and clapped his hands as soon as Sloane and Nicholas turned the corner.
“The beautiful bride and groom, ladies and gentleman! Let the festivities begin!”
Sloane swallowed and focused on her breathing and Nicholas. He was wearing a suit that barely contained his muscled arms. He was fresh-shaven and her only lode-stone in the midst of all the chaos.
“Music, someone play some fucking music!” Papa Dimitri shouted.
“On it, boss,” said a guy who hurried behind the counter and a moment later, the actual wedding march was playing.
Sloane blinked, the music somehow cementing the moment as even more surreal. Holy shit, she was actually getting married. She didn’t know if this was legal, but she knew that practically, her entire life had been uprooted and there was no going back. In the space of days, everything she’d worked for, for years, was gone. Her business, the security, her independence—all gone. It was all an illusion in the first place, maybe, but she’d never realized.
She blinked as Nicholas tugged her forwards. He didn’t bother with the traditional slow, stately march. No, he just dragged her down the aisle and she hurried to keep up with his large, long stride. There hadn’t been any heels to be found, apparently, so she was still in her ballet flats.
Before she was ready, they were standing in front of the leering Papa Dimitri. He didn’t bother averting his eyes from her cleavage. He was old enough to be her father but obviously was used to being surrounded by women her age and younger servicing him. She struggled not to show her disgust on her face.
