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“I promise,” I whisper, and then Adrik bends his head, and kisses me.
I’m glad I haven’t done my makeup yet. The kiss is hard and hot and deep, his mouth devouring mine, the kiss of a man who knows he has to let me go into the hands of another and is fighting it with everything within himself. His mouth slants over mine, his tongue pushing possessively into my mouth, kissing me as if he wants to leave the imprint of my lips on his and his on mine, and when he pulls away, we’re both breathing hard.
“I love you, Marika,” he repeats. “And I’ll be here when this is done.”
“I know,” I whisper, and I do. And I hate myself for what I have to say next. “We can’t see each other again until it is done, Adrik. Not another moment after this one. You have to go.”
He hesitates for one second, and I think that he’s going to argue with me about it again. And then he turns sharply away, as if he’s afraid he won’t be able to go unless he does now, and stalks down the hall, leaving me there.
I press one hand to my chest, trying to catch my breath before I go back into the room. The moment I open the door and step inside, Lilliana takes one look at my flushed chest and reddened mouth and narrows her eyes.
“Is he going to be a problem, Marika?” she asks, and I can hear layers beneath those words, consequences depending on what I say. Not for me, but for Adrik.
“No,” I say softly, and I hope to god that it’s true. “No, he won’t be.”
Lilliana looks at me for a long moment, as if she’s determining whether she believes me or not, and then she nods, getting up slowly from the vanity. “I brought back your mother’s pearls,” she says finally. “So you could wear them today.”
“Thank you.” I look up at her, managing a smile. “I’m glad I’ll have them.”
The time flies by after that, while I get ready. I curl my hair and brush it out into long, silvery-blonde waves, doing my makeup with a light hand. After a moment’s hesitation, I decide to add a red lip, telling myself that it’s because it suits me, not because I want to remind Theo of the night he took me out.
Lilliana helps me into my dress, buttoning it up the back as I stand in front of the full-length mirror, trying to find some small happiness in it all. The dress is beautiful, fitted perfectly, the lace skimming over my curves and making me look like the perfect bride, especially as Lilliana slips the comb into my hair, holding the lace veil, and arranges it around me. But I feel like a little girl playing dress-up, especially as she clasps the strand of pearls around my neck that belonged to my mother, to match the small pearl teardrop earrings I’d slipped into my ears and the strand on my wrist.
“You look stunning,” she tells me as I slip my feet into the nude Louboutin heels I’d bought to go with the dress, smoothing my hands over the soft lace as I look in the mirror once more. “I don’t think there’s ever been a more beautiful bride.”
“That can’t be true—you married my brother,” I tell her, but even the compliment feels stiff on my lips. For a moment, I don’t know how I’m going to manage to get through this.
I feel numb, all the way to the church. I can feel the minutes ticking by, all the way to the moment when I stand at the altar and say my vows to Theo. It almost feels like I’m outside of myself as I walk up the steps, as I stand in the nave and let Lilliana arrange the veil over my face and hand me the bouquet I’d chosen, a spray of daisies and lilies and peonies in white and cream and pink. It occurs to me that my father should be here, that I should be holding onto his arm as I start down the aisle, and I don’t know what to feel. It’s another layer of complicated emotion on top of so much more—knowing that if my father were still alive, I might not be marrying Theo at all, that if he were, I might be marrying someone else more permanently, and at the same time wanting the man who, despite all his faults,wasmy father.
Don’t think about it,I tell myself as I start to walk behind Lilliana, the music filling the church as I take one step at a time toward the altar, where Theo is waiting.
I don’t look at him until the last possible moment. But as I stop in front of him, turning to face the man I’m going to marry, I feel a wave of sudden dizziness.
“Easy there,” Theo murmurs, his hands wrapping around mine, and I blink at him, startled that he’d picked up on my unsettledness.
“I’m alright,” I whisper, although I’m not entirely sure that I am.Don’t pass out at your own wedding!I tell myself harshly, and I focus on the sensation of Theo’s hands wrapped around mine, strong and sure, the scent of incense and flowers filling my nose, and I look at him, startled all over again by how handsome he is.
He’s wearing a dark grey suit, tailored perfectly as always. There’s a spray of flowers pinned to his jacket, matching my bouquet, and his dark auburn hair is brushed back and to one side, accentuating the sharp lines of his face. He’d shaved for the occasion, his strong jaw smooth, and I have a sudden wild urge to reach up and touch his face.
Father O’Halloran clears his throat, and we both look at him. “Are you ready to start?” he asks, not unkindly, and I nod, swallowing hard.
I feel like I’m in a fog the entire time we’re saying our vows. All I can do is repeat, my voice faintly echoing what Father O’Halloran says, because I can’t think too much about what I’m saying. It’s lies, all of it—everything that comes off of my tongue, and I’m not sure why I feel badly about that. Theo isn’t a good man—if what Nikolai has said is true, he hurt my family beyond bearing. He’s ruled Chicago with an iron fist to rival my father’s. He’s my family’s enemy—but as I stand there, thinking of how he’d helped steady me with a touch and gentle words, how every interaction that I’ve had with him has been so far, I know that if I think too hard about what I’m pretending to promise, I’ll fall apart.
There’s the cool touch of metal on my finger, sliding down it, and I realize that we’ve gotten all the way to the exchange of rings. I manage to repeat the words I’m meant to, slipping Theo’s ring onto his finger, and then I hearyou may kiss your bridein the moment before Theo lifts my veil, and I see his face clearly.
He gives me just a moment before he kisses me. He slides the veil back over my hair, those fern-green eyes meeting mine as he looks down at me, and I see the anticipation in his. It’s not lust, not hunger—but an eagerness that seems somehow more innocent than either of those things. It’s almost as if—
As if he’shappyto be married to me.
And then one of his hands is on my waist, the other touching my cheek, and his lips are on mine.
For the third time, I feel myself kissing him back, and fear washes over me.This is supposed to be pretend, I think frantically, as my mouth softens under his, my body leaning into his touch.You’re not supposed to really want it.But the way he kisses me—
It’s gentle and hungry all at once, his mouth grazing over mine in a way that’s somehow both entirely appropriate for church and, at the same time, so full of desire that it makes my skin tingle with unwanted arousal. I shouldn’t be getting wet inchurch, and yet I can feel a sudden clinging dampness between my thighs as Theo’s fingers press against my waist, his mouth gentle and yet urgent against mine.
He breaks the kiss, pulling away, and I feel as if I can’t breathe for a moment as his fingers linger on my cheek, those green eyes on mine.
“Let’s go, wife,” he says, and something about the way he says it makes my stomach tighten in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant as his fingers lace through mine, and we start to make our way back down the aisle.
