Page 26 of Arranged Control

He’s right. I can see it in their faces. The tension between the Morozov side and the Whelan side. But if I stand up there and say the vows, the gap between our two organizations will blur and soften, until there’s nothing between us anymore. That’s the goal of all this, isn’t it? To bring these two powerful families together?

It all rests on my shoulders.

Papa’s voice lowers. “Don’t fuck this up. Don’t disgrace me. Don’t embarrass me. Not just this wedding, Alina, but your marriage. Be a good, obedient wife. Follow his rules. Obey him. Give him children. Don’t fucking ruin this for me.”

My shoulders tense. I feel like someone kicked me in the guts. “I won’t, Papa,” I whisper back, fighting tears.

All my life, I pictured this moment. I saw Papa in my head, telling me I’m beautiful, giving me away to the man of my dreams.

Instead, my father glares at me like I’m a failure and dumps me at the edge of the steps before joining my brother in the front row.

I’m left to start up the steps alone. At least until Seamus comes down to meet me.

I look at him, surprised. He stares, not smiling, cold blue eyes deadly serious as he takes my hand. “I’ll help,” he whispers, the crowd slowly sitting down and settling.

“I’m fine, really, it’s okay.”

He ignores me. I make it up the steps and take my position. Kira’s already there and waiting. Her eyes are misty with tears but she smiles through them. What’s she got to cry about? I’m the one getting sold.

I hate this. I despise the way my father keeps looking at his watch as the priest drones on. It’s terrible, all these people, and none of them really know me. No friends, nobody I really care about on my side of the aisle. Respected peers, members of the bratva, but loved ones?

None in sight.

Seamus takes my hands. It’s not part of the ceremony and the priest stumbles as he reads, but Seamus doesn’t seem to care. He squeezes lightly, staring at me, holding me with his gaze. “Me and you,” he whispers. “It’ll be fine. It’s just me and you.”

I look back and realize I must’ve been tense. He noticed and he’s trying to help me relax. I take a breath and blow it out, hoping everyone in the crowd assumes it’s just normal pre-marriage jitters instead of the existential crisis boiling in my head.

Seamus’s touch helps. It shouldn’t, but it does. His eyes stray to my dress, lingering on the pearl motif around the edge of my neckline. His expression tightens, almost like he’s in pain.

“You look beautiful,” he whispers, subtly shaking his head. “Even better than I dreamed.”

“You were imagining how I’d look?”

“I get bored sometimes.” That smirk returns. His trademark cocky smile. I’m starting to think it’s his version of a designer dress.

The priest loudly clears his throat, interrupting our conversation as he gets to the good part. We exchange rings and vows, my hands trembling the whole time, only making it through because Seamus seems so completely at ease. And if he’s calm, this can’t be that bad, right?

I turn toward the crowd, hoping to find a friendly face, but there’s nobody.

Only my father’s annoyed, impatient frown and my brother looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world than at his own sister’s wedding.

“You may kiss the bride.”

The words hit me out of nowhere. I wasn’t paying attention, and I’m blindsided when Seamus moves forward, slightly adjusting himself so that he’s blocking my view of anyone but him. He dipsdown, his lips inches from mine, but not yet touching. “Me and you, princess,” he whispers.

And finally, my husband kisses me.

It’s not church appropriate. I doubt Seamus has that in him. I’m mortified as his tongue invades my mouth and more than a few people in the audience let out an audible gasp. He dominates me with passion, a burning kiss, his taste like whiskey and ash. I put my hands on his chest, trying to move him away or at least trying to make him tone it down, but he doesn’t care.

I’m his to kiss. I’m his now.

And as he pulls away, the doors to the room burst open and armed men storm inside.

I stand dumbfounded, left reeling from Seamus’s lips. My husband shoves me behind him, hand going to his waist where he would probably have a gun. Except there’s nothing. Even a mobster leaves his weapon behind at his own wedding.

“What’s happening?” Kira hisses, grabbing my arm and standing close.

The men fan out. My father gets to his feet and there’s shouting all around us. Fear lances into my chest, at least until I recognize the man stalking down the aisle, looking grim.