Page 15 of His Darkest Obsession (Baryshev Bratva #1)

INDIGO

The woman in the mirror staring back at me in the mirror looks simultaneously familiar and unrecognizable.

My blue hair is swept into a slightly messy bun with delicate crystal hairpins catching the morning light.

The light eye shadow accentuates my hazel eyes, and brings my cheekbones into focus in a way that I haven't seen for some time.

A pair of heavy earrings hang from my ears, and the beautiful fabric of the dress hugs my body closely.

Svetlana stands behind me, her fingers expertly weaving another hairpin into place to secure a strand that had fallen loose.

"Almost finished," she murmurs, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror.

I nod, not daring to trust my voice. My mind keeps circling back to yesterday—Anatoly's fingers tracing patterns on my skin, his breath against my neck as he helped me into this dress, and the way his eyes darkened when he saw my scars.

"There." Svetlana steps back to admire her work. "Krasivaya."

"Thank you," I whisper, surprised at how steady my voice sounds.

"I'll walk you down the aisle," Svetlana offers suddenly, her usually impassive face softening. "Since you have no one else here."

She didn't intend to hurt me with her words, but they hurt all the same. I'm alone and I have no idea for how much longer I'll continue to be alone in this place.

I wonder how Amara is doing without me in the last two days. Has she been texting? Has Anatoly replied to her in my place, or has he simply left her messages unread?

Is she scared that I left her? Or is she scared that I've somehow shared the same fate as our parents?

Bitter guilt twists inside me, and I do my best to swallow it back.

"Thank you for the offer," I tell Svetlana, trying to smile. "But I can manage the walk well enough on my own."

"Look at me, Indigo Malcolmovna," Svetlana says.

Hazel eyes meet blue.

"You may not believe this, but there's a part of Tolya that cares about you. Truly cares."

"I know."

But somehow, that doesn't make me feel better about what's about to happen. Maybe it's because of what happened yesterday when we picked this dress. Maybe it's the knowledge that he can get past my defenses without trying.

Maybe it's the thought that I might not want to keep him out.

Or maybe, it's the thought that when the time comes for this arrangement to end, I won't want it to.

I asked him just how convincing this marriage needs to be when he first brought me here and he never gave me an answer.

At least, not one that sated my curiosity.

But now that I've caught a glimpse of the fire in his eyes in that mirror, I have a feeling that maybe being convincing is going to be the easy part.

A slow warmth fills my chest and it doesn't stop until it reaches the tips of my fingers and the roots of my hair.

"You're blushing," Svetlana notes with a knowing smile. "Thinking about your fiancé?"

I look away. "I'm thinking about getting through this day."

But I can't deny the flutter in my stomach at the thought of seeing Anatoly waiting for me at that beautiful ocean-side arch.

"Actually," I turn to look at Svetlana again. "I change my mind. You should walk me down the aisle."

"Gladly." Grinning, she offers me her arm and I slip easily enough into it.

The dress swishes around my ankles as Svetlana and I descend the grand staircase. My hand clings to her arm, not because I need the support, but because I need something to anchor me.

Count your breaths. One. Two. Three. Left foot first. Don't trip.

The scene before me is stark in its simplicity. No rows of chairs filled with guests. No musicians. Just Roma, standing slightly apart from his brother, and an older man in priestly attire between them.

And at the end of the white flower arch, Anatoly waits. His broad shoulders fill out his tux perfectly, and for a second, I forget all the reasons I should be keeping my distance instead of noticing how good he looks standing there waiting for me.

His expression is neutral. No happiness. No concern. And definitely not love.

I didn't offer him my love, and he's not demanding it.

The air is thick with the scent of roses mixing with the salt breeze coming off the sea. I take small shallow breaths as I walk. Beyond the cliffs, waves crash against rocks as if in muffled warning.

"Why do you call him Tolya?" I ask Svetlana as we come closer. "Shouldn't you address him more formally? Like you do with me?"

Her steps don’t falter as we approach, but something shifts on her face. A shadow of amusement passes, and something that almost looks like a wistful sadness trails in its wake. The breeze catches an errant strand of my hair, and pulls it loose.

Svetlana tucks it back into place with her free hand and offers me a cryptic smile.

"There are some things that only family is allowed to know," she says softly. "You're not family yet, Indigo Malcolmovna."

She gives my arm a gentle squeeze.

"But you will be soon."

As we reach the final steps, Svetlana gives my arm one final squeeze before she slips away, leaving me standing alone before Anatoly.

He holds out his hand to me, and I can't tell if he's offering me safety or locking on a handcuff.

I place my trembling hand in his. The moment skin kisses skin, his familiar warmth surges through me again, like electricity finding the path of least resistance.

His fingers close around mine, and the sensation of being anchored overwhelms me all at once.

"You look beautiful," he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear.

Then his lips curl upward into a genuine smile. Something soft and almost tender.

My heart actually skips a beat. My stomach flips. I've never seen him look at me this way before, like I'm something precious rather than a tool in his game against Bennett.

This is all just for show, I remind myself. A performance. For anyone who might question the legitimacy of our union.

But the way his blue eyes seem to darken as they drink in every detail of me feels real.

Then, he turns and gives a wave of his hand.

The priest raises his hands and starts chanting in Russian. The unfamiliar shushing words wash over me. They feel heavy, ancient, and utterly disconnected from the world that I know.

A bead of sweat rolls down my temple and I wonder if Anatoly's sweating too in his tuxedo.

The priest drones on, and then he stops and gestures.

Roma steps over—the mark on his face that I saw yesterday is gone—and places a ring in each of our hands. I sneak a glance down at the unusually shaped ring and see that there is a flat side with what looks to be a double-headed eagle imprinted on it.

This must be the family signet ring he was talking about.

Somehow, seeing this ring in my palm, the reality of what I'm about to commit to crashes down on me. My knees start trembling, and suddenly it feels like the dress is choking me.

The priest gestures toward Anatoly with a nod. Anatoly extends his hand to me.

My fingers tightening around the heavy signet ring.

"It's time, Indigo," he says quietly. "Put the ring on my finger."

I glance up at his face, searching for something to reassure me, something to tell me that maybe this won't be permanent. That maybe there will still be a way for me to go back to who I was before his path crossed with mine.

I search for the face of the man who held me in his arms yesterday, asking who hurt me.

Instead, I find the face of a pakhan—cold and distant.

My hand trembles as I hold the ring between my fingers. If I do this now, I cross a line I can never uncross. The commitment is starting to feel frighteningly tangible.

Not that I have a choice. I don't think I ever did, not from the moment Anatoly walked into the barbershop ready to kill me.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself as reality continues to squeeze around my throat. The breeze from the ocean seems to mock my hesitation, and the salty taste in the air now carries a tinge of bitterness.

"Indigo." Anatoly's voice takes on a slight edge of command. "Put the ring on my finger. Now."

My body responds before my mind can protest further. I slide the ring onto his finger, watching as the double-headed eagle shimmering against his knuckle before coming to rest at the base.

I step back slightly, and feel light-headed at what I've done.

Before I can retreat further, Anatoly's hand reaches out to capture mine.

His blue eyes holding mine captive as he speaks. "Your turn."

Obedient, I hold out my left hand, my fingers still trembling as he positions the ring at the tip of my finger.

The soft gold band gleams in the sunlight, smaller than his signet but no less meaningful in its weight. He slides it onto my finger with practiced precision.

I gasp in spite of myself.

The ring hardly weighs anything physically, but right now, it feels like I have the weight of the entire world pressing down my hand. This tiny thin band of metal now binds me to a man I barely know, a dangerous man who stormed into my life and refuses to let me go.

The priest's voice rises and falls in Russian, the words meaningless to my ears but their significance undeniable. He gestures between us with solemnity, and then says something with finality that makes Anatoly's posture shift.

From his expectant stare and the way Roma and Svetlana look at us, I have a pretty good guess as to what he said.

You may now kiss the bride.

Anatoly steps closer, one arm slipping around my waist with surprising gentleness. His other hand rises to cup my cheek, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw.

His blue eyes bore into mine, searching for something I'm not sure I want him to find. Heat flares through my body, sharp and electric, at his proximity.

"This isn't for love," I whisper against his mouth, our lips barely an inch apart.

His eyes darken, pupils dilating slightly.

"No, it's not," he agrees, his voice a low rumble that I feel vibrating through his chest where it presses against mine.

Then he kisses me.