Page 47

PAVEL

T he years have only made her more dangerous.

More beautiful.

More woman.

She was always stunning, but now?

Now she’s devastating.

Curves that were once soft with youth have ripened into something feral and feminine—full hips, a narrow waist, thighs that could crush a man’s resolve. She isn’t some waifish doll men parade around like trophies.

She’s real. Solid. Built like sin and meant to be worshipped.

My ideal.

And she’s standing in front of me in a dress that clings to every inch of her like it was sewn by the devil himself.

How the fuck am I supposed to focus on the priest when she looks like that?

"Blessed is the kingdom of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit..."

My eyes rake down her body—slow, hungry.

The silk hugs her like a secret I want to unravel. The lace teases just enough of her full breasts to drive me insane, and the dip of her waist flares into hips that were made to be gripped, to be held down, to carry my child.

She’s not just beautiful.

She’s fucking mine.

"Let us pray to the Lord..."

I remember her body under me six years ago—warm, flushed, trembling.

I remember how it felt to bury myself inside her, her thighs wrapped around me, her moans like music I still dream about.

The way she arched when she came, her nails carving into my skin like she was afraid I’d disappear.

No one’s ever matched her. No one ever could.

And no matter how much time has passed, I know she remembers too.

"O Lord, bless this union as Thou didst bless Cana of Galilee..."

Her hair tumbles down her back in soft waves, a dark halo against the white of her gown. But it’s her eyes that kill me—those deep, smoky eyes that flash with fire and defiance when they meet mine.

She looks away too quickly.

But I saw it.

Recognition. Memory. That ache neither of us has outrun.

She’s still angry. Still proud.

Still the strongest woman I’ve ever known.

Good.

Because I don’t want some fragile thing I can break.

I want her.

All of her.

The fire. The fight. The curves. The soul.

And before this night is over, she’ll remember exactly what she means to me.

Not just a body I crave.

But the woman I’ve never stopped wanting.

The only one I’ve ever needed.

"O Lord our God, who hast espoused the Church as a pure virgin, bless this betrothal..."

My expression remains cold, unreadable. But inside, my blood is boiling. Something I’ve spent six goddamn years trying to forget grips me. I thought this was over. I thought I had buried every last piece of what she once made me feel.

I was wrong.

"The servant of God, Pavel, is betrothed to the servant of God, Katerina, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

When Piotr first proposed this marriage, I almost laughed in his face. The idea that I would take back the woman who disappeared from my life without a word, that I would tie myself to someone who walked away from me like I meant nothing, was almost insulting.

But now, as she stands before me, every bit the beautiful, blushing bride, all I can think is— why?

There’s still something here. Something raw, something unresolved.

"Grant unto them a long life of mutual love in the bond of peace..."

I tear my gaze away from her long enough to glance at Piotr. He’s standing beside me, his expression the perfect display of brotherly affection as he regards his sister. But when his gaze shifts to me, something dark flickers in his eyes.

"Fill their hearts with love for one another..."

The small, pleased smile on his lips widens as he nods at me, the picture of a loyal friend, a brother welcoming me into the family.

But it feels fake. Something is off.

"May the Lord bless and keep them from all harm..."

Vlad and Piotr, the Andreev brothers, came to me weeks ago, talking of alliances, of power, of finally eliminating the Novikov Bratva and solidifying our hold on the city. On paper, the deal makes sense. Once we merge our families, the Novikovs won’t stand a chance.

All it would take is a marriage to their beautiful sister to make it official. She and I have history; therefore, it would make sense for us to officially become husband and wife.

But why now?

"May the Lord grant unto them peace, harmony, and love eternal..."

For years, there’s been nothing but bad blood between us. The larger Andreev family blamed my family for their parents’ deaths, in the same way I’ve always suspected the Novikovs of orchestrating my father’s murder. But despite the accusations, Piotr and Vlad have remained allies.

"For blessed is Thy name, and glorified is Thy kingdom..."

I always suspected Kat believed the rumors, that she believed her uncles and cousins over her brothers, and that’s why she left.

Could it be that she’s finally seeing it Piotr’s and Vlad’s way?

She’s a fighter, loyal to a fault. If she’s here, it’s because she’s made a choice. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that this is not what it seems.

For a moment, her eyes flicker up to meet mine, long enough for me to catch the fire still burning in them.

She doesn’t look afraid; she doesn’t look unsure.

She looks determined.

Her hand is warm in mine, soft against my calloused palm. She hasn’t pulled away. I don’t grip too tightly, but I don’t let go either.

I slide the diamond ring onto her finger, watching as the fire in her eyes flickers. There’s a moment of hesitation, a slight crack in the mask she’s wearing.

When she looks at me, I feel it in an instant: a spark, a visceral connection, something neither of us can fake.

Her eyes widen just slightly. It’s the smallest reaction, but I still see it, just like I see the other thing she’s trying to hide—lust.

It’s still there, just like it was six years ago; that same fire; that same hunger. I see it in the way her breath catches, the way her fingers tremble slightly as she slips the simple platinum band onto my finger.

She doesn’t look at me again after that, but it doesn’t matter.

I’ve seen enough.

She’s still mine.

She always was.