Page 27

The white tulip bouquet in my hand had to be the most extravagant thing about this wedding. They looked well-watered and happy to be here— happy to be anywhere, in fact.

I wanted to steal some of that bloom and natural glow. I wished I didn’t have to use makeup to hide the dark circles under my puffy eyes from sleepless nights and crying so much.

I wished I didn’t have to wave to my Nana and Jasper seated in the front row with a smile to convince them that I wasn’t marrying this “stranger from Moscow” under duress.

Those were Nana’s words when I told her I was getting married to a man I met two months ago.

“Elena, I’ve heard stories like this before. Are you one hundred percent sure about the stranger from Moscow? Did you do your ground research? He could be anything, you know: an assassin, a crime lord, a fraud.”

“I did, Nana. He’s clean, and we love each other. Plus, he’s also rich, so that’s a bonus. We’ll be well taken care of.”

“Elena….”

“I’m fine, Nana. You worry too much.”

Nana didn’t look convinced, and Jasper wasn’t entirely comfortable with me getting married to an older man.

But I hugged them and kissed their cheeks, though deep down, my heart shattered into a million pieces.

They smiled, though half-heartedly, and waved back with tears shimmering in their eyes.

Now, they looked beautiful. Jasper looked extremely handsome and adorable in a black suit, which made him look older than thirteen, and Nana styled her silver hair and wore a velvet emerald dress.

At least, they’d made an effort to dress their best, but my heart clenched because I knew they’d tried too hard for something that was a farce.

I quickly blinked my tears away. I had to strengthen my resolve.

This wedding was not only about me, but also about them.

Damien was going to use his power, wealth, and influence to take care of them and my mother, and I knew he wasn’t bluffing when he said that—I had seen Katya’s comfortable life firsthand.

For now, that was more than enough for me to go through with this wedding.

The field stretched wide and open behind the mansion, golden with the soft burn of late afternoon sunlight.

The air was warm and quiet. Days before today, I had hoped it would rain. Then, we would have had to postpone the wedding. Or Damien might have just found another way to make sure we went through with it inside the house.

Someone had done their best to dress the space with care. There was a narrow aisle of white rose petals, a wooden arch draped in soft cream fabric that fluttered in the breeze, and folding chairs lined in neat rows, barely two dozen of them.

Fairy lights twisted around the trunks of nearby trees, promising a twinkle for when the sun set. It was beautiful in its simplicity. Just bare and honest.

Nothing like the weddings I used to dream of.

Back then, I imagined cathedrals and chandeliers, orchestras swelling as I walked down marble floors in a gown that shimmered like frost.

I’d seen too many things on the internet that fueled my desires.

Now, I stood in the grass, the hem of my silk dress brushing my ankles and low heels. It was ivory, plain, and elegant, with thin straps, a deep back, and fabric that clung to me. I hadn’t even worn a veil.

And I wasn’t sure why I’d made that choice, but my husband-to-be didn’t seem to care, so I didn’t give it much thought.

My hands trembled slightly at my sides.

This was real. Not a fake performance. Not a fantasy played out for an audience of a hundred strangers. This wasn’t about photos or centerpieces or perfect vows rehearsed. Once we sealed this and walked out of here, I would be his wife .

My stomach twisted.

What if I made a run for it, into that field, and let the tall grass swallow me whole, vanishing before anyone could say my name out loud?

“You have to walk down the aisle now.”

I closed my eyes for a heartbeat, then slowly pivoted to face Roman with a phony smile. “Yeah, thanks. I’m well aware.”

“Didn’t seem like it,” he said with his eyes glued to the raised podium, taking a step away.

I knew the blond man didn’t like me, but his angst was the least of my concerns now.

As I moved through the grass and approached the stage, I couldn’t take my eyes off Damien.

He was in a black suit that fit too well. No tie. Just the open collar of his shirt and that impossible calm in his eyes. Like this was just another deal. Another signature on a contract.

Our eyes locked.

And for a moment, nothing else existed. Not the field, not the arch, not Nana or Jasper, or the weight of what I was supposed to do.

The priest began to speak—something about unity, destiny, and sacred vows. I didn’t hear the words.

I heard my heartbeat, loud and frantic, each thud a hammer against my ribs. It all moved too quickly. His voice, deep and steady, said the vows with a certainty that made my stomach turn.

Then my vows, spoken in a whisper, were barely audible. They were words that scraped my throat like broken glass.

These were sacred words, meant to bind. Words I never thought I’d say to him.

The ring was colder than I expected, a circlet of gold that slid over my knuckle like it had been waiting for this moment to trap me. As if it knew what it meant. That there was no going back. That this was the moment my freedom died.

I wanted to cry and scream.

And yet….

When I looked up, when our eyes met as the final words were spoken, “I now pronounce you man and wife” —something inside me cracked.

Damien’s gaze held mine, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe for an entirely different reason. Because my heart leaped.

Stupid, treacherous thing. It leaped and fluttered and screamed, not in fear, but in some twisted echo of desire.

Damien didn’t smile. He didn’t need to.

There was something behind his eyes that said more than any smile ever could. The same thing that lingered in them when he told me in his office that Katya would have no choice but to accept us. It was that knowing, that possession.

And I—

I hated how it made me feel.

I was his now. I was bound not just by words, but by something that set my blood on fire and iced my soul in equal measure.

***

It had been a long day at school. My uniform felt stiff, my shoes were tight, and my brain was sluggish with equations and essays. I remembered how the air was heavy with late summer heat, and how I’d collapsed onto my bed the moment I got home, the ceiling fan above spinning lazy circles.

That night, I watched a movie I probably wasn’t supposed to.

A love story, soft, sweet, and scandalously intense.

The couple had a fairytale wedding: flower petals rained down, music swelled, and the groom kissed his bride like she was the only thing in the world keeping him alive. And then the honeymoon….

I still remembered the way my breath caught.

They undressed each other slowly, reverently.

No rush. Just…love. Fingers trailed down spines, and lips explored soft skin, the light low and golden.

It was something deeper than just sex. Something sacred.

He held her like she was fragile and strong at once, and she looked at him like he’d hung the stars.

And there I was—sixteen, curled up beneath my thin blanket, cheeks burning, heart fluttering like a bird trapped in a cage.

Wondering, “Will anyone ever look at me like that?”

I imagined it then, so vividly—me, in a wedding dress that shimmered like moonlight, hand in hand with someone whose eyes saw only me in a crowded world. My heart would be swollen with love, my body trembling with nervous excitement. And on our wedding night….

We’d be in some quiet, hidden place, tucked away from the world. Just us. I’d reach for him and not be afraid. I’d feel his breath against my skin and know I was safe, cherished. We’d laugh and kiss, and I’d finally know what it meant to give yourself completely, not just in body, but in soul.

I fell asleep that night with a soft ache in my chest—this sweet, longing ache.

I wanted that kind of love.

Not the perfect kind, but the real kind. The kind that kissed your tears, that held you in the dark, that undressed you slowly, not just for pleasure, but out of reverence.

I didn’t know if I’d ever have it.

But God, did I dream.

***

Later that night, while Damien took a shower upstairs in the bedroom, I asked Winter to take the rest of the night off and went into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee.

It was not the typical behavior of a couple on a honeymoon night, I knew. But that was what happened when said couple didn’t have a relationship.

I needed the space to think and come to terms with the fact that this was now my life. The only problem was that I wasn’t sure how to start living it. Everywhere I went, at every corner I passed, I had flashes of happy moments with my best friend.

The times when she had shown me around the house, taken me to her room, shown me the pool, and everything else. Life had been so simple back then. I didn’t have to reevaluate or reflect too often.

Like now, as my heart and mind waged a war inside.

Heavens knew I wanted to keep wallowing in guilt—to be fair, a part of me did—but the other part had chosen to wear a see-through white lacy nightdress just because it was my honeymoon night, and I wanted to impress my husband.

I felt sick and tingly at the same time. Stupid and helpless, all at once. Super scared of this new reality of mine, and hopeful for the future that it promised.

Every time I remembered that Nana and Jasper wouldn’t suffer anymore, I drew strength.

I might be clueless on how to navigate through this new life, but I was a wife and a soon-to-be mother. I knew better than anyone else that I had to start fitting myself into those roles, whether I liked it or not.