Page 54 of Punish Me, Daddy (Boston Kings #8)
O ne week later…
Nikolai
I stood at the altar with my heart in my throat.
The ceremony was everything I swore it would be—lavish, unapologetic, and everything my baby girl ever wanted.
The ballroom was dressed in black and ivory, high ceilings dripping with crystal chandeliers and candlelight that flickered across polished floors like this was a holy place.
Fresh flowers lay on every surface: white orchids, pale peonies, and roses so deep red they looked like velvet wine.
Gold accents glittered under the light, subtle and strategic, power hiding behind elegance.
I hadn’t spared a single expense. I hadn’t overlooked a single detail. I didn’t care how much it cost because this wasn’t just a wedding.
It was a statement.
The Morozovs sat to one side. The Kingsleys were across the aisle. The press had been blocked from entering, but I’d made sure they were fed just enough from the outside to understand what today meant.
They would hear the music.
They would see the photos.
They would know that the Kingsleys and the Morozovs were tied together as one.
That Sloane Kinglsey was to be my wife.
I intended to look calm. Cool. A man who never wavered. But my jaw was locked so tight it ached, because the moment was coming. The doors were still closed. She wasn’t here yet.
And for the first time in years, I was fucking nervous.
I didn’t doubt her; I just knew the second I saw her appear in that doorway, I’d never be the same.
The music shifted.
Everyone turned.
The doors opened.
And I forgot how to breathe.
She stepped into the room as though she was walking into a throne room, her throne room. Her posture was perfect. Her chin held high. But her eyes—those beautiful green eyes—captured mine with a gentleness I didn’t deserve and a strength I’d never stop protecting.
Her dress wasn’t the one she’d worn a week ago.
It was new.
Custom.
Ivory silk, pure and smooth, with a neckline that dipped just enough to draw the eye, and sleeves that hugged her arms before flaring at the wrists like something out of a dream.
The bodice molded to her, every line accentuating the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips.
The skirt fell in layered silk, weightless but regal, trailing behind her like a waterfall of fabric.
Her hair was swept up, soft tendrils framing her face, and her makeup was light—flushed lips, long lashes, eyes lined with black. She wore no veil. No need to hide. Just a pair of sparkling diamond earrings that caught the light with every step.
She was positively radiant.
The kind of beauty that made gods kneel and men start wars.
My hands flexed at my sides. She walked toward me, her steps slow as her gaze remained locked with mine and a possessive growl rumbled in my throat.
My bride.
My fucking queen.
Every inch of her was mine. Each second she got closer, it became harder to hold my emotion back.
I felt it swell in my chest, tight and unbearable.
She reached the front of the aisle, and I stepped forward, offering my hand.
She placed hers in mine without hesitation.
Her fingers were warm and her eyes didn’t waver.
As I looked at her, the rest of the room blurred.
There were no chandeliers.
No flowers.
No guests.
All I saw was her.
Deep in my chest, in my heart, deeper than any oath or threat or promise I’d ever made, I knew that everything before her was nothing.
Because she was my everything.
I hardly noticed when the priest cleared his throat and began to speak.
“We are gathered here today to witness the marriage of Sloane Kingsley and Nikolai Morozov.”
The crowd hushed all around us and the silence that followed was heavy and expectant.
He turned to me. “Nikolai, do you have vows you would like to share?”
I nodded, heart pounding with a strange, quiet violence—softer than rage, deeper than hunger. I turned to face her, drawing both of her hands into my own.
Her eyes lifted to meet mine.
“Sloane,” I said, my voice quiet and certain, “from that very first moment you walked into my world, my heart beat for you and only for you. I didn’t think love like this existed, but now that I have it, I’ll never let go.”
I paused, brushing my thumb across her knuckles.
“I vow to protect you with everything I am. To never let you stand alone in a fight. To listen when you speak and hold you when you can’t. To be the man you trust at your side, at your back, in your bed, and in your heart.”
I could see her breath catch, the way her throat bobbed once.
I kept going.
“I vow that there is nothing and no one in this world that will touch you without going through me first. That your pain will be mine. That your joys and triumph will be ours. And that, no matter what comes, we will face it together.”
Her eyes shimmered with emotion.
The priest turned to her. “Sloane?”
She drew in a slow breath and stepped closer. Her hands didn’t shake, and her voice, when she spoke, was clear and strong and entirely perfect.
“Nikolai,” she said, “you are the most dangerous man I have ever met and the safest place I’ve ever known.”
There was a small murmur behind us. She didn’t flinch even the tiniest bit.
“I vow to never shrink in your shadow, but to walk beside you in every light and every darkness. I vow to fight with you, for you, and if needed, against you, because I will always be honest with you.”
She paused, just a breath.
“And I vow to honor you, to trust you, to stand with you. And to obey you, because I know what it means to stand with a man who has earned it.”
My chest clenched.
“I love you and it is my honor to become your wife.”
The priest gave us a quick nod.
The rings were handed to us. We slid them on each other’s fingers. Her hands didn’t shake. And then the priest finally said the words I’d been waiting a lifetime for.
“With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
He looked at me.
“You may kiss the bride.”
I pulled her into my arms and kissed her like the world wasn’t watching and the city didn’t exist beyond this room. Like I was a man dying of thirst in the desert and she was the first cool drink of water I’d had in days.
Finally, she was unequivocally mine.
Now and forever.