Page 3 of The Pakhan’s Arranged Bride (West Coast Bratva Pakhans #2)

Ulyana flew into Las Vegas this morning, along with her mother and her brother, for our wedding.

As per tradition, I haven’t been allowed to see her. It’s apparently bad luck for the groom to see the bride on the wedding day before the actual ceremony.

I never expected to be tense about this.

But I keep rolling my shoulders and wanting to pace. Getting married is more of a thing than I thought it would be. It’s so permanent. What if I was wrong about the girl I saw on the video call? What if I misread it and that instant attraction I felt towards her isn’t real?

I fumble with the bowtie again, getting frustrated. Tossing it aside, I mutter under my breath, “Who the hell wears bowties, anyway?”

I’m wearing a crisp tuxedo; black pants, black jacket and a white shirt. There’s an emerald green flower pinned to my breast pocket.

In front of the tall mirror in the hotel room where I’m getting ready, I run my fingers through my hair and slap my hands over my jaw. “You’ve got this, Benedikt. It’s better than being roped into whatever your mother had planned.”

I look damn good, clean-cut in the perfectly fitted tux.

Since the call with Nestor, I haven’t seen Ulyana.

Not even a picture of her. The wedding was already arranged, so it’s all happened pretty fast. I keep second-guessing myself, thinking that the attraction I felt towards her was too good to be true.

It was instant, intense—and probably too much to hope for.

“Whatever,” I mutter. It doesn’t matter. I needed a fiancée and I got one. But the vision of her has been haunting me.

“Are you ready, sir?” Jadon asks, stepping into the hotel room. I’m not in the penthouse suite; I arranged for that to be available for Ulyana to get ready in. I made sure she had every luxury she could dream of. This is one of the hotels I own, and the staff knows to treat her like a queen.

“The bride will be down in ten minutes, so you should be waiting in the church.”

“Yeah, I’m done here. Let’s go.” I grab my phone and hand it to Jadon. “Just during the ceremony. You can hand it back after.”

“Will do,” he says, slipping it into his pocket.

I follow Jadon down stairs and across the road from the hotel. There is a gorgeous old church, a beautiful building, one of the few non-commercialized churches left in Las Vegas. Not a single Elvis in sight, thank goodness.

The church is full. Allies and friends and business partners line the rows of seats, waiting to witness my fiancée and me say our vows.

My mother and sister are in the front row on my right. My mother smiling, but still annoyed that I’m marrying my chosen bride instead of hers.

Belle is grinning at me. I wink at her and she scrunches her nose. She’s been begging me to tell her about my fiancée, but I couldn’t; I don’t know anything about Ulyana. So I told her it was a surprise, and she will meet her today.

Jadon stands behind me, his arms folded. I shove one hand into my pocket and notice how hard I’m clenching my jaw.

Nestor walks in, smiling, but clearly still on the fence about this situation.

I nod in greeting to him and he takes a seat.

His mother comes in next; looking excited, she sits next to her son.

They both watch me with curiosity. I throw a bold, confident smile towards her mother.

If you win their mothers over, it makes your life a lot easier.

The music starts and I push my shoulders back as my heart flips with nervousness. The guests stand, the church doors open. My chest is tight. I flex my fists and lift my chin, waiting to see her.

Ulyana steps onto the red carpet leading towards me and my jaw drops.

Her dress is simple, no lace, no glitter, no diamonds—just a simple, fitted dress that sits tight around her breasts and waist and flows out wide over her curved hips. Pure, white silk, smooth as it contours her body.

The thin, elegant straps show off her long neck and delicate collarbones. A soft veil covers her face, but it’s sheer, and as she walks towards me, her beauty has me mesmerized to the point I can’t string a single thought together.

She comes to a stop in front of me, and I can’t move.

I’m spellbound.

She whispers, “You can lift my veil.”

I clear my throat, mildly embarrassed as I step towards her, taking the edges of the delicate fabric and lifting it, pulling it back over her head to float around her shoulders.

Fuck me.

Who the hell created such an impossibly beautiful creature?

Every shred of tension and nervousness disappears.

She is even more beautiful than what I thought I saw on the video call.

“We are gathered here today…”

The priest begins the ceremony, and I’m standing here smirking at her, my eyes exploring every inch of her beautiful face, down her body, up again. I can’t believe I got this lucky.

She narrows her eyes and stares at me, confident, with a hint of challenge in her soft smile.

“You may now kiss your bride,” the priest says, and I don’t waste a second wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her close.

Our lips touch, and my heart leaps; I press my mouth harder over hers and she politely pulls back.

Nothing anyone else would have noticed, but it bothers me.

I want more. I want everything. She is my wife now. She belongs to me.

That was a flicker of a taste of her. It only served to tease me.

I clench my jaw and smile as we walk arm in arm out of the church, my head is spinning, my lips still brushed with a touch of hers.

The wedding planner has us pose in the church for a few photographs, then ushers us into a car. We have an hour set aside for couple photos—very important for the media release—and then the reception will be hosted back in my hotel across the way.

Our guests will be waiting there, entertained by dancers, appetizers and drinks.

Ulyana is a representation of elegance and beauty as we are guided through our photos together, using the colorful lights of Las Vegas as our backdrop.

When we get to the reception, we are welcomed as Mr. and Mrs. Karamazov. Hearing it announced out loud makes my chest swell.

I proudly hold her closer, and she glances at me with a smile that everyone will mistake for love between us.

She’s laughing, enjoying herself, as a bride should be doing on her wedding day.

She’s the perfect wife, and I’m the proud husband, watching the other men stare in jealousy.

Each of the guests she interacts with immediately adores her. Her charisma is infectious. Her cheerful nature makes it easy to be around.

But she and I have been caught in the whirlwind of this day and when we sit down for the first course of our dinner, this is the first time I’m really able to talk to her.

And this is when the cracks in her perfect smile begin to show.

“How was the flight to Las Vegas?” I ask.

“It was comfortable, thank you,” she answers politely.

“And are you happy with the wedding?”

“It was perfect. Really gorgeous,” she nods.

There is a stiffness in each answer. She’s saying what I want to hear, she’s showing polite interest in the conversation, but something seems off.

“All of your belongings have been delivered to my mansion. You will be very comfortable there. It’s away from the wildness of the city, a peaceful recluse just outside of Las Vegas.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it.” She smiles tightly.

Where is her bubbly persona she’s been flashing around all evening?

Is she just nervous?

Even on the video call she was friendlier, hinting at a more playful personality. She’s so formal now.

In front of the guests everything looks perfect, but I expected more warmth in these private moments.

The first course is served, and she continues to make small talk. I’m probably reading too much into it. She’s nervous. There are a lot of people here. A lot of cameras. There’s a lot going on, and she doesn’t even know me.

If she’s not nervous, then she’s making it very clear to me that this marriage is strictly a business arrangement. Her polite professionalism a clear message.

I hope that’s not the case.

***

“Will the couple please come to the dance floor for their first dance?” the MC announces, and I stand, holding my hand out to her. She places her delicate fingers in my hand and lets me lead the way.

The lights dim and soft spotlights move over the dance area. Little glittering lights make it look like it’s snowing around as I pull her close against my chest. I slip my hand around her waist, feeling the curves of her body, her full hips and all of those perfect dips.

Music plays and we move together, she looks up at me, and I’m caught in the brightness of her eyes. Heat builds between us. My body is on fire against hers.

Her breathing catches and she bites her lower lip.

The tension grows as I drift my hand up her back, cupping the back of her head, tilting her to the side and watching her body arch in my embrace as I dip her backwards. My free hand brushes from her throat down between her breasts and over her stomach before I pull her to her feet again.

Her cheeks are flushed, her lips pink and parted.

I can see the desire in her eyes. My body is screaming for her.

“How about a real kiss?” someone shouts from the crowd. “Not like the church kiss. We want a real one. True love’s kiss.”

The rest of the crowd cheers excitedly.

True love’s kiss.

A low chuckle rumbles through me, vibrating against her.

Her cheeks grow brighter pink as I wrap my hand around her jaw. “We have to give them what they want. We are in love, after all,” I whisper.

She doesn’t stop me when I press my mouth to hers. This time, she can’t pull away.

I spread her lips with mine and slide my tongue into her mouth, pushing into her, deepening the kiss. My body flares, a hundred times more intense than I was expecting. Every cell inside me is screaming. I want her. She’s mine.

She slides her hands up my sides and it fuels the desire in me. Her touch is gentle and seductive.

My cock is growing hard against her, so I pull her tighter to me. She giggles against my lips and it sends me over the edge. I’m rock-hard now.

The kiss ends and she stands on her tiptoes and whispers, “I presume you want to keep dancing until you’ve calmed down?”

I narrow my eyes at her. She’s cheeky. A tease. I can’t work out if it’s playful or a challenge. This woman intrigues and fascinates me in the most incredible ways.

At least I have all the time in the world to solve the puzzle that is her. I smile broadly as I pull her against me to continue dancing.

While we dance, other guests join us on the floor.

I’m mulling over the best way to deal with her.

I’ve decided to give her the security of boundaries.

If I set strong boundaries in place as soon as we get home tonight—despite the fact that I want to rip this dress from her body and devour every inch of her perfection—I think it will be better between us without her feeling pressured into anything.

We can get to know each other first.

A solid foundation.

Besides, if one kiss from her can intoxicate me as wildly as it did, I need to set boundaries for myself . I can’t give her that type of control over me. No woman has ever had me lusting after them in this way. I’m the one who makes the rules and lets them chase. Not the other way around.

And if she is behaving tensely because all this is to her is a marriage of alliance, then I don’t want her to know I am wildly enchanted by her already. I won’t give her that power.

***

Our wedding is an extravagant affair, and it goes on for hours. I’m relieved when we finally get to leave the even and head home. In the car, sitting in the back of the limo, Ulyana is quiet and looking out of the window, disinterested in the man she’s just married.

Testing the situation, I shift closer to her, and she turns to look at me with her head tilted to the side and her eyes narrowed.

“What are you doing?” she asks politely.

“Sitting next to my wife,” I reply, reaching out to brush my hand over her thigh, feeling the soft, smooth fabric move between us.

She clears her throat gently and scrunches her nose.

“Before we get home, I just want to say a few things, if that’s alright with you?” Her tone is professional. Not what I was expecting.

“Of course,” I say, sucking in a breath, but not moving away from her.

“I am very happy about this whole arrangement. I assure you, I’ll be an excellent wife, and a good ally. But I think we need to set some boundaries between us before anything gets—confusing.”

“Confusing,” I repeat, swallowing away the unexpected disappointment burning through me. Hadn’t I planned to say the same?

I was the one who wanted to suggest boundaries. From my side, it had more to do with giving her a sense of safety than me actually wanting boundaries between us. But now she’s beaten me to it.

“Yes. I thought it was best to just get the conversation out of the way now, instead of something awkward happening later.”

“I understand.” I nod curtly.

At this point, I shift away from her, rejection stinging me. She smiles sweetly and returns her gaze to the window.

I stare at her, her beautiful profile, the way her hair has fallen loose during the night and long strands are hanging over her shoulders.

Her skin is caramel, tanned by her days living next to the ocean. She is beautiful. And it’s bothering me.

I force myself to pull my gaze away from her.

City lights flash past the window in the late night darkness. Las Vegas never sleeps. There is always something going on—a lot, actually.

I own several casinos in the area, the perfect money laundering business. People pay cash. It works out well for us.

So, I was right about my suspicions regarding her approach to this marriage. It is purely business. There was no magic between us over the video call like I thought. It’s a marriage of convenience, and that is all.

I sigh, tapping my hand against my leg.

She might be annoyed to find that I didn’t set her up in a guest room. But she promised to be the perfect wife, and my perfect wife shares my bed. Even if there isn’t going to be intimacy.