Page 74 of The Russian's Arranged Pregnant Bride

“I love you too, kitten,” he said quietly, so only I could hear.

The priest said something else in Russian, then nodded.

Drew leaned in and kissed me.

Soft. Gentle. A promise sealed with our lips.

When he pulled back, I was crying. And I didn’t care.

***

The reception was a blur of faces and voices.

I met Drew’s parents for the first time—his mother, elegant and warm, with Drew’s gray eyes and a smile that felt genuine. His father, broad-shouldered and intimidating, who shook my hand and told me in accented English, “You take care of my son. And he takes care of you. This is how it works.”

I nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.

Damir clapped Drew on the shoulder, grinning. “Welcome to the family, Cassandra.”

Kirill raised a glass, his blue eyes sharp but kind. “To the bride and groom. May your life together be less chaotic than the wedding planning.”

Everyone laughed.

I smiled, played the part, accepted congratulations and well-wishes from people I barely knew.

But underneath it all, the guilt was eating me alive.

Because I’d just promised forever to a man I was still lying to.

And he had no idea.

***

Later that night, back at Drew’s apartment—ourapartment now—I stood in the bedroom, still in my wedding dress, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

Mrs. Kamarov.

Cassandra Kamarov.

The name felt foreign. Heavy. Like it belonged to someone else.

Drew walked in, loosening his tie, his suit jacket already discarded. When he saw me, he stopped.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

I nodded, even though I wasn’t.

He crossed the room, stopped behind me, and met my eyes in the mirror. “Talk to me, Cass.”

“I’m fine,” I lied.

“You’re not.” His hands rested on my shoulders, warm and steady. “You’ve been quiet all night.”

I swallowed hard. “It’s just…a lot.”

“I know.” He turned me around gently, his hands framing my face. “But we’re in this together now. You and me.”

Tears threatened to spill over. “Drew—”