Page 130 of Twisted Proposal

His fingers pressed into my thigh, close to the curve of my ass.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To a priest," Artem growled, the vibration of his voice traveling through my body as he strolled out the door without a single falter in his step. "I'm done arguing, and don't worry, princess, I am well enough to make damn sure this marriage isthoroughlyconsummated."

As he carried me away, a strange mix of emotions churned inside me, frustration, anger, despair...and beneath it all, an unwelcome thread of exhilaration.

Part of me—a part I wasn't ready to acknowledge—thrilled at his determination, at the unstoppable force of him.

But another part mourned what might have been.

The chance to come to him as an equal, to choose him freely rather than be claimed like territory.

Whatever happened next, I knew one thing with certainty: this battle wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.

CHAPTER40

ARTEM

"Iwill never forgive you for this," Viktoria screamed as I carried her down the aisle of the same Russian Orthodox church where Kostya was married not too long ago.

"Yes, you will. Eventually," I said under my breath, praying it was true.

Eventually she would understand, and this would become a memory we laughed about on every anniversary. Or she wouldn't, and she would hold it over my head until we died of old age. Either way, she'd be alive…and by my side, in my bed.

She couldn't hate me or forgive me from the grave.

"Put me down," she seethed, her legs flailing. She had already kicked my stitches twice. For her, I would endure the pain.

If she reopened a wound, then she would just have to nurseher husbandback to health.

The thought of her in a nurse's uniform flashed in my mind, but I pushed it away. If I didn't, I'd be more likely to bend her over a wooden bench and fuck her instead of marrying her.

"I need a priest," I yelled down the aisle. The wooden pews sat empty, which made sense this late in the afternoon.

"No, we don't," Viktoria screamed after me.

I swatted her ass playfully, but hard enough that it stung in warning.

"Moya ptashka, behave. You know I have absolutely no problems bending you over a pew and fucking you in front of God and everyone else."

She stopped moving, but her fist balled the back of my T-shirt.

Finally, the priest stepped out from a room hidden behind the altar.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"My name is Artem Ivanov."

The priest blinked then straightened his shoulders. I knew he would recognize the family name, and more importantly the power behind it. "We want to get married. Immediately."

"No,wedon't," Viktoria grated out through clenched teeth.

"Ignore her. She has cold feet," I told the priest, lifting my other shoulder in a shrug, ignoring the slight tug from the stitches.

"I—" He hesitated for a moment.