Page 36 of Under His Control

Conversation and laughter roll gently around the table. Something is said about a celebrity guest demanding gold-flaked bath salts, and I manage a polite smile, moving my food around the plate like I intend to eat it.

Charles sets down his fork, then dabs his mouth with his napkin, chuckling. “I’ll never forget the time Anatoly unclogged a guestroom toilet himself. When I saw it happening, I told him I supposed it’s better than risking a bad Yelp review.”

Igor lifts his glass, smiling. “Efficiency with a plunger. That’s a trait of kings.”

Anatoly cuts in. “It wasn’t about the review. It was about respect—my respect for my staff, specifically. I expect no one to do what I wouldn’t do myself.”

The room quiets for a beat. Even Mrs. B nods her head in subtle approval. I risk a glance at my husband—gorgeous as hell in his tailored suit, completely at ease commanding the space.

And just like that, my appetite fades further, because the only thing I’m hungry for is him.

Mrs. B smiles. “I’ll recall the client who tried to bribe me with a watch so he could sneak in on your schedule, Anatoly. A fake Rolex, no less.”

Damas offers a humorless laugh and raises his glass. “To powerful women who take no nonsense.”

“Careful, Damas,” Anatoly says smoothly. “She may take that as an invitation to test your limits.”

That earns genuine laughter around the table. Even I smile, though there’s a small ache behind it.

This is my wedding, but there are no bridesmaids, no cake-cutting, no charmingly awkward family toasts. Just this curated collection of near strangers, and a gaping brother-shaped hole beside me.

I glance at the empty chair.

“Everything okay?” Anatoly asks quietly. His hand slips to the small of my back.

I force a smile. “Yeah. Just taking it all in.”

“You’re allowed to take up space, too,solnishka.” His breath brushes the edge of my ear, and I shiver.

Across the table, Damas raises his champagne flute. “To the bride and groom. May your days be long, your nights even longer,” his eyes flick briefly to me, unsettling me, “and may your children be as intelligent and beautiful as their mother.”

I stiffen. The word children clangs in my skull like a pinball. The others laugh politely, clinking glasses. I lift mine, but the smile I flash is porcelain-thin.

The joke stings, and not just because Damas gives me the creeps.

It’s because he’s toasting to something I’ll never be able to give Anatoly.

Anatoly leans in close. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

The low rumble of his voice shoots a shiver straight down my spine. I turn my head toward him and our noses almost brush. God, he smells good. “I’m fine. Just absorbing everything.”

He studies me as his hand slides a fraction lower on my back. I can feel his warmth through the silk of my dress, and my pussy clenches. For a moment, all I can think about is him buried inside of me.

Damas clears his throat, drawing attention.

“So, big brother,” he begins, voice smooth as Scotch, “you finally joined the ranks of married men. Mother would be thrilled.”

Anatoly’s posture stiffens, but his tone stays mild. “She would be pleased.”

Damas turns to me, smile perfectly pitched. “Taylor, tell me, how does it feel marrying into our unconventional family?”

There’s something in his eyes, curiosity edged with calculation, like he’s trying to read my future worthiness. I meet his gaze head-on, channeling every ounce of confidence and poise I can.

“I’ve been dealing with high-stakes guests for years. I can handle a few unconventional in-laws.”

Igor chuckles, Mrs.?B lifts an approving brow, and Charles beams. Damas’s smile doesn’t falter, but a flicker of something resembling annoyance flares before he can mask it.

More plates of food arrive, but I still barely touch mine.