Page 72 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

My breath catches. Is he really doing this? The answer, apparently, is yes.

“Vera Volkonsky,” he says, his eyes locked on mine. “Do you take me to be your husband? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live?”

I stare at him, my mind blank. This isn’t how I imagined my wedding. This isn’t how I imagined any of this.

Still, I know the choice before I’ve even consciously made it.

“I do,” I whisper. Then, “Roman Volkonsky. Do you take me to be your wife? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live?”

“I do.” The words come out rough, almost harsh, but his eyes are soft when they meet mine.

He reaches into his pocket and produces a simple gold band. It’s not fancy, but it’s a shimmering band of gold set with a dainty stone. At first I think it’s sapphire, but then I realize: it’s alexandrite.

How did he know my favorite stone?

I stare at it, my heart in my throat. I’ve seen rings like this before, of course. I wore a wedding ring for years, but I never told Roman that I hated diamonds, or how much I love alexandrite.

Before I can question it, Roman takes my left hand in his and slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly, like it was made for me.

“With this ring,” he says, “I thee wed.” The words are old-fashioned, but the way he says them makes them sound like a promise.

I look down at the ring on my finger, and it all begins to sink in. This is real. This is happening. I’m married to Roman Volkonsky.

Then, before I can process the thought, he’s pulling me toward him.

His hand comes up to cup my face, and he leans in and claims my mouth in a kiss that steals my breath.

I can feel the eyes of the congregation on us as he kisses me, but I don’t care. All I can feel is Roman, his lips on mine and his body pressed against me like he’s trying to absorb me into himself.

When he finally pulls back, I’m dizzy. My lips feel swollen, my knees weak.

He looks down at me, and I can see the promise in them. You’re mine now. And I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.

I believe him.

Then a voice cuts through my thoughts. I turn to see Dad on his feet. “This is outrageous.”

I flinch. Roman’s grip on my hand tightens.

He’s shaking, whether with rage or fear I can’t tell. “You can’t do this,” he says. “She was promised to Anton. There were agreements. Arrangements. You can’t just do whatever you like.”

“She’s not a piece of furniture to be traded.” Roman’s voice is cold. “Vera made her choice.”

“She made a choice based on fear!” My father takes a step forward, his finger jabbing toward us. “You put her up to this. You turned her against her family, against her obligations.”

“Obligations?” I find my voice, and it’s sharper than I expected.

My father’s face twists. “That’s not the point, Vera.”

“That’s exactly the point.” I step forward, pulling out of Roman’s grip. “You gave me to Dmitri, and then he died and you tried to do it again. Fuck you.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“All you care about is paying off your debts and staying in Konstantin’s good graces so you get to keep your life.”

My father opens his mouth to respond, but before he can speak, another voice cuts through the church.

“Enough.” The word is quiet, but it carries the weight of a command.