Page 143 of Fierce Pursuit

Kostya carried me down the aisle as if I were some war trophy.

Every part of the ceremony, I tried to ruin it.

I blew out the ceremonial candle.

The priest made a joke and relit it.

I ripped the wedding crown from my head and threw it onto the marble floor.

Kostya only chuckled, shaking his head as he picked it back up, placing it on me once more.

“Be patient, babygirl,” he murmured in my ear, his voice full of promise. “We’ll get to the wedding night soon enough.”

Heat flared in my cheeks, white-hot with rage.

The men in the pews laughed.

As if this was funny.

As if this was some kind of joke.

Then Kostya turned to the priest, amusement curling at his lips.

"A bride who is not pure is so much better," he remarked smoothly. "A virgin would be nervous. But mine is eager."

The laughter deepened.

A rolling sound of smug, arrogant male amusement.

I had never wanted to slap the smile off of someone’s face more in my entire life.

So it should not have been a surprise…when I fucking snapped.

Blinding rage exploded inside me.

I didn’t think.

Didn’t hesitate.

With every ounce of fury I had, I slapped him across the face.

The crack of my palm against his cheek rang through the vast cathedral, silencing the room in an instant.

Disbelief echoed in the pews.

Someone gasped.

Someone murmured in shock.

But all I could hear was the blood roaring in my earsas I glared up at him, my chest heaving, my pulse hammering like a drum.

His head had snapped to the side from the force of it.

Slowly, deliberately, he turned back to face me.

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

His eyes darkened.

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