Page 141 of Fierce Pursuit

Flawless.

It was a shame.

Because I had no intention of going through with the wedding.

CHAPTER 40

MARINA

"Grant them a long and peaceful life together," the Russian Orthodox priest announced, his voice ringing through the cavernous church.

The gilded domes above us gleamed under the candlelight, gold and crimson icons of saints watching in silent witness. Incense curled in the air, thick and cloying. Beneath my feet, the polished marble gleamed, reflecting the flickering glow of dozens of chandeliers hanging from vaulted ceilings painted with scenes of heaven.

This place was beautiful. Sacred.

And I was about to set it on fire.

"I said no," I spat, my voice raw with fury.

No one reacted.

No one even flinched.

Why was I not surprised?

Every other protest, every fight, every desperate attempt to stop this had been ignored.

The entire day, I had sworn up and down that this wedding would not happen.

The men had dismissed me outright, their expressions unreadable, their presence an impenetrable united front.

The women had given me nothing but pitying looks, as if I were some child throwing a tantrum instead of a woman fighting for her goddamn life.

I fought every single step of the way.

And it never made a difference.

When I refused to get into the limo, his brother Pavel had simply lifted me off my feet, tossed me over his shoulder, and carried me to the back of the car. He shoved me inside, locked the doors, and when I realized the bastard had engaged the child locks, a scream of rage tore from my throat.

I kicked.

I screamed.

I tried climbing out of the goddamn window, but when we pulled onto the highway, I had no choice but to slump back into the seat, breathing hard, seething.

There was a bottle of champagne chilling, meant for after the wedding.

Fuck that.

Since there wasn’t going to be a wedding, I might as well drink it now.

I was halfway through the bottle when we pulled up in front of the church.

It loomed before me, an imposing structure of red brick and gold domes, the mosaic of Jesus over the grand wooden doors staring down at me with piercing, disapproving eyes.

The man turned water into wine. He could hardly judge me for enjoying the fruits of his labor.

The driver moved to open the door, and I yanked it shut, engaging the lock.

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