"Five minutes," I call back, already helping Revna straighten her dress.
"This doesn't mean I forgive you," she says, fixing her lipstick in a mirror I hadn't noticed.
"I know." I adjust my tie, noting the wrinkles in my jacket. "But it means you're staying."
"Was that ever in question?"
"After yesterday? Yes."
She turns to face me, looking like a slightly rumpled goddess. "I'm here, aren't I? I said 'I do,' didn't I?"
"You did."
"Then stop questioning it." She moves to the door, pauses. "And Doran? Next time you make a major decision without me, even though we’re married, I'm gone."
"Understood."
"Good." She unlocks the door. "Now let's go pretend we weren't just fucking in the library."
"Study," I correct.
"Whatever."
We emerge to find Rhiannon waiting, arms crossed and grinning. "Well, that was subtle."
"Shut up," I mutter.
"Hey, no judgment. Though you might want to fix your hair, Revna. You look freshly fucked."
Revna's face flames, but she laughs. "That obvious?"
"Only to those of us who know what to look for." Rhiannon produces a compact from somewhere. "Here. Powder will help with the flush."
I watch them, my sister and my wife, fixing makeup and giggling like old friends.
This is what I wanted—Revna as part of my family, my world.
"The reception's starting," Mikhail appears, carefully not looking at either of us. "They're announcing you in five minutes."
The ballroom is transformed.
Flowers everywhere, candles creating soft light, tables set with crystal and china that costs more than most cars.
Our families have mixed somewhat—MC leather next to designer suits, creating an interesting contrast.
"Ready?" I ask Revna.
"As I'll ever be."
The doors open. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Mr. and Mrs. Doran Volkolv!"
Applause erupts as we enter.
I feel Revna tense slightly at her new name, but she smiles, playing the part of the happy bride.
We're seated at the head table, surrounded by our wedding party.
The toasts begin immediately.