Page 76 of Deceptive Vows
Dimitris met us at the door, cigarette conspicuously absent for once. “You clean up nice, sis.” His grin didn’t quite hide the concern in his eyes.
“Is everyone in position?” Lucas asked, his voice pitched low.
Dimitris nodded. “All set. Ari’s got his guys on the main doors. Gabriele arrived ten minutes ago—alone except for his driver.”
I absorbed this information, filing it away. The security measures were necessary, but I refused to let them overshadow this moment. Today wasn’t just about outmaneuvering Marco or saving those girls, though both remained urgent priorities. It was also about the vows I was about to make—vows I surprisingly wanted to keep.
Claire and Anna appeared, radiant in their pale blue dresses, each holding a small bouquet that complemented mine. “It’s almost time,” Claire said, excitement evident in her voice. “Father Michalis is ready whenever you are.”
Lucas took my hand, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “Last chance to run,” he teased, though the concern in his eyes was real.
I squeezed his fingers in return. “I’m exactly where I need to be.”
The small antechamber filled with quiet activity—final adjustments to my veil, Claire smoothing the train of my dress, Lex straightening his tie. When FatherMichalis appeared, resplendent in his ceremonial robes, a hush fell over our small group.
“It’s time.” His sonorous voice carried a weight of tradition. “The groom awaits.”
As if on cue, the first notes of music filtered in from the main sanctuary. Claire and Anna kissed my cheeks before slipping out, taking their places as the first to process down the aisle. Lex followed with a reassuring smile, and then Dimitris, unusually solemn in his formal wear.
Then it was just Lucas and me, standing at the threshold of the sanctuary, the heavy wooden doors closed until my moment came.
“Ready?” he asked quietly.
I took a deep breath. “Ready.”
The doors swung open, and the congregation rose as one, faces turning toward us. The church was beautiful—winter flowers adorned the ends of each pew, candles flickered in ornate holders, casting a warm glow over the ancient stone.
But I saw none of it. My eyes found Nazar immediately, standing tall at the altar, Pasha at his side. Even from a distance, the intensity in his gaze locked with mine. The world narrowed to just the two of us, everything else falling away as Lucas guided me forward.
With each step down the aisle, my certainty grew. This man—this Russian vor with the glacier-blue eyes and the gentle hands—had somehow broken through every defense I’d ever built. He saw me, truly saw me, not just the sharp edges and deadly skills, but the vulnerability beneath them.
When we reached the altar, Lucas placed my hand in Nazar’s, and a current seemed to pass between us—electric and undeniable. His fingers closed around mine, warm and comforting, and in that simple touch was everything I needed.
I’m here. We are in this together.
Father Michalis began the ceremony, and the ancient words and symbols unfolded around us. I hadn’t expected the weight of it all—the rings, the crowns, the circling. I wasn’t religious, but something about this felt holy. Not because of the tradition. Because of him.
A single tear escaped before I could stop it, trailing down my cheek. He caught it with his thumb, a gesture so tender it nearly undid me completely.
I took a steadying breath, finding my voice. “I, Thea Kalantzis, take you, Nazar Volkov, to be my husband. To challenge and support,to stand with against all darkness, to be your equal partner in all things.” I paused, drawing strength from the unwavering certainty in his eyes. “I offer you my strength, my loyalty, my heart—” I faltered briefly, surprised by the word that had slipped in unplanned, but continued with renewed conviction, “and commitment from this day forward, until my last breath.”
As Father Michalis pronounced us husband and wife, Nazar drew me to him, one hand cradling my face as our lips met. The kiss was gentle and respectful of our surroundings, yet contained all the promise of what would come later. When we parted, the look in his eyes sent heat coursing through me.
“My wife,” he whispered, the Russian accent caressing the words.
“My husband,” I returned, surprised at the wonder in my own voice.
We turned to face the congregation, hands joined. I caught Gabriele’s eye briefly, his smile not quite reaching his eyes as he assessed us from his seat. Whatever he was thinking—whether he believed our union genuine or suspected our motives—remained carefully masked behind his polished exterior.
As we moved down the aisle together, surrounded by the applause and well-wishes of my family, Nazar bent to whisper in my ear.
“No matter what happens next, what we just shared was real.”
My fingers tightened around his, answering without words what I wasn’t yet ready to say aloud. I hadn’t been a girl who dreamed of love or white dresses. But I had dreamed of safety. Of belonging. Of someone choosing me—and staying.
And somewhere between plotting and pretending, between strategy and survival, I’d begun to care for him in ways I never thought possible. Perhaps the vows we’d just exchanged didn’t need to be temporary after all.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
