Page 164 of Bratva's Vow
But that only set me off crying again. Oh god, crying was exhausting, but I couldn’t help it. A decade from now—if I lived past this wretched illness—everyone would remember the day I vomited when my husband tried to kiss me at our hospital wedding.
“We were married for like six seconds, and I already threw up. I wanted our first kiss as husbands to be cinematic! Instead, it was”—I hiccuped—“puke-adjacent.”
He kissed the top of my head. “It was perfect. You’re perfect.”
“You’re a liar,” I mumbled, tears sliding down my face.
“A very devoted one.”
“I can’t even remember who was there,” I said, eyes wide. What was happening to my brain? It was a constant state of fog in my head these days. “Was Jess here?”
Maxim nodded.
I gasped. “She wore makeup, didn’t she?”
He hesitated. “Maybe a little?—”
“That slut,” I whispered, deeply offended. “How dare she look better than me on my wedding day?”
Maxim laughed, and I pinched his arm. Weakly. “Don’t laugh. I was dying, and she still tried to steal my thunder. I swear, if she wore lipstick, I’ll haunt her.”
“I think you said that at the time too.” He wiped my tears. “It was the most memorable wedding I’ve ever attended.”
I sniffled. “I wanted a veil.”
“You can have one when we do it again.”
“You mean that?”
He brushed my hair back from my sweaty forehead. “Yes. When you’re better. A real wedding. With a veil as long as the aisle. White suit. Flowers. All of it.”
“And vows. Real vows.”
“You’ll write yours?”
“Of course.”
He leaned down and kissed my temple. “That sounds lovely.”
“I love you,” I whispered. “Don’t let me die. Please.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” he whispered back. “You’re already mine. You’re stuck with me now, husband.”
I smiled.
Then passed out again.
But somewhere deep in that darkness, I dreamed of vows and lace and kissing him properly next time.
And of Jess in a paper bag dress for balance.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
MAXIM
Wren finally went quiet around two in the morning.
He’d been murmuring for over an hour, broken sentences slurred with sleep and delirium. Whispering to someone who wasn’t me. Someone who wasn’t here. Sometimes I caught fragments.
