Page 35 of Under His Control
He straightens his tie and swallows hard. “Lead the way.”
We walk, my thoughts circling back to Taylor. Most women would crumble after such a scene, but she held her ground, apologized for nothing, and even managed a joke. Strength is sexy, resilience, intoxicating. I find myself wanting to learn every corner of her mind, map every soft place on her body.
In the dressing room doorway, I pause, letting Charles knock lightly. “May I come in, kiddo?”
Her muffled reply floats back. He slips inside. I wait, listening to their low voices—his gentle reassurance, her grateful laughter. It’s a good sound.
I head back out and make my way to the altar. Five minutes later, they appear. Taylor’s makeup is flawless again—eyes bright, lips glossed. She slips her arm through Charles’s, and they start down the aisle.
As the organist strikes a chord, I step next to the officiant and wait for the woman who’s about to become mine in every legal sense, and hopefully, in every other sense, too.
I catch my brother Damas’s eye from the front row. He lifts an eyebrow, a smile curling his lips. I’m guessing he expected the Chris drama to derail the ceremony.
Taylor glides up the aisle with Charles beaming at her side. When her gaze locks on to mine, it feels as if the room has shrunken down to just us. The officiant’s words melt away. All I hear is the rush of blood in my ears, the hammer of my pulse.
I take her trembling hand. It immediately steadies once she steps beside me. She’s ready.
The ceremony is a blur of vows, rings, and applause. The kiss I give her at the end is brief, but I make sure she feels the heat behind it.
Charles stands and hugs her as Taylor wipes at happy tears. I place my hand at the small of her back, guiding her down the aisle as our first walk as husband and wife.
Once in the vestibule, she exhales, a small laugh escaping. “We did it.”
I lower my mouth to her ear. “First battle won, Mrs. Ovechkina.”
I feel her body shiver. She leans into my side, palm on my chest. “Thank you. For everything.”
“You’ll thank me properly later,” I say with a wink.
Color blooms high on her cheeks as she playfully swats my arm. “Behave.”
“Never.”
She laughs, full and bright. Optimism and happiness radiate off her, warming the chill Chris left behind. I realize I’m smiling, something so rare that Mrs.?B, passing by with the legal paperwork, does a double take.
Taylor notices, eyes dancing. “Youdosmile.”
“Occasionally. Usually before I misbehave.”
She bites her lip, temptation personified. “We have a dinner to survive first.”
“We’ll survive,” I promise, tucking her hand into the crook of my elbow. “Then, we’ll escape.”
As we head toward the reception room, I catch our reflection in a gilded mirror, our hands joined.
All I can think about is how much I want to make her mine in every way.
CHAPTER 14
TAYLOR
The ceremony’s over.
We are seated in a private dining room at the Palms.
Across the table, Mrs. Belova perches like Vegas royalty in navy silk, her posture perfect as always. Her husband, Igor, is old-world charm epitomized in a crisp, black suit. Charles sits beside him, beaming with pride, the only person here who feels like home.
A server glides in with the appetizers—quail egg on truffle toast, each one bite-sized. I barely glance at mine. My stomach's a tight knot of nerves, so I nibble around the edges, sipping water like it's a vintage Bordeaux.
