Page 85 of The Bratva's Auctioned Bride
Epilogue - Diomid
“You may now kiss your bride,” the pastor says, and I don’t hesitate even a second to wrap my arm around her waist and dip her backward as I press my mouth over her and kiss her in ways that are entirely inappropriate for the crowd around us to witness.
She laughs against my lips, pushing me back with no real effort, her cheeks growing red as the crowd whistles and cheers.
My wife, the most beautiful bride in the universe. I pull her back to her feet and kiss her again. She’s wearing a wedding dress that she designed herself. A princess corset covered in lace, glittering stones, and intricate hand-stitched pearls. Over her chest and arms is sheer white fabric, also decorated with lace, but enough to tease me with a glimpse of her soft skin beneath. She called it bohemian. I don’t really care what it’s called. All I know is that she looks like a goddess, a queen. Ethereal and too beautiful for this world.And she’s mine. She belongs to me. She gave her heart and soul to me.
And I’m hers. Forever.
“Save some of that for the honeymoon,” Oleg shouts, grinning at us as I slip her arm through mine and lead her down the aisle, out of the church. “I have enough for nowandthe honeymoon,” I shout back.
Outside, the limousine is waiting for us at the end of a long red carpet. Our guests are lined up on either side to create a passage of family and friends.
We walk past them, and they all throw white rose petals over our heads, letting them snow down on us and catch in her hair. Her laughter is music as she hurries with me toward the car, smiling, her eyes bright, the flash of cameras capturingmoments that we will look back on with fondness when we’re old and grey and still in love.
Inside the limousine, we’re suddenly completely alone. Our first quiet moment together as husband and wife. She laughs, breathing heavily, her excitement and happiness evident as she looks at me with wide eyes.
“That was amazing,” she whispers.
I pull her across the seat toward me, the layers of dress getting in the way and making her laugh again.
I push her dress out of the way and pull her onto my lap. “You are the most beautiful woman alive, and I’m the happiest man alive.”
She leans into me, pressing her lips against mine. “I love you, husband,” she says.
“I love you, Mrs. Abashin,” I grin.
“Oh, I rather like that. Yours. Officially.”
“Very officially,” I tease, trying to slip my hand beneath her wedding dress but failing dismally because there are way too many layers.
We end up laughing so hard she’s almost crying, complaining that I’m ruining her makeup.
“Did you have a second dress designed for the reception?” I ask, raising my brows mischievously.
“I did, you savage, but not just so you could get underneath it easier!” she scoffs.
“But could I?” I ask.
She giggles and shrugs. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”
***
The reception is held at Jaroslav’s mansion, out in the massive garden. There are white tents, beautiful lights everywhere. Roses adorning archways and a live band playing music near the dance floor.
When we arrive, Stef and Valery are waiting to pull the limo door open and steal my wife away immediately.
“Wardrobe change!” Stef declares, throwing me a wide smile. “We’ll give her back to you in fifteen minutes.”
The girls rush upstairs, and I head into the guest bathroom to check the mirror and splash water on my face before I face everyone again.
When I look at my reflection, it’s like I’m looking at a different person. A man whose dreams have come true. He’s smiling with such genuine force that it fills my heart with warmth, and my emotions surge. I almost cried when I saw her walking down the aisle toward me, and I almost cry again now when I realize how happy I am. It’s one thing to feel it, but another to see it yourself. To really see yourself and realizethis is really happening. This is real.
It takes me a while to get my emotions in check. And by the time I come out of the bathroom, I’m lucky enough to see Angelika walking down the stairs toward me in her reception dress. A pearl white silk dress, softer, with fewer layers, hugging the top half of her body with thin spaghetti straps over her delicate shoulders and a very low dipped back that teases me dangerously.
There is a slit that runs from the floor all the way up her leg to her hip bone, and when she walks toward me, the dress floats like water around her, showing off her perfect legs and the sneakers she cheekily chose to wear instead of high heels.But dammit, I swear they are a hundred times sexier than heels would have been.
“Fuck me,” I whisper, pulling her close and keeping my voice low. “This… I can definitely tell you, it's going to be a problem.” She giggles as I brush my hand down her bare back. “Do you like it?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.
