Page 25 of The Russian's Kidnapped Bride
He’s pleased, and he knows he has won.
Chapter 8 - Mikhail
There’s no time to waste.
Not long after Lily agrees, I’m already on the phone making the necessary calls and lining everything up as it should be.
I inform Roman of what’s going on, well aware that I’m encroaching on his nesting time, but also aware that he’d have some choice words for me otherwise. He might’ve given me free rein, but that doesn’t mean he’ll tolerate being left in the dark.
After agreeing on a time, the call ends, leaving me with no congratulations or questions.
He doesn’t need to ask, not when Roman knows better than anyone what our lifestyle takes to maintain. What’s at stake and how letting a single thread go unchecked can unravel everything we’ve worked hard to maintain.
It’s not about romance, but containment and control.
Still, I won’t deny that there’s a flicker of something else beneath it all. The same urge in me pulsing since the moment I spotted Lily standing by the bar.
She was supposed to be a momentary indulgence and a chance for me to unwind.
Yet here I am, arranging my marriage like a business transaction. Because it is.
I can’t pretend like the thought of locking all of this down isn’t satisfying. Knowing I won’t need to pine helplessly over the woman I hooked up with.
Not when she’s mine in every way that counts.
Before long, Roman comes in like my place is an extension of his own, and the priest follows. He looks vaguely uncomfortable in his tight collar, but he’s used to situations like this by now. He keeps quiet, glancing between the small group of us.
It turns out, even a pious man can be bought out if the price is right.
Lily stands off to the side, still staring out the living room window with her arms crossed. She doesn’t move even at the sound of extra footsteps.
I offered her something white to wear just for the hell of it, but she refused. She’s still in her laidback jeans and university sweatshirt from last night, and her eyes are glassy from crying. Her fury is silent but ever-present.
She looks miserable, and while I knew to expect that, it still forces something in me to clench.
Roman stands off to the side with his arms folded, paying attention to every little thing like he’s at a meeting instead of witnessing a union. His eyes slide over to Lily as if seeing something familiar in her.
The ceremony is quick, fortunately. Of course, it’s impersonal, which seems like a double-edged sword.
Either way, the priest mutters through every line, hardly looking either of us in the eyes.
Lily only speaks as she’s prompted, but her words are flat and lifeless. She doesn’t look at me, and she certainly doesn’t smile.
Despite the bitterness in her tone, when I repeat the words, I keep my gaze on her.
It’s not that I’m a romantic by any means, but I mean every word. As much as Lily doesn’t seem to want to acknowledge it, promises matter in my world, and I don’t do most things just for the hell of it.
I might not know her well at all, at least not anything I’d consider beneath surface level, but that doesn’t matter. My intentions are still clear, and that doesn’t nullify my vows.
By the end, the priest says a few blessings in our native tongue, but it means nothing to Lily, of course. The paperwork is signed as easily as a business deal, and the man eventually finds his way out.
Roman puts a hand on my shoulder after the fact and gives me a knowing grin. It’s full of teasing, but there’s no mistaking the hint of something else in it. It’s almost remorseful, surely familiar with the circumstances himself.
He didn’t exactly wed Victoria in the most honest way, either.
“You’re a married man now, Mikhail…and this is only the beginning.”
As much as I normally have something to say in response, I don’t at the moment. Despite myself, I don’t want his commentary.
