Page 13 of Paved in Hate

I toss back the remaining vodka and fill it right back up again. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about,” I tell him.

“Maybe it won’t be as bad as you’re thinking,” Roman says, trying like hell to paint my upcoming forced nuptials in a positive light.

I bark out a laugh. “He wouldn’t even let me see her. That can’t be a good sign.”

“We’ll get it annulled,” Danil quickly says.

“Yeah, just don’t fuck her,” Lev says.

“That won’t be a problem. This is just for show, and once we have what we need, we’re killing all of them, and we will never fucking speak of this again.”

Lev smacks my back, and I can see the amused glint in his eyes before he says, “Thanks for taking one for the team, brother.”

“Oh, you fucking bastard,” I say, making him laugh, and then once he starts, the rest of them join in. “This is so not fucking funny.” They all ignore me, and soon Emily’s wiping away a tear and clutching at her pregnant belly while she tries to catch her breath.

“I’m sorry,” she finally manages to say. “It’s just the stress.”

I lift a brow at her.

“It is,” she says. “But it’s also kind of funny because you swore you’d never get married, and now in less than twenty-four hours you’re going to have a wife.”

“Jesus Christ,” I groan when the reality of her words hits me.

Simona gives my arm a squeeze. “It’ll be okay. She can hang out with us, and you can keep yourself busy with work. It’ll be annulled before you know it.”

Lev raises a glass to me. “Just don’t fuck her.”

“I don’t know why you feel like you need to keep reminding me of that.”

He laughs and tosses back his drink. I’m not even close to being done, so I grab the bottle again and refill my glass. My last night being single for god knows how long, and I’m sure as fuck not going to spend it sober. I’ll be sayingI dowith one hell of a hangover, but somehow it feels appropriate that I’ll be miserable both physically and mentally. I can feel the clock ticking down my seconds of freedom as I finish my drink and pour another. Matvey grabs a glass and fills his own, and I know he’ll stay with me the whole night so I don’t have to suffer alone. Together to the end, even if the end isn’t quite what I envisioned it being.

Chapter3

Katya

The next morning Konstantin barges into my bedroom and tosses a large garment bag on my still half-asleep body.

“What are you doing?” My voice is thick with sleep, and my mind is way too sluggish to make sense of what’s going on.

“Your wedding is this evening. Get your ass out of bed and see if this fits.”

I bite my lip to keep from asking a million questions while I resist the very strong urge to kick the bag onto the floor. The weight of it feels oppressive, and the room is suddenly a whole lot hotter.

“It’s tonight?” I ask, still unable or unwilling to process the information. “Who am I marrying? You said there were two single brothers.”

“Yes, it’s tonight at six.” I can tell by his tone that he’s annoyed to have to repeat himself. “You’re marrying Vitaly, the owner of Pink.”

I try to swallow, but my mouth is too fucking dry. My heart races and nausea threatens to take over. I’d hoped that maybe I’d have another week or two or that maybe by some miracle my brothers would change their minds. I never thought in a million years I’d wake up to find out I have less than eight hours until my goddamn wedding.

“Oksana will be in to help you later. Get your ass out of bed, Katya, and try on the goddamn dress.”

Knowing he’s about to lose his patience, I jump out of bed and grab the bag that feels like a fucking albatross around my neck. Scurrying into the bathroom, I close the door on my brother’s angry face and hang the garment bag on a hook. Unzipping it, I see the lacy, white dress that’s nestled inside. I’m not surprised that it’s gorgeous and a designer label. I expected nothing less from a brother who only wears bespoke suits.

“I have other things I need to do today,” he reminds me through the door.

I quickly strip and then slide into the buttery soft dress. The weather’s chilly, so the dress is long sleeved and the neckline is high, but it’s stunning and feminine and under normal circumstances I’d be ecstatic to wear it, but not like this, not when I’m being forced to. Zipping the dress up, I look in the mirror, barely recognizing my pale face. I look exactly like a woman who’s just rolled out of bed after a shitty night of sleep and then pulled on a gorgeous wedding gown. I look fucking unhinged is what I look like, and I almost let out a laugh because my grip on sanity is becoming very fucking slippery.

“Well?” Konstantin yells.

---