Chapter 5 - Vladimir
Abram's hands smooth down my lapels, his touch trying to make up for the father we lost years ago. "Today, you make our family stronger. I must admit, I’m proud of you, Vlad, for having made this wise choice."
I stand still as stone, allowing him to fuss over my appearance. If only he knew the real reason behind my decision. Sofia's face flashes in my mind—those piercing green eyes, the elegant curve of her neck. My jaw clenches. I'm not doing this for the family. I'm doing it to keep her safe, to make her mine.
Would that pride remain if I admitted my true motives? Probably not.
"There," Abram says, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "You look every bit the powerful Bratva prince."
"Thank you," I reply, my voice low and controlled. The words taste like ash in my mouth. It’s hard keeping a secret from my brother.
The chapel doors swing open. Heart pounding, I take my place at the altar, with Abram standing behind me. I turn to face the ornate doors at the end of the aisle. My heart pounds beneath my crisp white shirt. Any moment now, she'll walk through those doors. My bride. My obsession.
The string quartet begins to play a haunting melody that makes everyone crane their necks. My eyes remain fixed on the entrance, searching for any sign of movement. The anticipation is almost unbearable. I force myself to breathe slowly, to maintain my composure.
Where is she? Has she run? The thought sends a jolt of panic through me. No, Sofia is too dutiful for that. Too proud.
I shift my weight, hyper-aware of the hundreds of eyes upon me. Bratva families from all over the country are here to witness this holy union.
The music swells, and my breath catches in my throat. This is it. She's coming. The heavy doors swing open, and there she is. Sofia. My bride.
Guests rise, faces craning in anticipation.
She glides down the aisle on Nikolai's arm, a vision in white. Her dress is a masterpiece of lace and silk, hugging her slender figure before flaring out at the hips. The bodice is adorned with intricate beadwork that catches the light, making her shimmer with every step.
I can't tear my eyes away from her face. Her green eyes are bright, challenging, framed by long lashes. Her blonde hair is swept up in an elegant updo, tendrils framing her face. She's the picture of grace and beauty, but I notice the slight hesitation in her step, the way her fingers tighten on Nikolai's arm.
My chest tightens. I want to go to her, to sweep her into my arms and carry her toward a certain future promising joy. But I remain rooted to the spot, struggling to maintain my composure.
As she draws nearer, I can see the tension in her jaw, the slight tremor in her hand. She's scared, I realize. Beneath that icy exterior, she's terrified.
"You look beautiful," I murmur as she takes her place beside me.
Her eyes meet mine, a flash of defiance in their depths. "Save your compliments," she whispers back. "This changes nothing between us."
I lean in closer, my voice low and intense. "It changes everything, Sofia. You're mine now."
A shiver runs through her, and for a moment, I see a crack in her armor. But then it's gone, replaced by that familiar cold disdain.
"Only on paper," she hisses.
I smirk, drinking in the fire in her eyes. "We'll see about that."
The low murmur of voices fades as the officiant begins to speak, and we both stand in attention.
I barely hear the words, my focus entirely on Sofia. She stands rigidly beside me, her eyes fixed straight ahead.
"Do you, Vladimir Zolotov, take Sofia Orlov to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
My voice is low and steady as I respond, "I do."
Sofia's turn comes, and I feel her tension radiating off her in waves. Her "I do" is barely more than a whisper, but it echoes in my ears like a thunderclap.
"You may now kiss the bride."
I turn to face her, my heart pounding. Her green eyes meet mine, a mix of defiance and fear swirling in their depths. I lean in slowly, giving her time to prepare herself. My lips brush against hers, soft and chaste. It takes every ounce of my self-control to keep the kiss brief and respectful, to not deepen it and show her exactly what she does to me. She never offers more, her mouth remains closed the whole, brief time.
As I pull back, I hear her sharp intake of breath. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" I murmur, my voice rough with restrained desire.
Sofia's eyes narrow. "Don't get used to it," she hisses.
I can't help but smirk.
***
The reception hall buzzes with life. Champagne flows freely, clinking glasses and boisterous laughter filling the air. I scan the room, my eyes inevitably drawn to Sofia. She stands across the room, a vision in white, her posture rigid as she converses with some of our guests.
"Quite the party, isn't it?" Boris sidles up to me, a glass of vodka in hand.
I nod, my gaze still fixed on Sofia. "It's… lively."
"You should be mingling, Vladimir. It's your wedding day, after all."
I turn to him, arching an eyebrow. "I'm observing. There's value in that, too."
Boris chuckles. "Always the strategist. Well, don't observe for too long. Your bride looks like she could use a rescue."
I follow his gaze back to Sofia. A group of older women corners her, their excited chatter visibly grating on her nerves. Her smile is polite, but I can see the tension in her shoulders and the way her fingers grip her champagne flute a little too tightly.
"If you'll excuse me," I murmur to Boris, already moving toward Sofia.
As I approach, I catch snippets of their conversation. "…and when can we expect little ones?" one of the women says, causing Sofia's smile to freeze in place.
"I'm afraid you'll have to excuse us," I interject smoothly, placing a hand on the small of Sofia's back. "I need to borrow my wife for a moment."
Sofia's back stiffens under my touch, but she allows me to guide her away. Once we're out of earshot, she steps away from me, her eyes flashing. "I didn't need your help."
"No?" I counter, keeping my voice low. "You looked ready to pour that champagne over their heads."
A flicker of amusement crosses her face before it's quickly suppressed. "I would have restrained myself. Unlike some, I know how to behave in public."
I lean in closer, my voice a low rumble. "And how do you behave in private, I wonder?"
Sofia's cheeks flush, but her gaze remains steely. "You won't find out."
"We'll see about that," I murmur, my determination only growing in the face of her resistance. This ice queen will melt for me, even if it takes all night. All year. All our lives.
Just then, the opening chords of a waltz fill the air, and I extend my hand to Sofia. "Dance with me," I say, my tone leaving no room for argument.
She hesitates, her green eyes narrowing. "Is that an order, Vladimir?"
"Consider it a request from your husband," I reply, allowing a hint of charm to soften my blunt words. “Besides, I see those aunts still vying for your attention.”
The alternative being too painful, Sofia immediately places her hand in mine, her touch cool and light. I make a mental note to thank those ladies later as I lead her to the dance floor, pulling her close as we begin to move. Her body is tense against mine, but I can feel the underlying softness beneath her rigid posture.
"You truly look beautiful tonight," I murmur, my lips close to her ear.
She scoffs softly. "I always look beautiful.”
I burst out laughing, and spin her out, bringing her back toward me, my hand on her lower back. She maintains an unimpressed expression, but I see the way her chest heaves.
“It’s a lovely night, isn’t it? And I heard your sisters threw you quite the hen party last night.”
Sofia's eyes meet mine, a challenge in their depths. "This is a business arrangement, nothing more. We don’t have to make conversation like we’re a real thing."
"Is that so?" I let my hand slide lower down her back, feeling her sharp intake of breath. "Because I feel there's potential for much more between us. It would be a waste to live a life together as strangers, would it not?"
A crack appears in her facade—a slight widening of her eyes, a quickening of her pulse that I can feel beneath my fingers. She swallows hard, her voice slightly breathless when she speaks. "You're delusional."
But I can see the internal struggle playing out behind her eyes. The way her body unconsciously leans into mine, even as her words push me away. The chemistry between us is undeniable, crackling in the air like electricity.
"Am I?" I press, my voice low and intense. "Tell me you don't feel this, Sofia. Tell me, and I'll never mention it again."
The world around us fades away as I hold her gaze. The music slows, or maybe it's just my perception of time stretching out like molasses. Sofia's breath catches, her lips parting slightly. I'm acutely aware of every point where our bodies touch—my hand on the small of her back, her fingers gripping my shoulder, our chests nearly brushing with each breath.
I lean in, drawn by an invisible force. Her eyelids flutter, and for a moment, I think she might meet me halfway. The air between us is charged, heavy with possibility. I can almost taste her lips, feel the softness of them against mine.
But at the last second, Sofia turns her head. Her cheek brushes against mine, sending a jolt through my body.
"This marriage is on paper only, Vladimir," she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. "Don't forget that."
She steps back, breaking our embrace. The loss of contact is like a physical ache. Sofia's eyes are guarded once more, her posture in control as she smooths down her dress.
"I agreed to this union for my family's sake," she says, her tone clipped. "Nothing more. Don't mistake duty for desire."
I clench my jaw, frustration warring with admiration for her resolve. "You can tell yourself that all you want, Sofia. But we both know there's more here than just duty."
She meets my gaze, her green eyes flashing with defiance. "Believe what you want. It doesn't change anything."
I watch Sofia retreat, her strands of hair swaying with each determined step. My hands clench at my sides, itching to pull her back into my arms. The desire to chase after her, to finish what we started, burns through my veins. But I can't. Not here, not now, with both our families watching our every move.
I don’t want to cause a scene, even though every fiber of my being is urging me to claim her.
As the party continues around us, I keep Sofia in my periphery. She mingles effortlessly, all graceful movements and polite smiles. But I see the way her eyes dart to me when she thinks I'm not looking, and how much of an effort she makes to ignore me when she knows I am.
"You're staring," Nikolai, Sofia's brother, remarks as he sidles up to me.
I take a swig of vodka. "Am I?"
He chuckles. "My sister's a tough nut to crack. But if anyone can do it, it's you, Zolotov."
I nod, my resolve solidifying. "She may think this is just a paper marriage, but I intend to make it real. Very real."
Nikolai claps me on the shoulder. "Good luck, Brother. You'll need it."