Chapter 5Elena
5
Elena
I ’m not sure why, but I expected a courthouse, a rushed signature, and maybe a handshake. Instead, I’m wearing a silk dress that isn’t mine, standing in a grand, dimly lit room filled with men who could kill with a look.
Damir’s palm settles against the small of my back, warm and heavy through the silk of my dress. His fingers splay possessively, anchoring me to him as he guides me forward. The pressure is gentle but unmistakable. There is no hesitation in his touch, no uncertainty. I am almost his now, at least on paper.
The officiant, an older man with a grim expression and dead eyes, stands before us. His suit is impeccable, but there’s nothing warm about him. No smile. No congratulations. Just business.
“State your full name,” he instructs me, his voice flat.
“Elena Sofia Clarke,” I respond, my voice sounding small in the cavernous room.
“And you?” He looks at Damir.
“Damir Alexander Antonov,” my soon-to-be husband says, his accent thickening the words, making them sound like a command rather than a statement.
The ceremony, if you could call it that, proceeds with mechanical efficiency. No promises of love or devotion. No “‘til death do us part.” Just legal statements and signatures. The scratch of pen on paper sounds unnaturally loud.
“Sign here,” indicates the officiant, sliding the document toward me. “And here. Initial here.”
Damir’s hand never leaves my back, a constant reminder of why I’m here and what this arrangement truly is. Liv is silent nearby, my only witness and support system.
“It’s done,” announces the officiant after collecting our signatures, closing his leather portfolio with a snap that echoes like a jail cell locking. “The marriage is legally binding.”
No “You may kiss the bride.” No rice throwing or cheerful music. Just business concluded between powerful men, with me as the commodity being transferred.
The moment I sign the marriage certificate, I feel the pressure of a choice that was never really mine. His men offer congratulations, voices low and clipped, but Damir doesn’t say a word. He simply watches me, eyes knowing. Liv also watches with sympathy.
My fingers tremble, but I don’t let him see. If I’m going to survive this, I can’t show weakness. Not to him or anyone. Yet, I can’t deny a pull. Despite his possessiveness, I feel safe around him. Protected. Something I’ve never experienced with anyone else, and I don’t know how to process it.
The dress hugs my body like a second skin. It’s ivory silk that whispers against my legs when I move. It’s simple but elegant, with a modest neckline and cap sleeves. Nothing like the poufy monstrosity I’d dreamed of as a little girl, but then again, nothing about this wedding resembles those childhood fantasies.
“You okay?” whispers Liv, squeezing my hand. She stands beside me in her own deep burgundy dress that complements her warm skin tone. The only familiar face in a sea of strangers. When I showed up with her in tow, I saw Damir’s mouth tighten, but he’d registered no protest at my unexpected plus-one.
I nod, not trusting my voice. Six days ago, I agreed to marry a man I barely know to save my medical career. Now I’m Mrs. Antonova, at least on paper.
Damir turns to me, his expression unreadable. “It’s done.”
Two simple words that seal my fate. I search his face for... something. Regret? Satisfaction? I find neither. Just cool assessment, as if he’s calculating my worth in this transaction.
A tall man with a jagged scar across his right cheek approaches us. “Congratulations, Pakhan .” He nods at me. “Mrs. Antonova.”
The title makes me tremble. Mrs. Antonova. Not Dr. Clarke, the identity I’ve been working toward for years. Mrs. Antonova, wife of a man who commands respect through fear.
“Thank you, Viktor,” says Damir, his voice deep and smooth.
More men approach, offering brief congratulations. Their words blur together, names I’ll never remember attached to faces I hope never to see again. I smile and nod, playing my part in this charade.
“The car is ready,” a broad-shouldered man informs Damir. “Security is in place at the hotel.”
Damir nods, his hand returning to my lower back. “Let’s go.”
I follow him through the room, past the rows of chairs filled with his associates. No family on either side. No friends except for Liv, who trails behind us. The space is elegant, with dark wood paneling, crystal chandeliers creating a warm glow, and fresh flowers arranged tastefully on pedestals. It could be beautiful if it weren’t so suffocating.
Outside, a sleek black limousine waits. A driver opens the door, and Damir gestures for me to enter first. I slide across the leather seat, the silk dress riding up slightly. I tug it down, hyperaware of my every movement.
Liv climbs in after me, followed by Damir. The door closes with a solid thunk, sealing us in together.
“You did great,” says Liv, squeezing my hand again.
I manage a weak smile. “Thanks for being here.”
“Where else would I be?” She glances at Damir, who sits across from us, his long legs stretched out, taking up more than his share of space. “Though I have to say, when you told me you were getting married, this isn’t exactly what I pictured.”
“Me neither.”
Damir watches our exchange, his expression neutral. “The reception will be brief. Just a formality to introduce you to the necessary people.”
“Necessary people?” I ask.
“Business associates. Allies. Frenemies.” He straightens his already perfect tie. “It’s important they see this is legitimate.”
The federal investigation. Right. That’s why I’m here, wearing borrowed finery and a wedding band that feels like a shackle. I’m his alibi, his shield against prosecution. “And what exactly am I supposed to say to these people?” I ask.
“As little as possible. They know what they need to know.”
“Which is?”
“That we met at the hospital while I was visiting Anton. That we had an immediate connection, and we decided not to wait.”
A fairy tale romance, minus the romance. I wonder if anyone actually believes it. “And if they ask for details?”
His gaze meets mine. “You’re a smart woman, Elena. I’m sure you can manage.”
The drive to the hotel takes twenty minutes. No one speaks. Liv fidgets with her clutch purse, Damir stares out the window, and I try to remember how to breathe normally. When we arrive, more security men in dark suits flank our path from the car to a private elevator.
“Is all this really necessary?” I whisper to Damir as we step inside.
“Yes.” No explanation. Just absolute certainty.
The elevator opens directly into a ballroom. Unlike the intimate ceremony space, this room is bright and airy, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Round tables draped in white linen dot the polished floor. A small orchestra plays classical music in one corner. Waiters circulate with champagne and hors d’oeuvres. It’s elegant. expensive, and completely overwhelming.
“Remember to smile,” murmurs Damir, his lips close to my ear. “These people respect power, not weakness.”
I paste on my best fake smile, the one I use with difficult patients. “Like this?”
Something flickers in his eyes—amusement, perhaps. “Perfect.”
We’re immediately surrounded by well-wishers. Men in expensive suits and women dripping in jewels. They kiss my cheeks and offer congratulations in various accents. Russian, Italian, American, and something Eastern European I can’t place. I smile until my face hurts.
“Damir, you sly dog,” says a portly man with a thick mustache, clapping him on the shoulder, “Keeping such a beauty secret.”
“Some treasures are best kept private, Ivan,” says Damir smoothly.
Treasure. As if I’m a possession, a thing to be acquired and displayed. I swallow my irritation and accept a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.
“So, tell me,” says a woman with platinum blonde hair dyed to dark roots and crimson lips , eyeing me up and down, “How did you manage to capture our elusive Damir?”
I take a sip of champagne, buying time. “I guess I got lucky.”
She laughs, and the sound is like breaking glass. “Luck had nothing to do with it, I’m sure.”
Before I can respond, another woman joins us. She’s older, maybe mid-forties, with dark hair swept into an elegant updo and sharp, intelligent eyes.
“Carletta.” Damir acknowledges her with a nod.
“Damir.” She turns to me. “So this is the bride. I’m Carletta Morento.”
I recognize the name from conversations I’ve overheard. She’s connected to one of the Italian families. “Elena,” I say, offering my hand.
She takes it, her grip firm. “How are you holding up? Being paraded among the families for the requisite gawking can’t be easy.”
I blink, surprised by her bluntness. “I’m...managing.”
“I’m sure you are.” She studies me with those shrewd eyes. “You’re not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“The usual type. Beautiful but empty. Arm candy.” She sips her drink. “You have substance. Interesting choice, Damir.”
I’m not sure if I’ve been complimented or insulted. “Thank you?”
She smiles, and it transforms her face, softening the sharp edges. “It wasn’t a criticism. Just an observation.”
Damir’s hand rests on my waist again, a subtle reminder of his presence. “Elena is finishing medical school.”
“A doctor?” Carletta raises an eyebrow. “Now that is interesting.”
“Surgery,” I say, finding my voice. This, at least, is familiar territory. “I’m in my final year.”
“Brave and smart. You’ll need both in this world.” She glances at Damir. “I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, my dear.”
With that cryptic comment, she moves on, disappearing into the crowd.
“What did she mean by that?” I ask Damir.
“Carletta enjoys being mysterious.” He guides me toward another group. “Don’t let her get to you.”
The next hour passes in a blur of introductions and small talk. I stick to the script—we met at the hospital, fell hard and fast, and decided not to wait. No one questions it openly, though I catch speculative glances and whispered conversations that stop when we approach.
Liv stays close, a buffer between me and this strange new world. When Damir is pulled away for a conversation with several stern-looking men, she tugs me toward the bar. “This is insane,” she says, ordering two more champagnes. “These people aren’t normal.”
“Tell me about it.” I accept the fresh glass gratefully. “What have I done, Liv?”
“You’ve survived.” She squeezes my arm. “And it’s only for six months, remember? Then you can divorce his scary ass and go back to being Dr. Clarke.”
Six months. It sounds like a lifetime.
“I don’t belong here,” I whisper.
“No one does. Look at them.” She nods toward the crowd. “They’re all playing parts. The tough guys, the trophy wives. It’s all an act.”
I’m not so sure. The danger in this room feels real enough.
“Mrs. Antonova.” A deep voice interrupts our conversation. I turn to find Anton. He looks better than the last time I saw him when Dr. Patel discharged him to home care four days ago, though he’s still pale. “The first dance is about to begin.”
My stomach drops. “Dance?”
“It’s tradition,” he says, not unkindly. “The bride and groom open the floor.”
I look to Liv in panic. She gives me an encouraging nod. “You’ve got this. Just don’t step on his toes.”
Easy for her to say. I haven’t danced since my senior prom, and that was with a friend. He’d been my lab partner in biology and was a gangly guy, who was just as awkward as me, We’d both had two left feet and spent most of the night stepping on each other’s toes.
Anton leads me back to Damir, who stands near the orchestra. The music shifts, transitioning to something slow and romantic. The crowd parts, forming a circle around the dance floor.
“I should have warned you,” says Damir as he takes my hand. “This is expected.”
“A lot of things about today were unexpected,” I say.
His lips quirk, almost a smile. “Fair point.”
He leads me to the center of the floor, one hand on my waist, the other holding mine. The orchestra begins to play something classical that I vaguely recognize.
“I’m not much of a dancer.”
“Just follow my lead.”
And surprisingly, I do. Damir moves with the same confidence he does everything else, guiding me across the floor in smooth, measured steps. His hand is warm against my back, his body close enough that I catch the scent of his cologne. “You’re doing fine,” he murmurs.
I look up at him, really look at him for the first time today. He’s handsome in a severe way. His dark suit fits him perfectly, emphasizing broad shoulders and a trim waist. “Why all this?” I ask quietly. “The ceremony, the reception. Wouldn’t it have been easier to just sign the papers?”
“Appearances matter in my world. A courthouse wedding would raise questions, but this silences them.”
“It’s a lot of trouble for a fake marriage.”
His hand tightens slightly on my waist. “Is it fake? The certificate is real. The vows were real.”
“You know what I mean.”
He spins me gently, bringing me back against his chest. “Yes, I do, but others don’t need to know our arrangement.”
The music swells, and other couples join us on the floor. I spot Carletta dancing with a tall, distinguished man, watching us over his shoulder. “Everyone’s staring.”
“Let them.” Damir’s voice is low and intimate. “They’re curious about the woman who captured my attention.”
“Is that what I did?”
His gaze holds mine. “You know you did.”
Heat rises to my cheeks, and I look away. This is dangerous territory. I can’t forget this is a business arrangement and nothing more. The fact that my body responds to his proximity is irrelevant. Chemical and biological, but nothing to do with emotion.
The music ends, and I step back quickly, breaking contact. “Thank you for the dance.”
He inclines his head. “The pleasure was mine.”
I retreat to the edge of the dance floor, where Liv waits with a fresh glass of champagne. “That looked cozy,” she comments.
“It wasn’t.” I take a long sip. “It’s all for show, remember?”
“Mmhmm.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “Well, your fake husband sure knows how to throw a real party.”
I glance around the room, at the elegant decorations, the expensive food and drink, and the orchestra. “It’s not exactly how I pictured my wedding day.”
“No?” Liv bumps my shoulder gently. “What did little Elena dream of?”
“I don’t know. Something small but with a huge dress. Outdoors, maybe. With people who actually know and care about me, not a room full of strangers who look like they could order a hit on someone between appetizers.”
She snorts. “Fair point.”
“Dr. Clarke.” Anton appears at my side again. “Damir asked me to inform you the car is ready whenever you wish to leave.”
I glance at my watch, surprised to see it’s already past three. “Thank you, Anton. I think I’m ready now.”
He nods. “I’ll let him know.”
As Anton walks away, Liv gives me a significant look. “So, what happens now?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it’s your wedding night.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
“Stop it.” I swat her arm. “It’s not that kind of marriage, remember?”
“Right, right.” She doesn’t look convinced. “Just be careful, okay? This whole situation is weird.”
“Trust me, I know.” I spot Damir making his way toward us. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You better.” She hugs me tightly. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Damir reaches us as Liv steps back. “Ready?”
I nod. “Yes.”
He offers his arm, and I take it, playing the part of the adoring bride one last time. We make our way through the crowd, accepting final congratulations and well-wishes. At the elevator, he presses the button for the lobby.
Outside, two identical black SUVs wait. Damir guides me to the first one, opening the door. “Let’s go home. It’s been a long day.”
I pause before getting in, and he follows me a second later. “Thank you for the tuition and for keeping your word.”
Something flickers in his eyes. It might be surprise, but I don’t want to assume anything. “I always keep my word,” he mutters.
As the door closes and the vehicle pulls away from the curb, I say, “That will be a new experience,” under my breath. My thoughts turn to Casey as rage roils through me for a few seconds. It’s the brush of his hand against my thigh that scatters the thoughts, but he’s just shifting to get his phone.
My husband. For the next six months.
I twist the simple platinum band on my finger, already feeling its unfamiliar weight. Six months. I can do this. I have to.
The SUV merges into traffic, carrying us back to his penthouse. Six months suddenly feels like a very long time.