52. Emil
EMIL
The estate is absolute chaos.
Staff members rush past me in the hallway, carrying flower arrangements and boxes of decorations.
Someone nearly collides with me while hauling a massive ice sculpture toward the loading dock.
The kitchen is in full production mode, preparing food that will be transported to the church reception hall.
Voices call out instructions, phones ring constantly, and the energy is frantic.
Today is the day. Our wedding day.
I've been in my office most of the morning, staying out of the way while the staff coordinates the final details.
Luca has been managing the security arrangements, ensuring that every entrance to the church is covered, every guest vetted, and every possible threat neutralized. We're not taking any chances.
A soft knock on my office door pulls me from my thoughts. One of the household staff, a young woman, stands in the doorway with a folded piece of paper in her hand.
"Pakhan," she says, her voice slightly breathless. "Miss Walker asked me to give this to you."
I take the note, my gut immediately twisting. Kiera has been holed up in her room all morning, and I haven't seen her since breakfast. I assumed she was getting ready, working with the hair and makeup people I'd hired. But now, with this note in my hand, anxiety spikes through me.
Does she want to call it off? Has she changed her mind?
I unfold the paper and read her handwriting.
Can you come to my room? I need to see you.—K
Short. Simple. Giving nothing away.
I'm on my feet before I consciously decide to move, striding out of my office and down the hallway toward her bedroom. My heart pounds so hard it echoes in my ears. The thought of Kiera wanting to back out of this wedding forces its way into my mind and won't let go.
When I reach her door, I knock once and wait.
"Come in," her voice calls from inside.
I open the door and step into her room, bracing myself for whatever I'm about to face. But when I see her, the anxiety doesn't ease. It transforms into confusion.
She's standing in the middle of the room wearing gray sweatpants and a long white T-shirt.
Her face is bare of makeup, and she's barefoot on the plush carpet.
But she doesn't look angry. She doesn't look like someone about to call off a wedding.
If anything, she looks nervous. Excited, even.
Her blue eyes are bright, and there's a flush on her cheeks.
"Hi," she says.
"Hi," I reply, closing the door behind me. "Your note said you needed to see me."
"I do." She gestures for me to come further into the room, and I notice her hands are shaking slightly. "I have something for you."
She moves to her closet and pulls out a black garment bag, the kind used for protecting expensive suits. She carries it over to me with careful hands, like it's something precious, and holds it out.
I take it, confused. "What is this?"
"Open it," she says, gnawing on her bottom lip in that way she does when she's anxious about something.
I lay the garment bag on her bed and slowly unzip it.
Inside is a suit, a beautiful, perfectly tailored suit in a deep charcoal gray that's almost black.
The fabric is exquisite, something I recognize as high-end even at a glance.
The cut is modern but classic, with subtle details that elevate it beyond anything I could buy off a rack.
I run my fingers over the jacket, feeling the quality of the material, noticing the hand-stitched buttonholes and the silk lining inside. This isn't just any suit. This is a work of art.
And then it hits me. I look up at Kiera, my eyes wide. "You made this."
It's not a question. I can see it in the way she's watching me, in the nervous energy radiating off her, in the pride and fear mixing in her expression.
"I did," she says quietly. "I've been working on it for weeks. Ever since I designed it that day after the wedding planner disaster." She takes a step closer, her hands twisting together. "I wanted you to have something special. Something that was just from me."
My throat feels tight. I look back down at the suit, seeing it with new eyes. Every stitch, every seam, every carefully chosen detail. She made this for me. With her own hands.
"Will you wear it?" she asks, and there's vulnerability in her voice that makes my chest ache. "Today, I mean. To the wedding."
I look at her, this woman who's about to become my wife, who's carrying my child, who somehow found time between everything else to create something this beautiful just for me. Something no one else could give me because it came from her.
"Yes," I say, my voice rough with emotion. "Thank you. It's beautiful."
Her face lights up with a smile that takes my breath away. "Really? You like it?"
"I love it." The words come out before I can stop them, and I realize I mean them.
Not just about the suit, but also a silent admission about my feelings for Kiera.
I love her. My stomach knots but just as quickly eases.
A weight seems to fall off my shoulders.
Like admitting, if even to myself, that I love this woman takes away a lot of the tension and anxiety I've been feeling for a while.
She steps forward and rises on her toes to kiss me, soft and sweet. "I'm glad. Now get out of here so I can finish getting ready. You're not supposed to see me before the wedding."
I smile against her lips. "Pretty sure that rule doesn't apply when the bride summons the groom to her room."
"Semantics," she says, pushing gently at my chest. "Go. I'll see you at the church."
I gather the garment bag and head for the door, but I pause before leaving. "Kiera?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. Really."
She smiles, and it's the most genuine, unguarded expression I've seen on her face in months. "You're welcome."
Two hours later, I'm standing at the altar of the small church on the outskirts of town wearing the suit Kiera made for me.
Luca stands beside me as my best man, looking uncomfortable in his formal attire but alert as always.
The church is filled with people, a mix of my organization's key members and Kiera's friends and family.
Security is everywhere, discreet but present.
The music changes, and everyone stands as the doors at the back of the church open, and my breath catches in my throat.
Kiera appears, flanked by all four of her brothers. Kevin and Jack are on her right, Devin and Kaleb on her left. They're all wearing matching dark suits, their expressions a mixture of pride and protectiveness as they prepare to walk their sister down the aisle.
But I barely register them. All I can see is Kiera.
She's wearing a gown that makes her look like something out of a dream.
The dress is ivory silk that flows like water, fitted through her torso and hips before falling in soft waves to the floor.
The neckline is elegant, showing just enough skin to be enticing without being inappropriate.
The sleeves are long and delicate, made of sheer lace that matches the intricate detailing on the bodice.
Her small baby bump is visible but not prominent, just a gentle curve that makes my chest swell with pride, protectiveness, and love.
But it's not just the beauty of the dress that stops my heart.
It's the realization that hits me as she starts walking down the aisle.
She made this too. This gown, this stunning, perfect gown that fits her like it was painted on, that moves with her like it's part of her.
She designed it. She created it. Just like she created my suit.
Our wedding attire is entirely her work. Her vision. Her talent.
As she gets closer, I can see the details more clearly. The tiny beads sewn into the lace. The way the silk catches the light. The perfect drape of the fabric. Every element is flawless, professional, the work of someone with real skill and artistry.
She's not just beautiful. She's brilliant. And soon to be officially mine.
When she reaches the altar, her brothers each kiss her cheek before stepping back to take their seats. She turns to face me, and the smile on her face makes my heart stutter in my chest.
"Hi," she whispers.
"Hi," I whisper back. "You look incredible."
"So do you." Her eyes travel over the suit she made, and I see satisfaction and pride in her expression. "It fits perfectly."
"Everything fits perfectly," I say, and I'm not just talking about the clothes.
The ceremony passes in a blur. I hear the words, say my vows, and slide the ring onto her finger. But all I'm really aware of is Kiera. The way she looks at me. The way her hand trembles slightly in mine. The way she says "I do" with conviction that makes something settle deep in my chest.
And then the priest says, "You may kiss your bride."
I cup her face in my hands and kiss her, slow and deep, pouring everything I feel into it. The church erupts in applause, but I barely hear it. All that matters is this woman in my arms, this woman who's now my wife.
When we finally break apart, she's smiling up at me with tears in her eyes. "We did it," she says.
"We did," I agree. "You're stuck with me now."
"I can think of worse fates," she says, and there's warmth in her voice that makes me believe she means it.
The reception is a success, from what I can tell. People eat, drink, dance, and celebrate. Kiera is radiant, moving through the crowd with grace, accepting congratulations and compliments on her dress. I stay close to her, one hand always on her back or her waist, unable to stop touching her.
But as the evening wears on, I find myself getting impatient. I want to be alone with my wife. I want to take her home and show her exactly how much this day means to me.
Finally, after what feels like hours, we're able to slip away. Luca has the car ready, and we drive back to the estate under heavy security. Kiera leans against me in the back seat, her head on my shoulder, her hand resting on her small bump.
"Tired?" I ask.
"A little," she admits. "But happy."
"Good."
When we arrive at the estate, I dismiss the staff for the evening. They've been working nonstop for days, and they deserve rest. Besides, I want privacy. Complete privacy.
I lead Kiera upstairs to my suite, the one with the private pool that's now officially our suite. Inside, I close and lock the door behind us. Kiera turns to face me, and the look in her eyes makes my cock twitch.
"Help me with this?" she asks, turning to show me the row of tiny buttons running down the back of her dress.
I step closer, my fingers finding the first button. "You made this incredibly difficult to get out of," I murmur.
"I know." There's amusement in her voice. "I wanted it to be special."
"You succeeded." I work the buttons slowly, revealing inch by inch of her smooth skin. "You're incredibly talented, Kiera."
She shivers as my fingers brush her spine. "I'm glad you think so."
When I finally get the last button undone, the dress slides off her shoulders and pools at her feet. She's wearing white lace underneath, delicate and feminine, and my mouth goes dry at the sight of her.
Her body has changed over the past months. Her breasts are fuller, her hips slightly rounder, and the small bump of our baby is visible now. She's never been more beautiful.
I pull her against me, my hands spanning her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin lace. "My wife," I murmur against her neck.
"Your wife," she agrees, tilting her head to give me better access.
I kiss along her throat, down to her collarbone, tasting her skin. She makes a soft sound that goes straight to my cock, and I'm suddenly desperate to have her, to claim her completely as mine.
I lift her easily, carrying her to the bed. She wraps her legs around my waist, her arms around my neck, kissing me with a hunger that matches my own. When I lay her down on the mattress, she immediately starts working on my tie, pulling it loose and tossing it aside.
"This suit is too nice to wrinkle," she says, her fingers moving to my buttons.
"Then help me get it off."
We work together, stripping away my clothes until I'm down to just my boxer briefs. Her hands roam over my chest, tracing the tattoos that cover my skin, and I shudder at her touch.
I hook my fingers in the waistband of her lace panties and slide them down her legs, revealing her completely. She's already wet, ready for me, and the sight makes my cock throb with need.
I settle between her thighs, kissing her deeply as I position myself at her entrance. She's so warm, so perfect, and when I push inside her, we both groan at the sensation.
"Emil," she breathes, her nails digging into my shoulders.
I start to move, slow and deep, savoring every inch of her. Her body accepts me perfectly, clenching around me in perfect rhythm. I brace myself on my forearms, looking down at her face as I thrust.
Her eyes are half-closed, lips parted, and cheeks flushed with pleasure. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"Harder," she whispers.
I oblige, increasing my pace, driving into her with more force. The bed rocks beneath us, and she arches up to meet each thrust, her breasts bouncing with the movement. I lean down to capture one nipple in my mouth, sucking hard, and she cries out.
"Yes," she gasps. "Just like that."
I can feel her getting close, her inner walls fluttering around my cock. I reach between us, finding her clit and rubbing in tight circles. She comes with a sharp cry, her whole body tensing and shaking beneath me.
The sensation of her orgasm pushes me over the edge. I thrust deep one last time and let go, spilling inside her with a groan that comes from deep in my chest.
We stay locked together for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat. Finally, I roll to the side, pulling her with me so she's draped across my chest.
"That was a pretty good wedding night," she says, her voice drowsy.
I laugh, running my fingers through her hair. "Just pretty good?"
"Okay, really good." She tilts her head up to look at me, and there's something soft in her expression. Something that looks almost like love. "Thank you for today. For everything."
"Thank you," I say, meaning it. "For the suit. For the dress. For saying yes."
She smiles and settles back against my chest, her hand resting over my heart. Within minutes, her breathing evens out and she's asleep.
I lie there in the darkness, holding my wife, feeling our child growing between us, and for the first time in my life, I feel complete.