Chapter 13
OLLIE
Our home buzzes with excitement, cameras flashing.
Staff walk about quickly, readying everything and everyone for the big event.
If this were thirty years ago, we’d have newspaper staff with wide, flashing bulbs and microphones shoved under our noses.
Instead, we’ve got well-dressed influencers with impeccable hair and perfectly white teeth snapping photos and taking selfies on our lawn.
This is what we want. What we need. The more attention we get, the better.
I hate every second of this show, every empty smile and flashing camera.
Renata stands radiant, her lace gown clinging to her every curve, a queen in her own right, commanding the room without a word.
Her dark skin contrasts with the stark white of the gown, lending an exotic air to her beauty.
A sparkling tiara twinkles under the overhead lighting, like an elegant halo crowning her head.
She smiles for the photographers, her makeup perfect thanks to Harper, hiding the exhaustion and stress of the past few days gracefully.
I stand next to her, pride swelling in my chest, even as I grit my teeth.
We wanted this wedding to be a public spectacle, to draw the attention of dignitaries and leaders from everywhere.
We scrutinized every detail, every move watched, and intentionally put out feelers for everyone, but we did it quickly.
It worked. So many people are here, I can't name them all. Social media is buzzing with the news, again thanks to Harper.
Renata’s personal guard, a new guy, leans in close to adjust her train. Heat pulses in my veins.
"Get your fucking hands off of her before I break them. Don't touch her."
He has the audacity to give me a dirty look. Pursing his lips, he mutters something under his breath to Renata. She pales.
"Want to repeat that again in front of me?" I ask him.
“Ollie,” she says. "It's nothing. Don’t cause a scene. If we didn’t have a billion people in front of us with cameras, I’d slap him myself.”
I reach for the guard and grab him by the collar. “What the fuck did you just say to her?"
“Ugh, predictable,” Renata mumbles under her breath, but her voice trembles and her eyes are wide.
I don’t give a shit.
I shake him. “Tell me what you said before I cut your fucking tongue out and make that the last thing you ever said.”
"I told her to enjoy it while it lasts," he grits out.
"Watch your fucking mouth," I growl, my voice low and dangerous. I shake him. "Show some respect for my wife. You’re dismissed as her guard. Report to Mikhail immediately.”
I shove him toward the door, take his picture, and text it to Mikhail.
If he comes near my wife again, I’ll kill him
Mikhail
My wife already, eh?
I text him back and tell him what happened.
My hand’s fucking shaking. I hate that I have to behave in front of the cameras.
Renata places a calming hand on my arm. "It's okay, he doesn't matter, Ollie. He’s a stupid boy for crying out loud.”
"It does matter. You're going to be my wife in minutes. And they will all show you respect.”
The guard turns to me.
"She betrayed you. She betrayed all of us," the guard says. I swivel and strike. My fists move before I think, bone meeting bone, the sound of breaking flesh music to my fucking ears. I caught him off guard, so he doesn’t get a chance to block my blows. He falls to the ground.
"Get the fuck out of here. If I ever see you again, I'll kill you."
He scrambles to his feet and starts to run away.
"What the hell is going on here?" Mikhail says, coming around the corner.
I fill him in. Mikhail looks at the retreating back of the guard and makes his own call.
"Shake him down at the gate. I need to see him before he goes," he says quietly into the phone. He slides his phone in his pocket and turns to Renata with an apologetic look.
“I’m sorry about that. It won’t happen again.”
Renata shrugs but can’t hide the slight quiver of her jaw. “If I cared what any of you thought about me, I wouldn’t be here.”
I reach for her and cup her jaw, running my thumb along her cheek, leaving a streak of blood in its wake. Shit. I’ll need Harper to fix that. It feels oddly symbolic.
"Are you okay?" I ask her.
She stares me in the eyes, not flinching or pulling away. My hand still vibrates from hitting the bastard. She nods and swallows.
It's going to take some time for her to trust me, for her to know not to fear every touch of mine.
“Are you sure? I’m sorry.”
“I’ve always wanted a hot, jacked bad boy to defend my honor,” she says with a hint of a smile and dripping sarcasm. “Really, Ollie, I’m fine. If something like that is going to ruffle me, I don’t belong in this family.”
She isn’t wrong.
Wait. Did she just call me hot? I can’t help but give her a self-satisfied smirk.
The ceremony is brief. Utilitarian. I hope for something meaningful when the older orthodox priest Mikhail arranged to marry us talks about love and marriage and commitment, but truthfully…
I don't. All I'm doing is scanning the crowd, looking for any sign of disturbance.
I half expect Carlos to come marching in with a machine gun, sending people running everywhere.
But he doesn't, and they don't. I'm so distracted, but the ceremony marches on.
Until we get to our vows.
"Take this woman…" The priest's voice is warm, reverent. His bushy gray beard reminds me of a painting of Moses I once saw in Italy.
I swallow hard and meet Renata’s eyes. "I do," I say softly when the time is right. Her eyes widen as if surprised. I can’t help it. I feel it, too, as if the brief vow in the end is more than words but an incantation that stirs something magical.
"Renata," the priest begins. His voice carries the weight of tradition and authority. Our guests fall into a hushed silence. I cup her hands with mine. Her pouty lips part slightly as she draws in a breath.
"Are you coming here of your own free will and accord?
" he asks, holding her gaze. What the fuck?
Did he add that? I give him a sharp look, and the crowd behind us gives a collective gasp.
I can feel Mikhail getting to his feet, and someone racks the slide of their gun.
Mom speaks in a hushed, vehement whisper as if that will stop any of my brothers.
But Renata only looks at me, holding my gaze with her chin thrust in the air. "I am," she says.
He continues.
“Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health until death do you part?”
Her gaze locks onto mine, and in that moment, the world fades. The seconds stretch into what feels like hours as the world grows so small, it’s just the two of us in that brief stretch of time.
"I do," she finally says, her voice steady and clear. The words resonate, filling the space between us.
As he continues, binding our vows, I hold her hand, and our eyes lock.
She’s mine, now and forever.
The ceremony passes quickly, followed by the festivities I don’t fucking care about. I want her alone.
Finally, much later at night, when the guests leave and the grand hall is silent, I take her by the hand and lead her away to the garden. I want to savor my bride, wrapped in white, a vision of beauty and strength. Mine to have. Mine to protect. Mine to hold.
Mine.
Moonlight casts a silver glow over the hedges and blooming flowers.
“It feels almost enchanted here, doesn’t it?”
I can’t help but smile and shrug a shoulder. “Yeah.” I’m not the poetic words kind of guy, but she’s right. There’s something about the garden after a ceremony, filtered with moonlight and dusk, that feels as if magic is about to happen.
“I half expect a fairy to land on one of the flowers,” she whispers.
She shivers when the wind brushes her bare shoulders. I shrug out of my jacket instinctively and wrap it around her arms.
“Nice,” she says with a teasing glint in her eyes. “Will you pay for dinner and hold the door open for me too?”
I grunt. “Obviously. Anywhere you want to go now that the wedding’s over?" I ask her.
"Wow," she says with a smirk. "Is this just an illusion of choice, or are you actually asking me?"
I give her a sheepish smile and shrug my shoulders. "Illusion.”
She laughs out loud. "That's what I thought," she says.
"Well, pretending for a moment it’s actually a choice, I would like to go somewhere far away from all of this," she says, gesturing to our surroundings.
"Somewhere safe though." She looks up at the sky and sighs.
"Do you think it will ever end? The constant danger, the fear? "
“Fear?” I repeat. “I’m not afraid. Are you?”
She tips her head to the side and gives me a curious look. "Of course. I feel him everywhere. As if Carlos is lurking in every shadow, ready to strike. Do you mean to tell me you don't feel fear?"
I stifle a growl. “I wish Carlos would jump out from behind something. I’d love a chance to spill his blood on my family’s property and wring an apology out of him.”
Her eyes widen slightly, but she only swallows and nods.
Accepting me. Accepting us. I put my arm around her shoulder and draw her closer.
"I do fear some things, but not Carlos or his posse. Mostly, I just feel anger. I’m counting down the minutes until I get Carlos in front of me.
First, I’ll make him pay for giving you that scar.
Then, beat him to death so you know without a doubt he will never hurt you again.
I relish the day I get to feel his pulse leave his body. ”
That smile plays on her lips, and her eyes look a little guarded. "In truth, Ollie, I know you could. And that kind of terrifies me a little bit."
“It’s not about could, Renata, but when.” I tighten my arm on her shoulder.
She’s quiet for long moments. “Then what do you fear?”
"I was afraid when you were gone. I was afraid I’d never get you back."