45. Forty-Five #2
Arrow didn’t do fear. He didn’t do vulnerability. But here he was, laid bare because he’d been terrified of losing me.
“You should have told me sooner,” I said, my voice breaking. “Before I fell in love with you.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them. Arrow went perfectly still, his eyes widening slightly—the most unguarded expression I’d ever seen on his face.
“What did you say?” he whispered, his thumb brushing away a tear from my cheek.
I could have taken it back. Could have pretended I hadn’t just exposed the most vulnerable part of myself to the most dangerous man I knew. Instead, I met his gaze defiantly.
“I said you should have told me before I fell in love with you,” I repeated, my voice stronger this time. “But it’s too late for that now.”
Arrow’s expression shifted, something fierce and possessive flashing in his eyes. “Say it again,” he demanded, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that made my skin prickle. “Just that part.”
“I love you,” I whispered, the words both surrender and defiance. “God help me, but I do.”
He crushed his mouth to mine, swallowing my confession in a kiss that felt like claiming, like promise, like salvation.
His hands tangled in my hair, uncaring of the hours the stylists had spent perfecting it.
I clutched at his shoulders, his back, needing him closer, needing to erase any space between us.
His lips burned against mine, desperate and demanding. When he pulled away, his eyes were wild, a storm of emotions.
“You love me,” he repeated, like he was testing the words, seeing how they tasted on his tongue.
“Yes,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected. “And I hate that I do.”
He laughed, the sound raw and real. “Of course you do. We’re not built for simple emotions, are we?
” His thumb traced my lower lip. “I’ve wanted you since the night I watched you put a knife to Dante Ricci’s throat at that charity gala.
You were eighteen, wearing a dress that made you look like sin incarnate, and he put his hands where they didn’t belong. ”
I remembered that night—remembered the rush of power when I’d pressed the blade against Dante’s jugular, the way his eyes had widened in shock that Giovanni Virelli’s delicate daughter would dare threaten him.
“You saw that?” I whispered.
“I saw everything,” Arrow said, his hands framing my face. “Every time you defied your father. Every time you refused to be broken. Every time you chose to survive rather than surrender.”
I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity in his gaze. “And that’s why you wanted me? Because I was damaged enough to match your darkness?”
“No,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “Because you were strong enough to stand in it with me and not flinch away.”
I opened my eyes, searching his face. “My father will never stop trying to use me against you. Even after today.”
“Let him try,” Arrow said, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that made my skin prickle. “You’re mine now. And I protect what’s mine.”
The possessiveness wrapped around me like armor, like shelter in a storm.
“What now?” I asked, acutely aware that we were standing in a preparation room, hours before our wedding, with my hair half-ruined and my makeup streaked with tears.
Arrow’s thumbs wiped away the moisture on my cheeks. “Now you decide. Knowing everything—about your mother, about why I pursued this marriage—do you still want to go through with it?”
I stared at him, this man who had watched my mother die, who had kept a promise to her for years, who had claimed me in ways both brutal and tender. The man I hated. The man I loved.
“Yes,” I said firmly. “I still want to marry you. But no more secrets, Arrow. No more manipulating my life from the shadows. From now on, we face everything together.”
His smile was slow and dangerous, a predator who’d finally claimed his prey only to find she’d been hunting him all along. “Together,” he agreed, pressing his forehead against mine. “You and me against everyone else.”
I laughed. “I told you, I’m not running anymore.”
Not a lie to survive or a manipulation to gain advantage, but a truth that came from somewhere deeper than fear.
Arrow’s smile was like watching a predator decide you were worth keeping alive—terrifying and thrilling in equal measure. He kissed me again, gentler this time, his hand sliding to the back of my neck.
“I can’t wait to marry you,” he murmured against my lips.
I laughed despite myself, pulling back to examine the damage in the mirror. My carefully applied makeup was streaked with tears, mascara smudged beneath my eyes. “You should go,” I said, though I made no move to push him away. “Before Luna comes back and drags you out by your ear.”
He nodded, but his hands remained on my waist. “I’ll be waiting for you at the altar.”
“I’ll be the one in white,” I replied with a small smile.
Arrow’s expression grew serious. “Whatever your father has planned, whatever happens today—remember that you chose this. You chose me.”
“I chose us,” I corrected. “Against everyone else.”
When he finally left, I sank back into the stylist’s chair, emotionally drained but strangely at peace.
The revelation about my mother should have destroyed me, should have made me hate Arrow for keeping such a secret.
Instead, it had only confirmed what I’d begun to suspect—that beneath the violence and manipulation that defined our world, Arrow had been the one constant, the one person who had seen me clearly.
Luna returned with the stylists, her eyes widening at the state of my makeup. “Oh my God!” she gasped. “I see the conversation went well.”
I tried to stifle my laughter, but failed. “It was . . . informative.”
The stylist clucked her tongue, assessing the damage to my carefully applied makeup. “We’ll need to start over,” she sighed.
“Not completely,” Luna assured her. “Just touch up the eyes and lips. Maybe a little touch-up on the foundation.”
As the stylist went to work repairing my face, Luna perched on the edge of a nearby chair. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really,” I admitted. “But I’m okay. Better than okay, actually.”
Luna studied me, her eyes searching my face. “You look different.”
“Different how?”
“Lighter,” she decided. “Like you’ve put down something heavy you’ve been carrying.”
I smiled, careful not to move too much as the stylist dabbed at my eyes with makeup remover. “That’s exactly how it feels.”
After my makeup was repaired and my hair fixed, time seemed to speed up, minutes blurring together as I was helped into my dress, my veil arranged, my shoes fastened.
When everything was finally in place, Luna handed me a small gift bag. “From Arrow,” she said. “He asked me to give this to you now.”
I opened it to find a velvet jewelry box first. Inside the box were a pair of diamond earrings—not ostentatious, but elegant, with a single teardrop diamond dangling from each stud. I recognized them immediately. They were my mother’s.
“Something old,” Luna whispered.
“How did he get these?” My fingers trembled as I touched the delicate diamonds. I hadn’t seen them since my mother’s funeral, when my father had locked away all her belongings.
“Arrow has his ways,” Luna replied with a soft smile. “There’s more.”
I reached deeper into the bag and found a delicate diamond bracelet with an A charm. The silver gleamed in the light, catching prisms that danced across the ceiling.
“Something new,” Luna said, helping me secure it around my wrist.
Next was a lace handkerchief, edged in blue thread. “This was mine on my wedding day,” Luna explained, tucking it into my hand. “Something borrowed.”
The final item was a small sapphire pin shaped like a teardrop.
“And something blue,” Luna whispered, carefully pinning it to the underside of my dress where only I would know it was there.
“An old Romanov tradition. The women in their family have worn sapphires on their wedding day for generations.”
I felt tears threatening again and blinked them back.
“It’s time,” Frank announced from the doorway. “The cars are ready.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. This was it. In less than an hour, I would be Harlowe Romanov.
The ride to the cathedral passed in silence, the city streets blurring past the tinted windows. Frank sat across from me, his eyes constantly scanning for threats. Two black SUVs flanked our car, filled with security personnel.
When we pulled up to the cathedral, I could see the crowd that had gathered—not just wedding guests, but curious onlookers, journalists hoping for a glimpse of the union between two of New York’s most notorious families.
Frank pulled up to the back of the church, away from prying eyes.
The amount of security walking around in black was mindblowing.
“Ready?” Frank asked as the car stopped.
I nodded, gathering my courage along with my dress.
Frank and Luna escorted me inside the back entrance and into a room right outside the cathedral entrance.
The stylists touched up my makeup before placing my veil.
It was thin lace with tiny diamonds sewn into the fabric that caught the light.
Luna arranged it carefully over my face, the sheer material softening the world around me.
The veil trailed several feet behind my dress, the delicate material creating a ghostly tail behind me.
“Your father is waiting in the foyer,” Luna whispered. “He’s supposed to walk you down the aisle.”
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the confrontation. After everything he’d revealed about my mother, about his plans for me, the thought of having him escort me to Arrow felt like a betrayal of everything I’d chosen.
“I don’t want him to give me away,” I said firmly. “I’m not his to give.”
Luna’s eyes widened slightly, but she nodded. “What do you want to do?”