46. Forty-Six
FORTY-SIX
HARLOWE
The massive doors swung open, and the cathedral stretched before us. Hundreds of candles cast a golden glow over the gathered guests, illuminating the soaring arches and stained glass windows.
The organist began Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus,” and every head turned as I appeared in the doorway.
Vireeli’s on one side, Romanov’s on the other, and neutral parties scattered throughout like buffers in a war zone.
At the end of that long aisle, bathed in candlelight and looking more devastating than any man had a right to, stood Arrow.
My breath caught in my throat. He was dressed in a black tuxedo, the severe lines emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders.
His dark hair was styled away from his face, highlighting his sharp cheekbones.
As our eyes met across the cathedral, everything else fell away—the guests, the music, the weight of our expectations.
There was only Arrow waiting for me at the altar.
“Easy, Principessa,”* Frank murmured as we took our first steps. “No rushing.”
I hadn’t realized I was pulling him forward, eager to close the distance between Arrow and me.
I forced myself to slow down, to match the dignified pace Frank set.
As we moved down the aisle, I caught glimpses of familiar faces through my veil—Luna, radiant on the side I would stand, Atlas on the left of Arrow; next to Orion, standing tall despite what looked like a monstrous hangover.
My father sat in the front row on the Virelli side, his expression carved from stone as he watched me pass by on Frank’s arm rather than his own. The public rejection would cost me, I knew. But I was done playing by his rules.
But my eyes kept returning to Arrow, drawn to him like a compass finding north. His gaze never left mine, tracking my progress with an intensity that made my skin flush beneath my gown. The closer we got, the more I could see the emotion in his eyes.
When we reached the altar, Frank turned to me, lifting my veil just enough to kiss my cheek. “Be happy, little one,” he whispered, before placing my hand in Arrow’s. “Take care of her,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion.
“With my life,” Arrow promised, his fingers closing around mine.
As Frank stepped away to take his seat, Arrow leaned close. “You’re breathtaking. You look like something from a dream,” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear.
“A good dream or a nightmare?” I whispered back.
His smile was slow and dangerous. “The kind you never want to wake up from.”
The priest cleared his throat, drawing our attention forward. The ceremony began, words about love and commitment washing over me as Arrow’s thumb traced circles on my palm. I barely heard the priest’s words, too focused on the man beside me, on the weight of his hand in mine.
“Dearly beloved,” the priest intoned, “we are gathered here today to witness the union of Arrow Dante Romanov and Harlowe Evangelina Virelli in holy matrimony.”
I caught movement in my peripheral vision—security teams shifting positions, hands drifting toward concealed weapons. Even here, in this sacred space,
When the time came for our vows, Arrow turned to face me fully, lifting my veil with careful hands. The thin material whispered over my face, revealing me to him. His eyes darkened as they swept over me, drinking in every detail.
“I, Arrow Dante Romanov,” he began, his voice carrying.
“Take you, Harlowe Evangelina Virelli, to be my wife.” His voice was steady, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I vow to protect you, to cherish you, to stand with you against anyone who would harm you. I promise to be your shield, your sword, and your sanctuary. Where you go, I will follow. What you fight, I will destroy. What you love, I will defend. This is my solemn vow, today and for all days to come.”
My breath hitched. His vows weren’t traditional.
They were spoken from his heart. Raw. I took a deep breath and squeezed his hands, and cleared his throat.
“I, Harlowe Evangelina Virelli,” I began.
“Take you, Arrow Dante Romanov, to be my husband.” I paused.
“I choose you, knowing exactly who and what you are. I vow to stand beside you, not behind you. To fight with you, not against you—unless it’s in our bed,” I whispered so only he could hear.
“—to be your partner, your confidante, and your home. This is my choice, today, and for all days to come.”
Arrow’s eyes flickered with surprise. I’d just publicly declared myself his partner, not his possession. And distinction in the criminal underworld mattered. His pupils dilated, and his jaw tensed with barely contained emotion.
The priest continued with the ceremony. When the time came to exchange rings, Atlas stepped forward with the rings on a velvet cushion.
The Romanov family heirloom was a platinum band with a blood-red ruby at its center, flanked by two smaller diamonds.
The ring Arrow had chosen for me was an oval diamond on a platinum band, flanked by smaller rubies—a perfect complement to his, and not at all the ring I’d picked out when I was being a brat.
Arrow took my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “With this ring, I thee wed,” he said, sliding the band onto my finger. The diamond caught the candlelight, sending prisms dancing across his face. “I am yours, and you are mine. From this day forward, no one stands between us.”
I took his ring from Atlas, my fingers trembling slightly as I lifted it. “With this ring, I thee wed,” I echoed, sliding the band over his knuckle. “What is mine is now yours. My life, my loyalty, my love.”
The words felt both terrifying and liberating. I had never given myself so completely to anyone. Never chosen to belong to someone who had chosen me in return.
“By the power vested in me,” the priest declared, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
Arrow didn’t hesitate. He cupped my face with both hands, his touch reverent despite the violence I knew his hands were capable of.
His kiss was gentle at first, a whisper of promise, then deepened into something more possessive, more claiming.
I heard gasps from the congregation, the scrape of chairs as people stood, but I was lost in the moment.
The feeling of Arrow’s lips on mine, the weight of the rings on our fingers, the knowledge that we had done it.
We had united two warring families through nothing more than our own stubborn will.
When we broke apart, Arrow’s eyes were dark with promise. “Mrs. Romanov,” he murmured, the words sending a shiver down my spine.
“Mr. Romanov,” I replied with a smile that felt both dangerous and triumphant.
The congregation erupted in applause, though I noted my father remained seated, his expression unreadable. Arrow kept my hand firmly in his as we turned to face our audience—enemies, allies, and everyone in between.
As we walked back down the aisle together, I caught glimpses of familiar faces through the crowd.
Orion, looking more sobered up now and genuinely pleased.
Luna, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
Frank, standing tall and proud. And my father, watching us with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher.
The paparazzi had gathered outside the cathedral, their cameras flashing as we emerged into the afternoon sunlight. Arrow’s hand tightened protectively at my waist as his security team formed a barrier between the photographers and us.
“We’ll take the car around back,” Arrow murmured, guiding me toward a side exit where a black town car waited, engine running.
As we settled into the back seat, I leaned my head against Arrow’s shoulder, suddenly exhausted by the emotional weight of the day. His arm came around me, drawing me closer.
“You did it,” he said softly. “You became a Romanov in front of everyone.”
I looked down at the diamond on my finger, watching it catch the light. “It’s official,” I said, my voice barely audible above the hum of the engine. “I’m Harlowe Romanov now.”
Arrow’s fingers intertwined with mine, his thumb tracing the edge of my new ring. “How does it feel?”
I considered his question, searching for the right word. “Like I’ve finally come home,” I admitted, surprising myself with the truth of it.
The car pulled up to the reception venue—a grand hotel that had been closed to the public for our wedding. A red carpet stretched from the curb to the entrance, flanked by security personnel whose eyes never stopped scanning for threats.
“Ready?” Arrow asked, his hand warm at the small of my back.
I nodded, straightening my spine. The bride had arrived.
The ballroom had been transformed into something out of a dark fairytale.
Black crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting prisms of light across white marble floors.
Tables draped in black silk were arranged throughout the space, each centerpiece a cascade of blood-red roses and black calla lilies. It was elegant and dangerous, like us.
A small orchestra played in the corner as guests mingled, champagne flowing freely despite the early hour. I spotted Luna across the room, glowing in a blue dress that accommodated her growing belly. She caught my eye and raised her glass in a silent toast.
“You’re staring,” Arrow murmured, his lips brushing against my temple.
“I’m taking inventory,” I replied. “Counting enemies, allies, and the undecided.”
His laugh was low and appreciative. “That’s my wife.”
The word sent a shiver down my spine. Wife. I was his wife now. The word felt both foreign and right. I was Arrow Romanov’s wife. We were bound together by vows made in front of God and enemies alike.
“Let’s get you a drink,” Arrow said, guiding me toward the bar where Orion was already ordering a round of vodka shots.
“Not the traditional wedding toast, but fitting,” I observed as Arrow handed me a crystal flute filled with champagne.