Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ember
I’d give anything to go back to the safety of one of my books right now. Back to where there are always happily ever afters, and the bad guys never win… unless they’re the bad guy you fall in love with.
Like me.
Because right now, I’m in the back of an armored car next to my soon-to-be husband, forced into a marriage he tells me is temporary when I know better, fleeing from the vindictive son of a bitch I’ve spent years trying to escape.
In the books? This is an easy one. My Bratva hottie saunters in, impervious to the laws and consequences.
He defeats the bad guy and claims me as his own; we suspend disbelief, and there’s no legal fallout.
Maybe I have his babies, and somehow, our two extremely different lives meld into a happily ever after.
But this is nothing like that. Right now, my nerves are so raw I’m nauseous. Rodion’s anything but romantic as he curses in Russian and gives me short, cryptic answers, as he’s glued to his phone.
Right now, we’re hurtling toward our wedding day.
I want to keep my mind in the present, to ground myself in the reality of what’s tangible and real.
I’m safe.
We’re getting married.
We will make this work.
He loves me.
Loves me? I feel like I’m saying one of those affirmations they tell you to say as if saying I’m beautiful, I’m rich, I’m perfect, will somehow make it so. But there’s a disconnect between the words and reality.
Loves me?
How do you really, truly know someone does?
“Here we are.” Rodion doesn’t look at me, his jaw clenched as he stares out the window. I want to reach for him. I want to bring him back to me. I want to see that passion in his eyes I saw last night. I’d give anything for that smirk right now.
But instead, I see nothing but the cold, impassive face of the Bratva. My future husband.
“Here we are,” I echo. I sigh and look away.
The Romanov estate stretches out into the sunset as if it’s carved straight from the earth—unyielding and imposing, as old as sin.
With the brief conversation I had with Yana and Zoya last night, I gathered the Romanovs practically own everything in The Cove here in New York, nestled between Coney Island and Manhattan.
The car comes to a stop, but I don’t move.
He said Shawn was here. Where exactly is he? How safe are we?
“Let’s go.”
“Rodion—”
When his eyes meet mine, something in me softens. I feel vulnerable and afraid, and no one, no one has ever made me feel as safe as Rodion has. My words come out in a shaky whisper despite my bravest attempts to speak up. “Where is he?”
Rodion reaches for both of my hands, his gaze burning into mine. “Rafail said he’s gone for now. Told him he’d be back, and there would be hell to pay.” He shakes his head. “As if he thinks he can take on the Romanov and Kopolov family combined.”
But there’s a flicker in his eyes. This isn’t as simple as it seems.
I try to mask my feelings, try to pretend that I’m not a nervous wreck knowing Shawn’s flown all the way here to end whatever there is between me and Rodion. And right then, for one fraction of a second… I’m relieved we’re getting married. Even if it isn’t my choice. Even if it’s temporary.
I can feel the tension beneath Rodion’s calm exterior, his pulse rapid.
I can feel my own.
Rodion wraps his fingers around the back of my neck and brings my mouth to his. The kiss is tender and chaste, a reminder that he’s going to do everything in his power to protect me. To keep us safe.
I have to hold onto that.
“You’re strong, Ember Steele. Even your name is fire. Unyielding.” He shakes his head, holding my gaze with his. “And no one, not even me, is going to take that from you.” He leans in and whispers in my ear, his breath hot on my neck. “Especially me.”
I have to believe him.
I have no other choice.
While the rest of this situation feels fraught and uncertain, there’s one thing I know for sure: the Romanovs don’t do modest. Do any of them?
For one fleeting second, I don’t feel like Cinderella in a borrowed gown, waiting for the clock to strike midnight before I turn back into a pauper.
No. I hold my chin high, and for a fleeting second, I don’t care about Shawn.
I don’t care about temporary or forced or whatever restrictions we want to put on my marriage to Rodion. For one fleeting second, I belong here.
Maybe I am a queen. His little queen, yes, but… a queen.
The world outside the window looks something like a dream. The gorgeous estate is sprawling and beautiful despite the marble, steel, and sharp edges of a New York winter. Ice crystals decorate the bare branches of the weeping willows that line the walk to the house.
Silhouettes of spire columns stand dark against the morning light backdrop.
Even from here, I can see sparkling chandeliers glinting from massive windows and staff inside milling about with efficiency and decorum. The magnificent display of ice sculptures takes my breath away, silver garland glinting on the wrought iron fences and rail that line the home.
And then there are the people.
I don’t know most of them, though I recognize Yana and Zoya, as well as Rodion’s brothers Semyon and Rafail. I’ve always struggled to remember names, so I didn’t make myself memorize more than those few.
For now.
Yana stands beside a man I don’t know, with dark skin and snappy black eyes. He has a wide, handsome, friendly face. She holds his arm with elegance. Her husband.
Zoya fiddles nervously with the red velvet edge of her sleeve. She offers me a small, hesitant smile and a little wave.
“She’s sweet,” I whisper to Rodion.
“Somebody has to be,” he mutters back.
Behind Zoya, Rafail stands like a shadow, broad and imposing. His expression is thunderous as if the permanent scowl he wears is carved into his features. Semyon lingers just a step behind, his eyes flicking between me and Rodion as if cataloging our every move.
He probably is.
And then there are the guards.
Armed men stand at every corner and entrance, their black suits pressed and sharp, not even bothering to hide their guns.
Well, then. I guess this is how we roll now.
They’re not subtle. Neither is the Bratva wealth that exudes from the entire setting as well as every person here—the stretch of imported cars, the perfectly curated lawn, even frozen in mid-winter.
Rodion steps out first and adjusts his tie.
My god, why is that so sexy? My romance-cultured brain short-circuits at the sight of him dressed in a tux I had barely processed before now.
We were so rushed, and I was so nervous.
He fills out the suit with perfection, his tall, lithe, powerful form barely contained.
The tiniest hint of a tat peeks out from under his collar, his eyes somehow both serious and dancing.
My heart swells. I love that about him. I love that so much.
He holds a hand out to me silently, palm up. It feels oddly symbolic. I wish I could capture it in a picture. For now, I’ll have to commit it to memory.
His hand is rough as I place mine in his. The warmth of his touch is the only thing grounding me as I step into the cold air.
Every eye is on us. I know somewhere out there, Shawn takes in every detail.
I hope he notes my future husband in detail.
Rodion’s grip tightens as he leans down to whisper in my ear, “Smile, little queen. Everyone’s watching.”
I lift my chin, my heart pounding against my rib cage, and let him lead me forward.
“Ember. I’m Ekaterina Romanova. Welcome.” A woman with a swath of silver hair tucked into a bun smiles at me, her eyes stern yet welcoming. Ah. A woman with a spine of steel but with heart. I like that. I suppose it’s a combo that would serve a woman of the Bratva well.
She extends a hand, and I take it gratefully.
Next, she turns to Rodion. “And welcome, Rodion. I’ve heard you two have quite the circumstances surrounding this whole ordeal.
” Stepping back, she leans into my ear. “I love romance too, Ember. It’s so…
escapist, isn’t it?” With that, she turns and gestures for us to follow her.
“Fortunately, we were in full preparation for tonight’s gala, so a simple wedding ceremony was easy to pull off.”
She goes on about flowers and food, a simple guest list and plans, while I follow Rodion, his family trailing behind us.
I can feel the tension beneath Rodion’s calm exterior, his pulse rapid.
“It’s freezing out here. They didn’t all have to come out,” I say in a small voice to Rodion as he opens the door.
“They came out in case they’re needed.”
Ah. So beneath those elegant, sleek clothes, they’re all armed to the teeth.
Yana winks at me, and little Zoya squeezes my hand as Ekaterina leads us into an elegant living room. I barely notice the details.
I’m about to be married.
“Aren’t there… legal things we need to do?” I ask Rodion.
“Taken care of.”
I give him a half smile, and he snorts under his breath. “Competency porn?” he whispers.
“Mhm.”
At the sight of the officiant, however, I freeze.
This is real.
I’m going to be married. In real life.
Into the Bratva.
Rodion’s wealthy and charming and dangerous as hell, and I have… mixed feelings.
Shawn is breathing down our necks like the predator he is, but the Kopolov family presses in on all sides, reminding us of who they are and what we promise.
This is real.
But as the officiant drones on, I hardly hear them.
Is this really how it ends?
I glance at Rodion, uncertainty swelling in my chest. I feel like I’m waiting for a sign that, at any moment, he’ll give me the signal to run or drop another bombshell on me.
But there’s nowhere to run.
And this is all too real.
We take our vows in a rush of whispers. This is nothing like the formal weddings I’ve read about in the books, but fast and pragmatic.
When he slides the ring onto my finger… it feels heavier than it should.
Done.
This isn’t the wedding of my dreams.
And when I look at Rodion, I wonder.
Is it his?