Gennady
The moment I close the bedroom door behind me; I'm already reaching for my phone.
I have three hours. Maybe four if I stretch it. But I know myself well enough to know that once I have Matilda legally bound to me, I'm not waiting another goddamn minute to make her mine in every other way that matters.
First call goes to Judge Vardy.
He answers on the second ring. "Petrov. It's been a while—"
"I need you at my estate in three hours," I cut in. "Wedding ceremony."
A pause. Long enough that I can hear him processing. "Today?"
"Yes."
"Gennady, that's highly irregular. The paperwork alone requires—"
"Will be handled by your office tomorrow. Today, you show up, you perform the ceremony, you sign the license." I keep my voice even, reasonable. "You owe me, Albert. Or do I need to remind you about the prosecutor who wanted to audit your campaign contributions last year?"
I can practically hear him sweating in the silence that follows.
"Three hours," he finally says with resignation.
I end the call.
Stefan appears in my doorway, eyebrows raised. He doesn't knock anymore. Hasn't for years. "Did I just hear you say wedding?"
"You did."
"Today?" he clarifies.
"This afternoon." I'm already scrolling through my contacts. "I need the orangery set up. Chairs, flowers, nothing too formal but make it look intentional. Get Marie on a dress and shoes for Matilda immediately."
Stefan steps fully into the room, closing the door behind him. "Boss. Are you sure about this?"
I look up at him. "Yes."
"You've known her less than twenty-four hours."
"Irrelevant." I set my phone down.
His mouth twitches at the corners, almost a smile.
I pick up my phone again. "Rings. Platinum, simple, nothing gaudy. There's a jeweler who keeps his shop open for me. Get them here within two hours."
"Sizes?"
I close my eyes, picturing her hand in mine. Small. Delicate. I estimate and give him the numbers. "If they don't fit perfectly, he can resize them tomorrow. But they need to be here today."
"Consider it done." He moves toward the door, then pauses. "The men should witness this. Your captains, at minimum. It sends the right message."
He's right. A private ceremony would look like shame, like I'm hiding something. This needs to be public enough that everyone understands exactly what Matilda is to me now.
"Make the calls," I say as he leaves, then add, "Tell them it's mandatory."
Next call is to the florist Marie uses. She answers on the third ring, bright and professional.
"Bright and Blooming, how may I—"
"Anya. It's Gennady Petrov. I need the orangery at my estate decorated for a wedding. Today. Three hours from now."
Dead silence. Then, "Mr. Petrov, that's... I would need at least a week to properly sou—"
"I'll pay triple your usual rate. Quadruple if you have it done in two and a half hours."
"Sir, I appreciate the offer, but I have other commitments today—"
"Cancel them or get your staff to do them, I only want the best. The best is you." My voice drops. Not quite a threat. Just a statement of fact.
A sharp intake of breath. Then, quietly, "What aesthetic are you looking for?"
"Spring. Fresh. White and green with touches of color. Nothing too formal. Make it look like the garden decided to bloom indoors."
She's silent for a moment, and I can hear her mind working. "I can do that. I'll need immediate access to the space."
"You'll have it. And Anya?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
I end the call before she can respond.
The rest falls into place with ruthless efficiency. My tailor will have my charcoal suit pressed and delivered. The caterers Stefan uses for events will provide champagne and light refreshments.
Then I force myself to sit down and think through what happens after the ceremony. After I make her legally, irrevocably mine.
Tonight.
The wedding night.
I've had plenty of women. Enough to know what I'm doing, enough to know how to make it good. But those were transactions. Physical release and nothing more. I'd learned early that attachment was weakness, that caring too much gave people leverage.
But Matilda isn't a transaction.
She's mine in a way that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the way she looked at me when she said yes. The way she held her ground against her entire family. The way she worries her bottom lip when she's nervous and how her breath catches when I get too close.
I want her. That's not in question. I've wanted her since I saw her kneeling on that floor in her nightdress, all soft curves and unexpected steel.
But I also need her to want this. Want me. Not because she owes me or because she's grateful or because she thinks she has no other choice.
Because she chooses it.
My phone buzzes. Stefan: Rings acquired. Suit en-route. Men notified. Orangery being set up now.
I check my watch. Two hours until the ceremony.
Time to get ready.
***
I'm standing in the orangery when Stefan finds me.
The space has been transformed. Anya pulled off something close to a miracle.
The citrus trees are woven with tiny white flowers that catch the afternoon light streaming through the glass panels.
Simple wooden chairs form two sections with an aisle down the middle.
Everything is green and growing and alive, spring made tangible.
"Impressive," Stefan says, coming to stand beside me.
"It'll do." I adjust my cuffs. The charcoal suit fits perfectly, as it should. "The men?"
"Arriving now. Vasily's already here. The others are five minutes out."
I nod. "And Matilda?"
"Mila says she's ready." He pauses. "She's nervous."
"Good. So am I."
Stefan actually laughs. "You? Nervous?"
"Terrified," I admit. "What if I fuck this up before I’ve even figured out what it is?"
"You won't." He claps a hand on my shoulder. "And if you do, you'll fix it. That's what you do."
Judge Varney arrives looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. He's sweating despite the pleasant temperature, tie slightly askew.
"Gennady." He nods. "This is... quite the setup."
"I don't do things halfway, Albert. You know that."
"Yes, well." He mops his forehead with a handkerchief. "Let's make this official, shall we?"
The guests filter in. My captains and their wives, a few trusted soldiers, key staff members including Marie and her husband, Thom, the groundskeeper for the estate. There’s maybe thirty people total. Enough to witness without being a spectacle.
They take their seats, murmuring to each other. I catch fragments.
"—didn't even know he was seeing anyone—"
"—the Lazovski girl, can you believe—"
"—heard she gave up her own brother—"
I turn and look at the two men in the back who said that last part. They see me watching and shut their mouths immediately, faces paling.
Satisfaction courses through me. Let them be afraid.
A string quartet begins playing. I didn't arrange this. Marie or Anya must have. The music is soft, classical, perfect.
Every head turns toward the entrance.
And then I see her.
Matilda appears at the end of the aisle, Mila a step behind, and the rest of the world disappears.
The dress is simple but devastating. White with pleats gathering at the center, creating a neckline that showcases her collarbones, her throat, the delicate line of her shoulders. The sleeves rest just off her shoulders in bands that make her look both innocent and sinful at once.
Her hair is up, styled elegantly with soft pieces framing her face. Minimal makeup except for her lips, a soft pink that makes my mouth water.
She's beautiful.
Not in the manufactured way of women who spend hours perfecting their appearance. She's beautiful in a way that makes my chest feel too tight, that makes me want to clear this room so we can be alone.
Her eyes find mine across the distance and lock.
I watch her take that first step, then another. She's trembling slightly, I can see it in her hands, but she doesn't look away. Doesn't falter.
She keeps walking toward me like she's made a decision and she's going to see it through, consequences be damned.
Pride surges through me, hot and possessive.
That's my woman walking down the aisle. My wife. Mine.
Then she stands before me, close enough to touch, and I can't help myself.
I extend my hand.
She takes it without hesitation, and the rightness of it nearly brings me to my knees.
"You look beautiful," I say quietly. Just for her.
"Thank you." Her voice is steady despite the anxiety I can see in her eyes.
Judge Varney clears his throat, glancing nervously between us. He begins the standard ceremony language; commitment, partnership, forsaking all others. I barely hear it.
All my attention is on Matilda. On the way she's looking at me like I'm either salvation or damnation and she hasn't decided which. On the pulse fluttering at her throat. On the way her fingers tighten around mine like I'm the only solid thing in a world that's spinning too fast.
When it's time for vows, I keep mine brief.
"I take you, Matilda Lazovskia, to be my wife. I promise to protect you, provide for you, and make damn sure you never regret choosing me."
Her eyes shine.
Her turn. She takes a shaky breath.
"I take you, Gennady Petrov, to be my husband. I promise to stand beside you, to trust you, and to choose you. Every day."
Every day.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to express the gravity of those two words.
Stefan appears at my elbow with the rings. I take Matilda's first, delicate platinum that catches the light, and slide it onto her finger. Perfect fit.
She takes mine with trembling hands, and I hold still while she pushes it onto my finger. The metal is warm, and I feel the weight of it like a claim.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," Judge Varney says, relief evident in his voice. "You may kiss the bride."
This is it.
I cup her face with both hands, tilting it up toward me.
"Matilda," I murmur. "My wife."
Then I kiss her.
I mean it to be appropriate. Gentle. Public rather than possessive. But the moment my mouth touches hers, control becomes a distant concept. She tastes like everything I didn't know I needed. Hope and fear and trust all tangled together.
Her lips part on a gasp and I deepen the kiss, just enough to remind her what's waiting for us tonight. Just enough to feel her surrender into it.
When I force myself to pull back, her eyes are dazed, lips parted. And I've never wanted anything more than I want her right now.
Applause fills the orangery. Polite, measured. My men nod approval. Mila is grinning. Marie dabs at her eyes.
But all I can focus on is the woman in front of me wearing my ring, bound to me legally and in every way that matters.
I slide my arm around her waist, anchoring her to my side.
"You okay?" I murmur.
"I think so," she says, which isn't exactly reassuring but is probably the best I'm going to get.
"Good." I press my lips to her temple. "Because we have about an hour of obligatory celebration, and then I'm taking you upstairs and showing you exactly what it means to be my wife."