21. Vera
VERA
“No.”
The word comes out barely above a whisper, but in the silence of the church it might as well be a scream.
Anton’s grip on my arm tightens, his fingers digging into my skin hard enough to bruise. “What did you say?”
I look from him to Roman, who’s still standing there in the priest’s robes like some kind of avenging angel.
Something inside me breaks open. “I said no.” My voice is stronger this time. “I don’t want to marry you. I never wanted to marry you.”
Anton’s face twists with rage. “You ungrateful little?—”
He doesn’t get to finish the sentence.
I wrench my arm free from his grip and run. My heels slip on the stone floor, but I don’t care. I cross the distance between us in a handful of steps, throwing myself at Roman before either of us can think properly.
Roman’s thick arms wrap around me, pulling me against his chest. I can feel his heart beating beneath my ear, fast and hard just like my own.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’ve got you.”
No sooner do the words leave his lips, than Anton lunges.
He moves faster than I expect, his face contorted with fury. His hands reach for me and Roman shifts, putting himself between us. Anton’s fist connects with his shoulder instead of me.
Roman doesn’t even flinch. He catches Anton’s arm and twists, using his momentum to spin him around. There’s a sickening crack, and Anton screams. It’s a high, animal sound that echoes off the stone walls.
“You think you can touch her?” Roman’s voice is almost a snarl. “You think you can come into my home and take what’s mine?”
He twists again, and Anton drops to his knees. His arm is bent at an unnatural angle that makes me want to be sick.
“Roman, that’s enough.” I reach for him, but he’s already moving.
He releases Anton’s arm and lets him fall the rest of the way, then turns to the men flanking the pews. They already have Anton’s men covered, their weapons stripped away before they ever had a chance to react. Lev is among them, standing in the entryway now.
“Get him out of here,” Roman says.
Lev doesn’t need to be told twice. He and two others grab Anton by the arms and haul him to his feet.
Anton struggles, his face purple with rage. “You can’t do this! The elders have already decided that she’s mine.”
Roman watches as Lev drags Anton toward the side door, his expression cold.
Anton’s struggles intensify as they reach the doorway. He wrenches one arm free and throws a punch at Lev, catching him across the jaw. Lev’s head snaps back, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he drives his knee into Anton’s stomach, doubling him over.
“Touch me again,” Lev says, “and I’ll break your other arm.”
Anton wheezes something unintelligible, but he stops struggling. Lev and the others drag him through the door and out of sight.
The church is silent.
I’m still pressed against Roman’s chest, my fingers clutching the fabric of his stolen robes. I can feel his heart beating beneath my palm, and I never want to let go.
Eventually, he steps back.
His hands find my shoulders, holding me at arm’s length. Dark eyes search my face like he’s looking for something. Damage, maybe. Or fear, or something else entirely.
“Are you hurt?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I’m okay.” My voice breaks.
Roman’s jaw tightens. He turns to face the congregation, and I follow his gaze.
The elders are sitting in their pews, their faces a mixture of shock and calculation. Some of them look angry. All of them are watching us like hawks.
There, in the front row, is my father. His face is paler than I’ve ever seen it. When he sees me looking at him, he flinches.
Roman’s hand finds mine, his fingers intertwining with my own. He gestures to the elders, and then back to me. The question is clear.
I look from Anton’s retreating form to Roman’s eyes. I think about the baby growing inside me, about the future I never thought I’d have.
I don’t know if this is the right choice, exactly, but I do know one thing: if I decline, they win. If I leave, I’ll spend the rest of my life running.
But if I stay...
I give a sharp nod.
Roman meets my gaze. He squeezes my hand once, and then turns to face the congregation.
“Tonight,” he says, his voice ringing through the church, “you all witnessed something that should never have happened. You saw a woman dragged from her home and forced to stand at an altar next to a man she doesn’t want.”
The elders shift uncomfortably. My father looks away.
“That ends now.” Roman releases my hand and steps forward, his eyes sweeping across the assembled faces. “From this moment on, Vera is under my protection. She is mine, and anyone who thinks otherwise can answer to me.”
Then Roman turns back to me, and his hand finds mine again. “Come here,” he says softly.
I’ve never heard him speak softly before. It’s so jarring that for a moment I can only stare at him. Then, I step forward.
He pulls me close, his body warm and solid against mine, and I can feel the eyes of everyone in the church on us.
“Dearly beloved,” Roman begins, and there’s amusement in his voice. “We are gathered here today to witness the union of two souls.”
My breath catches. Is he really doing this? The answer, apparently, is yes.
“Vera Volkonsky,” he says, his eyes locked on mine. “Do you take me to be your husband? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live?”
I stare at him, my mind blank. This isn’t how I imagined my wedding. This isn’t how I imagined any of this.
Still, I know the choice before I’ve even consciously made it.
“I do,” I whisper. Then, “Roman Volkonsky. Do you take me to be your wife? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live?”
“I do.” The words come out rough, almost harsh, but his eyes are soft when they meet mine.
He reaches into his pocket and produces a simple gold band. It’s not fancy, but it’s a shimmering band of gold set with a dainty stone. At first I think it’s sapphire, but then I realize: it’s alexandrite.
How did he know my favorite stone?
I stare at it, my heart in my throat. I’ve seen rings like this before, of course. I wore a wedding ring for years, but I never told Roman that I hated diamonds, or how much I love alexandrite.
Before I can question it, Roman takes my left hand in his and slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly, like it was made for me.
“With this ring,” he says, “I thee wed.” The words are old-fashioned, but the way he says them makes them sound like a promise.
I look down at the ring on my finger, and it all begins to sink in. This is real. This is happening. I’m married to Roman Volkonsky.
Then, before I can process the thought, he’s pulling me toward him.
His hand comes up to cup my face, and he leans in and claims my mouth in a kiss that steals my breath.
I can feel the eyes of the congregation on us as he kisses me, but I don’t care. All I can feel is Roman, his lips on mine and his body pressed against me like he’s trying to absorb me into himself.
When he finally pulls back, I’m dizzy. My lips feel swollen, my knees weak.
He looks down at me, and I can see the promise in them. You’re mine now. And I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.
I believe him.
Then a voice cuts through my thoughts. I turn to see Dad on his feet. “This is outrageous.”
I flinch. Roman’s grip on my hand tightens.
He’s shaking, whether with rage or fear I can’t tell. “You can’t do this,” he says. “She was promised to Anton. There were agreements. Arrangements. You can’t just do whatever you like.”
“She’s not a piece of furniture to be traded.” Roman’s voice is cold. “Vera made her choice.”
“She made a choice based on fear!” My father takes a step forward, his finger jabbing toward us. “You put her up to this. You turned her against her family, against her obligations.”
“Obligations?” I find my voice, and it’s sharper than I expected.
My father’s face twists. “That’s not the point, Vera.”
“That’s exactly the point.” I step forward, pulling out of Roman’s grip. “You gave me to Dmitri, and then he died and you tried to do it again. Fuck you.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“All you care about is paying off your debts and staying in Konstantin’s good graces so you get to keep your life.”
My father opens his mouth to respond, but before he can speak, another voice cuts through the church.
“Enough.” The word is quiet, but it carries the weight of a command.
I turn and see Konstantin Volkonsky rising from the end of the front pew. He looks exactly as he did when he dragged me from the penthouse, except now his expression is even harder than before.
“This wedding is invalid,” he says. “The girl was promised to Anton, and you haven’t yet signed the papers. It isn’t official.”
Roman steps forward, positioning himself between me and Konstantin. “Invalid? I don’t think so.”
Konstantin’s eyes narrow. “You’re making a mistake, Roman. A serious one.”
“I don’t think I am.”
The two men stare at each other, and I can feel the tension in the air. The congregation is frozen, no one daring to move or speak.
Konstantin crosses the distance between us in three quick strides, his hand reaching for my arm. “Come with me, Vera. This farce is over.”
Roman’s hand shoots out to catch Konstantin’s wrist before he can touch me. His grip is tight enough that his knuckles are white.
“Put a hand on her again,” Roman says, “and I’ll break your arm like I did Anton’s.”
Konstantin’s eyes flash. “You think you can defy me in my own church? Pathetic.”
“I don’t think it.” Roman’s other hand moves to his side, resting on the gun hidden beneath the priest’s robes. “I know it.”
For a moment, I think Konstantin is going to push it. Surely he’s going to call Roman’s bluff and force a confrontation that can only end in blood. His free hand twitches toward his jacket, and my breath stops.
Then Roman lets go of his wrist. Konstantin steps back and only straightens his suit jacket, laughing. “You’ve grown,” he says quietly. “Since Siberia, you’ve grown harder.”
Roman doesn’t respond. Konstantin holds his gaze for a long moment. Then, slowly, he turns away.
“Very well,” he says. “You’ve made your choice, both of you.” He turns to my father, who’s standing frozen by the pews. “Viktor, we’re leaving.”
My father looks from Konstantin to me, his expression a mixture of relief and regret. “Vera?”
“Don’t.”
My words hit him like a slap. Then he turns and follows Konstantin toward the door, his shoulders hunched.
Konstantin pauses at the doorway and looks back at Roman. His eyes are calculating, and I can see the wheels turning behind them.
“This isn’t over,” he says. “You’ve won tonight, but the game continues.”
We watch as Konstantin disappears through the door, my father trailing behind him like a scolded child.
Only when they’re gone do I let out a breath and steady myself against Roman’s side.
Roman’s hand finds mine again. He presses a kiss to my forehead. “It’s over,” he says quietly. “For tonight, at least.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Over until the next time, which is always how it is.
He leads me down the aisle and through the heavy wooden doors. We don’t look at anybody as we go, which is just as well. Outside, the air is cool on my skin. It’s a relief after the heat of the candles, and I take a deep breath.
A car is waiting for us, its engine running. Artyom is behind the wheel, his face impassive as always.
Roman opens the back door and helps me inside, then slides in next to me. The door closes with a solid thunk, and then we’re moving. The church disappears behind us as we drive into the night.
I lean my head against Roman’s shoulder and close my eyes.