8. Artem
Artem
My patience is wearing thin as I stand at the altar. This entire thing is quite the theatrical show, but I expected it to be.
The weather was uncharacteristically nice for this season in New York, so this ridiculously large event is being held outside. I’m thankful it’s been switched, because at least out here the crowd won’t be able to hear us during the vows.
She begged not to have a microphone on the stage to her aunt and the planner, pretending that she wanted to have our vows be intimate. Of course, the priest has one attached to his collar, but at least we won’t be stage monkeys for anyone.
I was happy that my mother decided to fly in with my father to not miss the wedding. I haven’t seen her in a year or so, since the last time I flew to Russia to visit her. She moved away when I was still sixteen, and she hasn’t met Giselle.
She’s so excited, thinking that she and I will have a happy marriage or that Giselle will be like a daughter she never had. I didn’t feel like breaking her heart, so I was forced to continue the lie my father told her that Giselle and I were in love.
My mom is smiling wide, and I haven’t seen her like that in a long time. Of course, our families are sitting in the two front rows, but luckily they’re far enough away that they may not see how much Giselle and I detest each other at the moment.
I know she’s angry I crashed her night, but she was being fucking careless.
Does no one watch over this woman?
I don’t see how her father or brother don’t keep eyes on her at all times. I don’t have time to keep her on a leash while I have the new duties of being pakhan, but I know she will make it as difficult for me as possible.
I look up as the music finally begins, and I see her down the way with her arms interlocked with her father’s.
I can’t help the sharp inhale I take, seeing her in that dress.
I’ve never seen anything close to this before; she has somehow found a way after nine years of fucking torture and mischief to find a new way to break me inside.
She’s walking towards me in that dress.
This was all for me.
And I can’t even let myself really have it.
As she finally approaches, her face looks a bit solemn. She seems happy to release her father and stand by me, which I can only assume must mean her father must’ve fucked up worse than I have.
He reaches his hand out to me, and pulls me in. It’s for show of course, to prove there is no longer bad blood to everyone here.
“Take care of my daughter,” he whispers, so that only I can hear, as he pulls back. I nod once, and our hands release the firm grip we held.
I can protect her from almost everything, but I can’t protect her from me.
Not for long, anyway.
I take a breath as I step back in place, and we’re standing across from each other. Our eyes finally meet properly, and I can tell her head is swirling with thoughts. The priest instructs us to hold hands, so I put both of mine out to hold her soft hands in mine.
I squeeze them when I see her looking away, getting in her own head. The panic is evident on her face, and I know she didn’t have much time to accept this. She’s marrying the last man she ever wanted to marry, and she’s feeling hundreds of eyes on her as she does it.
And I’m forced to show to hundreds of mafia and bratva related affiliates that I’m marrying a woman; a weakness. The woman I hate the most, yet the one woman who exists that I can’t fucking let anything happen to.
The priest’s boring introduction and speech almost kill me, and I can see on her face that this delay in getting it over with is slowly eating her alive.
I squeeze her hands again to get her focus back, and we just look at each other.
Her eyes look down to the blue napkin folded in my suit pocket, and I can tell by her facial expression she wasn’t expecting it. She looks back into my eyes, and I feel as though she’s at least slightly calmed herself.
It feels like it’s only us there at that moment; and the cumulation of the years we’ve known each other are just dancing in my head.
I’ve seen her grow, seen her evolve from a docile, cute girl to a brilliant temptress.
I’ve seen her rock bottoms, and I’ve seen her get through all of them on her own.
I don’t think I’ve met someone as strong as her, but I still can’t let it delude me into thinking she’s strong enough.
“Now, the couple will say their vows,” the priest says, turning to Giselle. She holds my ring, as she takes a breath and closes her eyes for a moment before looking at me again. The priest begins the script, and she repeats.
“I, Giselle, take you Artem, to be my lawful husband,” she says, her eyes darting to the priest as he continues,
“To have and to hold,”
“To have and to hold,”
“For richer or for poorer,”
“For richer or for poorer,”
“In sickness and in health,”
“In sickness and in health,”
“Until death do you part,”
“Until—” she starts to repeat, but pauses. I think for a moment that she’s going to panic, but instead I see a mischievous smile spread across her face. “Until death, or defeat.”
A wide grin is plastered on my face as I hear her threat. No one can hear us but the priest and thank fucking God for that. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have shared a moment like this with her.
The moment that makes the memories of our first vow flood back. When, nine years ago, I threatened her on that rooftop and tried to wipe that same resolve off her face, but her determined eyes sliced through my soul.
This is my Giselle.
The priest’s face is horrified as she sticks the ring on my finger, pushing hard into the web as I clench my jaw at her rough gesture, but I can’t help but smile.
He has no idea how to handle this, and he’s flustered for a moment, wondering if he should continue, until he clears his throat and starts the script again for me.
“I, Artem, take you Giselle, to be my lawful wife,” I pull her wedding band from my pocket, raising it to the tip of her finger as the priest continues.
“To have and to hold,”
“To have and to hold,”
“For richer or for poorer,”
“For richer or for poorer,”
“In sickness and in health,”
“In sickness and in health,”
“Until death do you part,”
“Until death,” I promise her back, as I gently push the ring onto her finger.
I can see the sparkle and fire in her eyes as I look into them, and my resolve feels broken. I put my hand behind her head, and roughly push her into me for a kiss. I dip her down backwards from the sheer force of the kiss, and I can hear the applause.
“Uh, you may kiss the bride . . . ” I hear the priest awkwardly mutter as I already have my tongue exploring her mouth. I didn’t expect my first kiss with any woman to be on our wedding day like some chaste gentleman; but for us it’s fitting.
I eventually let her breathe again, pulling her back to stand on her own two feet, though she struggles for a moment. I can see the shock plastered on our families faces, and I give my brothers a smug smile as I hold her waist and walk her back down the aisle toward the country club.
My mother is of course clapping and crying, while the rest of those in the front row are just giving each other curious looks as we pass. The rest of the attendants politely clap, whistle, and follow us into the ballroom for the reception.
We sit at the two-seated table meant for us, as the rest of the guests slowly flood in to find their assigned seats.
“What the fuck was all that?” she finally breaks the silence, and I laugh as I take the champagne bottle from the ice bucket on the table and pop it open.
“That, was for looking at me with your fuck me eyes while you slid a ring on my finger.”
She furrows her brows and snatches the bottle from my hand to pour herself a drink.
“Those were not fuck me eyes, you freak. They were fuck you eyes.”
“Same thing, solnishko,” I tease, drinking in the sight of her again.
“There will be no fucking of any kind,” she says sternly, taking a sip out of her flute.
I chuckle, moving my arm to the back of her chair. “You think you will be able to lay in my bed without getting fucked?”
She chokes on her drink and holds her chest. “You’re out of your goddamn mind,” she grits through her teeth, but she can’t hide the way she had to adjust in her seat.
“If we’re going to be forced to marry and share a home, we might as well enjoy ourselves somehow.”
“That won’t be happening, so erase the idea from your fucked up head.” She sets her glass down roughly, and her eyes flicker across the room until her brows furrow.
“What is it?”
“My uncle and my cousin Leo,” she says, nodding in their direction. “They aren’t really buddy-buddy with our side of the family anymore.”
She says that as if it’s a whispered secret; but I had thought that would be obvious after what had happened.
I watch them for a moment as she looks back down, fixing her dress and hair. Her uncle looks this way, and I can’t make out the expression on his face as his eyes stay on her.
The rest of the evening drew on for what felt like forever. We had to go through all of the stereotypical motions of a wedding reception, and I could not fucking wait for this to end. The only thing that kept me compliant was the look on my mother’s face as she would see Giselle and I together.
Luckily we somehow avoided being coerced into doing a slow dance, though I can feel Maxim’s eyes on me as he stands beside me. “You should at least pretend you’re enjoying yourself, but I guess you’re anxious to take your new wife back home, huh?”
I glare at him as I take another sip of my drink.
“Mom seems pretty smitten with her.”
When he says that, my eyes drift across the large ballroom until they fall on her.
She’s standing there talking to my mother with a smile on her face. I don’t see her like this often. Most of our interactions over the years took place in this very country club; or any other Family event that was held, and she never looked happy at any of them.
Nor of course, would she have been genuinely smiling when she was with me.