Chapter 15
Katerina
Every step fills me with a heavy dread. My stomach is cement, holding me down.
I finally focus my gaze on Dominic, trying to meet his eyes, only to see them squeezed shut. His face is pinched and his lips pursed.
When he opens those dark eyes, he looks at me with boredom and disapproval.
To anyone else, he probably appears stoic, serious. But I can tell. I see the way his nose is slightly upturned, the way his eyes seem empty. He has no desire to be here.
I end the march to my demise next to Dominic.
Only days ago, I had been filled with hope. The visit from the women in his family ignited it. But looking at him now, all of it is gone. His blank stare, the way he mindlessly stands here, it’s as though he’s in a trance.
He wants a wife as much as I want a husband. This is simply a means to an end. I can handle that.
But I don’t know if I can handle the disapproving and dismissive way he stares at me. It’s not just a wife he doesn’t want; it’s me he doesn’t want. I don’t know what his problem is, but he’s pissing me off.
The priest greets us and hands us blessed candles. I hold mine in my clammy hands. I have to squeeze it tightly, so it doesn’t slip.
He starts praying over us in Russian, and it brings a smile to my face that Dominic won’t understand his wedding.
I glance at him victoriously, but he doesn’t seem to care. Fuck him.
The priest holds the rings and begins blessing them. As he goes through the rounds of blessings, I try to decipher if he knows this is a sham. That all of this is fake.
I decide he either doesn’t know or is too afraid of my father to let on that he does.
Our rings are exchanged. The priest places Dominic’s gold ring on my finger and my silver ring on Dominic’s finger three times.
Finally, we switch the rings, placing the correct ring on the other’s finger. Dominic places mine on my left hand, the American tradition, but I stare at him cooly as I move it to my right hand.
I look down at the silver band, and for the first time, I realize I don’t have an engagement ring.
It makes sense. Why would he have bothered buying one?
The priest begins the Crowning Ceremony. He leads us to the center of the church while chanting psalms.
When the priest looks at me, I know it’s my time to vow my life away.
“Have you good, free, and unconstrained will, and have you promised yourself to no other?” the priest asks me.
I pause. This is the moment. The one that changes my life.
“Yes, with God’s help,” I repeat the traditional Russian response.
It’s a lie. All of it. I’m not here of my good, free, or unconstrained will. I’m not able to promise myself to no other. I briefly glance at Sergey and refrain from shivering.
The priest guides us to hold each other’s hands, and as my warm one connects with Dominic’s, goose bumps spread across my body.
I expected his hands to be as cold as the rest of him, but to my surprise, they’re warm.
And large. They’re also full of callouses.
And for some reason, that coarse skin comforts me.
The crowns are then placed on our heads three times. They symbolize martyrdom and eternal unity.
It’s bitterly ironic how true that first part is. I truly am a martyr in this marriage. All alone with no options. Forced by my father to make this sacrifice for his precious Bratva.
I feel the weight of the ridiculous crown. It’s a fucking mockery of me. Of the Bratva Princess.
I zone out as the priest reads scriptures and prays. I’m a monotonous robot as I drink from the common cup. I don’t register my movements as I do the ceremonial walk around the lectern.
But I do feel the weight lifted as the priest removes the crowns. I feel slightly lighter, as though I can breathe.
That is, until he instructs us to kiss.
My entire body goes rigid. Dominic’s does too. I glance around the room and meet Viktor’s gaze. He’s glaring at me, urging me to proceed.
Dominic leans in, grabbing my attention.
My eyes widen.
The air is lost in my throat.
I barely get an exhale out before his lips touch mine.
They stay there, unmoving, for three seconds. Three long seconds.
Then he pulls back.
His eyes are dark and annoyed.
He rakes his eyes over me one last time and curls his nose.
Then he drags me down the aisle by my hand, out the door.
All of it in silence.
It’s worse than I anticipated. I don’t know what I expected, but a wedding kiss from a man who’s disgusted by me isn’t it.
By the time we get into the limousine, my hands are shaking in rage.
How dare he humiliate me in such a manner? In front of my father, my people? How dare he treat me like this?
After a long stretch of silence in the limo, I finally crack.
“What? You can’t even look at me?” I demand, furious that his apathy is getting to me.
He slowly rakes his eyes towards me, but unlike other times, there’s interest in them.
“I didn’t know the doll could speak with such fire,” he muses. He arches a brow in intrigue.
“Don’t fucking call me a doll!” I seethe. How dare he! It’s fucking worse than ‘princess.’ At least with ‘princess,” I can pretend to be royalty. He’s referring to me as an inanimate object. It’s demeaning.
“I’ll call you whatever I want. Don’t forget who you’re marrying.” His smirk is victorious, and my palm itches to slap him. I barely refrain, and only because I don’t want to show up to my reception with a black eye.
“I know what I married. A man who can only get a wife by buying her!” I throw back at him.
I realize my mistake the moment his grin drops, and his impossibly black orbs darken.
But I stand my ground. I don’t shrink back or flinch, even though I’m expecting a punch.
I’ll take it like a woman. A badass woman. I’m not starting this marriage as the weak woman who takes beatings.
But instead of hitting me, he leans forward, so close that I can feel his breath on my lips.
“Let’s make one thing clear, doll. I didn’t buy you.
In fact, I have no interest in you. You were merely a means to an end.
A way to obtain peace. After tonight, I have no more use for you.
You can go live your spoiled little life funded by my hard work on your end of my house, and I’ll lead my men on my side.
” He chuckles darkly, then pushes a strand of my hair behind my ear.
“I mean, look at you. Why would I ever buy a porcelain doll?”
I raise my hand and swing. But the fucking bastard catches my wrist before I can make contact.
“Aghh!” I scream in frustration.
“Nice try, doll. But you’ll have to be faster than that to get me.” He drops my hand and moves back to his seat as if nothing happened.
“You fucking mudak,” I seethe.
I should be excited about what he said, that I’ll get to live my life away from him. It’s the dream. But I can’t look past the insults. The mockery of me.
I’m fucking sick of men underestimating me.
He chuckles again, just as darkly. Then waves his hand dismissively at me. He pulls out his phone and starts typing.
I’m speechless. I honestly don’t know what to say. I’m used to being dismissed by powerful men, but for some reason, I can’t handle it from him. My blood boils.
I finally get my bearings, having come up with a killer comeback, when the car jolts to a stop.
“Not now,” he says then closes my mouth. “It’s time to smile for the party, doll.”
I grind my teeth and hold back the urge to bite him. I know the urge stems from hatred, but I can’t ignore the way his cologne affects me. Biting him would be purely out of anger, not because I need to get closer to that smell.
“Listen–” I start again, only for the door to open and him to pull me out of the limo. I lose my balance and tumble into him. He grips my arms, hauling me into his chest. Once I steady, I pull back and push him.
“Get your hands off me, mudak! You don’t get to touch me. Ever!” I warn him under my breath.
I swear on my life this infuriating man will never get the privilege of my body. No man deserves it. I doubt any will ever earn me.
“We’ll see about that,” he whispers it in my ear, and I can’t help but notice he’s tall enough that he needs to lean down to reach my five-foot eleven frame. “I’m Dominic Montclair. I get whatever I want. And if that’s your body, then I’ll have you begging for me.”
“You vile man! I will never beg for you. You’re not even worth my time.” The blush on my cheeks isn’t from his sexy grin, but from the gall of this man. The anger he elicits from me.
But instead of fighting back, he throws his head back and chuckles. He leads me to the entrance of the building, and I pause at the door. He rolls his eyes but opens it for me. Rightfully so. A man will always treat me with respect and chivalry.
I take a deep breath before we enter the reception, needing to center myself before facing Viktor. Needing to get the rebellious fighter under wraps before Viktor beats her out of me.
It was beyond exhilarating to talk back. To be sassy. To be my real self. And to not face consequences because of it.
In fact, Dominic seemed humored by it. Even thrilled.
Maybe this is my chance at freedom.
But I can’t let Viktor in on it.