Chapter 4
NIKA
The dress fits. It smells like smoke, but it hugs my curves like a glove and makes me look…
Hot as hell.
For a girl that got nuked, I look incredible. I gape at myself in the full-length mirror and run my hands down the soft silk and lace. The dress is fantastic, obviously custom-made, something fancy and designer. It must’ve cost him a fortune. And somehow, it was cut for me.
The neckline plunges, showing off a hint of my chest. The back is low too.
The skirt is tight, but in a good way. The beading is exquisite, and I feel more attractive than I’ve ever felt in my life.
This is a dress that begs for attention, while mostly I’ve tried to keep my head as low as it could get.
If this were a normal wedding, every single eye in that church would be firmly locked on me.
Too bad it’s one in the morning and this place is empty.
I don’t even know where we are. Gabe drove for a half hour to a Catholic place I’d never heard of before.
The priest is an older man in his sixties, exceedingly thin, with hard eyes and a kind smile.
He let us inside and didn’t seem surprised about it.
I was shown to this back room, a storage area with a mirror, told to get dressed, and left alone for privacy.
I’m still not sure this is really happening. Aren’t there laws about witnesses and paperwork? Weren’t we supposed to apply at the registrar or something? I have no idea how it’s supposed to work, but I get the feeling those rules only partially apply to a man like Gabe.
But who is my future husband? I wish desperately I had my phone on me, but that got left behind in the apartment inferno. Otherwise, I’d be frantically searching his name online.
I know a few things. He’s probably in his thirties, maybe close to his forties. He’s in remarkably good physical condition. He knows Aunt Yelena and is involved in my father’s business, but he’s not Russian, despite his links to the Bratva. He thinks relationships are inherently transactional.
Which means he’s buying me.
I smooth myself and twist, trying to get at the zipper. I should’ve done this first before getting it situated. As I try to tug it up, the door opens. I let out a yelp and cover my chest with one arm, holding the dress in place, as Gabe enters the room.
He stops, pinned to the spot at the sight of me. Sheer embarrassment threatens to ruin me. I’ve never seen a man look at me with such gravity before, like he’s measuring every inch of my body. And the sick part is, the part that makes my cheeks turn bright red, is he clearly likes it.
“Do you need some help?” He shuts the door behind him.
“No, I can handle getting dressed on my own, thanks.”
“If that were true, you’d be ready by now.”
Asshole has a point.
I tip my chin toward the zipper and reluctantly gesture at it. “Do you mind?”
He walks over, still in that same suit, smelling like ash but something else now too. It’s spicy and woodsy. “Anything for my wife.”
I shiver at the way he says it. He stops behind me and I find his reflection in the mirror, heart racing. “Did you put on cologne for me?”
He seems surprised. His fingers linger on the zipper for a moment. “Would it be so bad if I did?”
“No, I like it. And it’s sweet. The way you talked in the diner made it sound like you couldn’t care less about… you know…”
“About engaging in a normal husband-wife relationship with you?”
“I guess.”
He tugs the zipper up. “Can I admit something to you?”
“At this point, I’m desperate to hear anything you have to say.”
“When I first heard about you, my inclination was not toward marriage.” The zipper reaches the top. His left hand rests on my hip while the right brushes my hair back over my opposite shoulder, baring my neck to him. “I thought I could get what I wanted by… other means.”
I shiver at the feeling of his breath on my skin. “That’s ominous.”
“But then I spoke about you with Yelena and saw your photograph. And I decided that sometimes, business deals are better… if they’re personal.
” His hand moves around my body and he cups my chin, holding my face still.
I watch him, breath hitching as my heart races.
My instincts are to play dead, to be meek and soft. He could break me. Rip my throat out.
My experience with men is minimal. Boyfriends never stuck around. My handlers were cordial but distant. Aunt Yelena always said the best man was one who kept to himself, and I took that to heart after a while.
Which is how I ended up a virgin at twenty-three.
I’m not proud. It's embarrassing. I’ve had chances, but it never felt right, and anyway the guys always ended up ghosting me before I could feel comfortable enough.
This man though, there’s an instant desire in me.
I can’t pretend like it isn’t there. He’s too good looking, too intense.
Physically, he’s everything I’ve always wanted.
Tall and well-built without being overly muscular.
Good hair, strong jaw, full lips. Even the way he walks, the way he talks, his confidence. It’s like a drug drawing me in.
“Are you saying…” I press back against him. What am I doing right now? Why am I playing into this? I know none of this is real. Whatever Gabe’s doing, he’s got an ulterior motive, always. But I like it, God help me. “Are you saying, you decided I might make an acceptable wife?”
“I’m saying I find you attractive.” He dips down… and kisses my neck.
My mouth hangs open, and I let out a soft whimper.
It’s such a pathetic noise. I’ve never made anything remotely like it before…
but I’ve also never felt this in my life.
A surge of desire floods me. My nipples stiffen as excitement slams into my chest. I squirm as he kisses again, gently, his lips warm and soft, his stubble tickling, as he moves up to my chin.
“What… are you doing?” I turn to face him. He pauses and holds my gaze.
“We’re going to be together, and I was wondering… I was thinking… how compatible we might be.”
There’s a real vulnerability in the look he gives me, like he’s genuinely worried that we might not make a good couple.
For all his bullshit about everything being a transaction, when we’re alone in this room together, with nobody around to hear, with no stakes or negotiations, all he wants to do is kiss me.
And as sick as it is, I want that too.
I turn to face him. I put my hands on his chest. His heart is steady as I get on my toes and gently press my lips to his.
He takes a breath through his nose. I open my eyes in surprise as he pulls me tight.
His mouth opens and mine does too. His taste floods me, like his cologne, but sharper, whisky bright and burning.
I lean into that kiss, shock pulsing down my spine.
Is this what it’s like to kiss a man I actually want?
Is this how it can feel? I understand why people talk about sex like it’s destructive, because I’m ablaze with how badly I want him to keep going, and that scares me more than anything.
I pull back with a gasp and push my hands against his chest.
His expression is fierce. His lips are pink from being kissed. I put distance between us, shaking my head rapidly to try to clear it.
“We can’t,” I say. “This is too much. You're a stranger. It’s bad enough I’m doing this—“ I gesture down at the dress. “But I can’t.”
He seems to understand. He takes a moment to compose himself. For such a serious, intense person, that kiss did something to him, too.
He wants more, like I do.
And that’s dangerous.
“The priest is waiting,” he says and holds out a hand.
Now’s my last chance. I can turn around and get the hell out of here. This dress, this room, the drone attack, it’s all madness. Maybe I’ll wake up and find out this was all a dream, or maybe I can go to the cops and beg them to put me in protective custody or something.
But I know none of that makes sense.
Whoever’s powerful enough to shoot a rocket from a drone through my apartment window, they’ll be able to kill me no matter where I try to hide.
“Let’s go then.”
I take his hand and we leave the room together.
I’m barefoot as I walk with Gabe into the chapel.
The room is partially lit. The main floods remain off.
Only the accents are on, casting a strange, shadowy glow over the room.
There’s a man sitting in the front pew, a person I’ve never seen before.
He’s probably Gabe’s age but larger, more rugged, handsome in a scary kind of way.
He nods and I realize there’s a gun lying across his lap. It sends a jolt of fear down my spine.
The priest acts like nothing’s amiss. “Are we all ready?” he asks, looking around the room.
There are a total of four people at my wedding.
This isn’t how I pictured the biggest moment of my life.
“We’re ready,” Gabe says, positioning me beside him.
The priest takes in my bare feet with a pained look. The hem of the dress is black and leaves sooty marks on the carpet. He exhales, resigned. “We’ll do this fast. Do either of you mind if I skip a lot?”
“Please do, Father.” Gabe seems joyous. “Let’s go right to the good stuff.”
“Wonderful.” The old priest clears his throat. “Does anyone want to object?” He turns to the other man sitting in the pew. “What about you, Daniel?”
“Not me, Father.” Daniel flashes a wide, toothy smile. “Just happy to be here.”
“Right.” The priest looks at me nervously like he’s hoping I’ll speak up and give him an out, but I keep my mouth shut, and he reluctantly does a very abridged ceremony.
There’s a short speech about marriage, fidelity, honesty, and he instructs us to exchange rings.
Daniel has that covered. He brings them up, seeming almost apologetic as he digs them from his pocket.
Gabe slides mine on and it fits like the dress.