Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
When I harrumph, disgusted at how perfect he looks after a marathon romp session, his lips curve into a smile. “We can skip the church and go straight to the reception if you’re tired.”
I’m overwhelmed with post-orgasmic endorphins, but nothing will stop me from shaking my head. We need this, and I won’t have anyone take it away from us this time.
“All right,” Mikhail murmurs, effortlessly reading me. “If you’re sure?”
When I nod, he pushes the intercom button at his side and instructs the driver to take us to the church.
Anticipation builds the further we travel. This is the first time we’ve done this route together. Although I doubt anyone will try to intervene this time, it feels right doing it together. It makes it more special. Unique. It is us creating our own waves as it always should have been.
My nose tingles when our arrival at the church has me spotting familiar faces. Since we’re already technically married, we were meant to “elope” before joining our guests to celebrate our one-year anniversary. No one knew we were renewing our vows.
Mikhail’s smile bounces off the tinted windows of the limousine when he says, “They’re important to you—”
“So they’re important to you, too,” I interrupt, almost sobbing.
Mikhail nods and then grunts, the force of my kiss knocking the wind out of him.
Before things get out of hand, I thank him for his kindness with nothing but my mouth before I slip out of the limousine to greet our guests.
It is an extremely intimate affair, with only my mother, my aunt Marcelle, and my baby sister in attendance from my side of our soon-to-be joined families.
The guest list doubles when it is exposed how similar our brain waves are. Mikhail looks a mix of shocked and uneased when Andrik assists Zoya out of a custom SUV that looks more like a tank than a family mover before he straps Amaliya into a baby carrier.
The unease becomes manageable when Mikhail’s mother takes Zakhar’s hand in hers before she joins us at the front of the church. She looks well, and her glossy blonde locks announce which side of the family Zoya got her fair hair from.
“They’re important to you…”
I leave my sentence open for Mikhail to fill it.
He follows along nicely.
“So they’re important to you, too.”
He accepts the hand Andrik holds out when they join us on the sidewalk, kisses his mother’s and sister’s cheeks, and then noogies Zakhar’s head, disgusting him. Zakhar looks like he worked on his gangsta part for hours. It is a replica of his father’s hairstyle.
Any tension left hanging fades to nothing when Zoya says, “When Konstantine announced you were circling the same block for over an hour, I assumed we had plenty of time to get here. Traffic was a bitch. Does everyone go to lunch in this town at the same time?”
My hand shoots up to cover my smile as my family’s giggles echo in the gardens of the church. I love how quickly our two families are becoming one, and I can’t wait to make days like today a permanent fixture in our lives.
“Are you ready?” Mikhail asks when Father Loroza signals for us to join him inside the church.
“Yes. I just have one quick thing to take care of first. Go ahead, I’ll catch up.” He looks worried until I add, “Nothing will stop me from walking through those doors. Not even a tornado.”
“Russia doesn’t have tornadoes,” Zakhar murmurs, leading his family’s entrance to the church. He doesn’t just look like his father. His personality is as commanding as well.
“Actually, they do,” Wynne corrects, jogging to catch up to him. “Although they’re not as often or as strong as tornadoes in the US, they’re still common.” Zakhar looks up at her in awe. If we were a cartoon, love hearts would be bouncing from his eyes. He doesn’t snarl when Wynne ruffles his hair in a similar fashion to Mikhail while saying, “I’ll tell you more inside.”
Nodding, Zakhar spins back to face Mikhail. “Are you coming, Uncle Mikhail?”
I squeeze his hand in silent support when he nods, then brush my mouth against his, my promise issued without words.
Once he disappears inside the church, I twist to face my aunt. “Did you bring it?”
Confusion fills my mother’s face when my aunt nods before pulling my surprise out of her oversized purse. It is quickly chased with unspoken anger.
~ Mikhail ~
As I stand at the altar, my heart races with anticipation. The moment I’ve been waiting for is finally here. Emerson Morozov is about to become mine—officially.
The church doors open, and I swallow in relief. I only left Emerson’s side thirty seconds ago, yet here she is, standing in the doorway of her family church, holding a bouquet of daisies and smiling softly.
My breath catches in my throat as I take in her beauty. Her dress is a vision of elegance I failed to notice while banging her senseless in the limousine. Its hem floats gracefully over the floorboards with each step she takes, and the delicate lace and intricate beadwork shimmer in the soft afternoon sun. Their sparkles make her look like a goddess, and I can’t believe I get to call her mine forever.