Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 95627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
"Because we all know that you two fight and then fuck," Pavel said bluntly, raising an eyebrow. "And Mikhail says Artem needs to heal more before that happens, so I'm chaperoning." He gave us a cheesy smile. "And I heard you yelling, and I was a little worried she was going to finish what Solovyov failed to do."
My cheeks burned at his crude assessment of our relationship, but I couldn't exactly deny it.
"See," I said, pointing at Pavel, deciding to use his obnoxious presence to my advantage. "Do you really want to not consummate our marriage on our wedding night?"
I planted my hands on my hips and looked at Artem like I had won.
A challenge sparked in his eyes, and I should have known better.
For a fleeting moment, I saw understanding in his gaze—a recognition of what this meant to me, what I was fighting for. Something in his expression softened, and I thought maybe, just maybe, he was finally hearing me.
But then his expression changed, hardened with determined.
This was the man who had faced down intruders in his home, who had taken bullets rather than surrender.
He wasn't going to back down now.
Artem's gaze raked down my body, hot and possessive, stirring tingles all over my skin.
Without warning, he closed the distance between us, his broad hand splaying across my lower back as he hoisted me over his good shoulder in one fluid motion.
"Stop! You'll tear your stitches!" I gasped, suddenly far too aware of his warm palm against the bare skin where my shirt had ridden up.
His fingers pressed into my thigh, close to the curve of my ass.
"Where are you taking me?"
"To a priest," Artem growled, the vibration of his voice traveling through my body as he strolled out the door without a single falter in his step. "I'm done arguing, and don't worry, princess, I am well enough to make damn sure this marriage is thoroughly consummated."
As he carried me away, a strange mix of emotions churned inside me, frustration, anger, despair...and beneath it all, an unwelcome thread of exhilaration.
Part of me—a part I wasn't ready to acknowledge—thrilled at his determination, at the unstoppable force of him.
But another part mourned what might have been.
The chance to come to him as an equal, to choose him freely rather than be claimed like territory.
Whatever happened next, I knew one thing with certainty: this battle wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.
CHAPTER 40
ARTEM
"I will never forgive you for this," Viktoria screamed as I carried her down the aisle of the same Russian Orthodox church where Kostya was married not too long ago.
"Yes, you will. Eventually," I said under my breath, praying it was true.
Eventually she would understand, and this would become a memory we laughed about on every anniversary. Or she wouldn't, and she would hold it over my head until we died of old age. Either way, she'd be alive…and by my side, in my bed.
She couldn't hate me or forgive me from the grave.
"Put me down," she seethed, her legs flailing. She had already kicked my stitches twice. For her, I would endure the pain.
If she reopened a wound, then she would just have to nurse her husband back to health.
The thought of her in a nurse's uniform flashed in my mind, but I pushed it away. If I didn't, I'd be more likely to bend her over a wooden bench and fuck her instead of marrying her.
"I need a priest," I yelled down the aisle. The wooden pews sat empty, which made sense this late in the afternoon.
"No, we don't," Viktoria screamed after me.
I swatted her ass playfully, but hard enough that it stung in warning.
"Moya ptashka, behave. You know I have absolutely no problems bending you over a pew and fucking you in front of God and everyone else."
She stopped moving, but her fist balled the back of my T-shirt.
Finally, the priest stepped out from a room hidden behind the altar.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"My name is Artem Ivanov."
The priest blinked then straightened his shoulders. I knew he would recognize the family name, and more importantly the power behind it. "We want to get married. Immediately."
"No, we don't," Viktoria grated out through clenched teeth.
"Ignore her. She has cold feet," I told the priest, lifting my other shoulder in a shrug, ignoring the slight tug from the stitches.
"I—" He hesitated for a moment.
"Now," I said.
"You'll need—"
"The paperwork is being handled." I cut him off. I had already reached out to the family lawyer. This part wasn't for the law, this was for the families. Mine and ones like mine. None of us gave a shit what a piece of paper said.
That wasn't a marriage.
A marriage was before God.
Only a marriage performed by a priest would keep her safe.
"I understand," the priest said. "Would the young lady like to be standing or—"