He lets my chin go and leans back. “If you really want to leave when this is over … we’ll talk about it.”
I want him to agree to my terms, but I know this is the best I can hope for right now. So, grudgingly, I nod and agree.
If Viktor’s idea of a fake marriage isn’t the best solution, it is certainly the most expedient.
By midafternoon the next day, we are standing in front of a justice of the peace—a different one from the first time we were married, though Viktor assured me he is still only an actor—and reciting our vows.
The crowd for the wedding is intimate, limited to Petr and a few other high-ranking members of the Bratva who will serve as witnesses. Viktor looks dashing in a dark gray suit that squares his shoulders and highlights his trim waist and strong thighs. My dress is simple, but white—the only thing that matters according to Viktor. The straps are thick across my shoulders and the neckline is deep, showing off a good amount of cleavage that Viktor can’t seem to stop staring at. From there, the fabric hugs my waist and then falls in a gentle A-line shape to puddle around my feet.
Simple or not, the dress is more than I ever dreamed of. Living on the streets and sleeping in shelters, I fantasized about meeting someone I wanted to marry. A dress never factored into it. I’d get married in jeans and a T-shirt if it was for love.
Viktor’s eyes are piercing as he studies my face and recites his vows. It’s the second time he has spoken these words to me, vowing his protection and love and generosity. I smile, selling my role as the blushing bride, but inside, I try to bat his pledges away. I try to keep them from sailing into my mind and heart and taking root there.
This marriage is fake. He doesn’t mean it.
The ceremony is over almost before I can grasp that it has started, and Viktor grabs my hand and pulls me through the temporary office space and into a large room in the back. Long white fabric panels hang from the walls and the ceiling has been decorated with a tangle of fairy lights and tulle. Soft music is playing through a set of speakers and there is cake and punch.
I open my mouth to try and give voice to my surprise, but none come. Viktor squeezes my hand and presses his warm palm to my lower back. “I didn’t ask them to do this. They did it for you.”
For the first time, I let myself look at the faces of the men standing around the room. Many of them have women tangled in their arms. They are all smiling and at ease, but more pressingly, they are looking at me. At us.
“They wanted to please their queen,” he says, lifting my arm over my head and spinning me gracefully away and then back into his body.
I press my hand to his chest to stabilize myself and marvel at the solidness of Viktor’s body. It has only been a few weeks since we’ve been together, since I’ve seen all of him bare and exposed, and I’m still consistently surprised by the strength of his body and the feel of it under my fingers.
Viktor cradles my body to his gently, swaying us around the dance floor as music plays. When the song is done, he keeps hold of my hand and leads me around the room, talking to each guest. Almost all of them congratulate us and then take my hand and press it to their foreheads.
“Their loyalty,” Viktor whispers in my ear. His breath is warm on my neck, and I shiver, wishing he would never stop whispering to me.
The night is a whirlwind, and we leave to cheers and whistles and excited applause. Viktor helps me into the passenger seat of his black car, ensuring my dress doesn’t get stuck in the door, and then drives us quietly and expertly through the city, navigating traffic fearlessly.
I’m surprised when he pulls up in front of my apartment rather than his own. We haven’t discussed it, but I assumed we would be consolidating our living arrangements post-marriage. Yet, Viktor helps me out of the car and allows me to unlock my own front door and step inside.
Theo is with a new nanny and several guards who have proven themselves incredibly loyal, so the apartment is quiet. I feel Viktor behind me as I walk into the kitchen, but when I turn around, his hands are in his pockets. Almost like he is trying to restrain himself.
“Should we have a drink?” I offer, unsure how else to end this night. Then I remember the baby and laugh, breaking the tension. “Not for me, though.”
Viktor smiles and moves to get glasses from the cabinet. “Virgin?”
“Considering our last fake wedding night, you know the answer to that,” I joke.
Viktor smiles, but I notice a tension in his jaw.
I defer the drink mixing to him. Viktor made sure the liquor cabinet was well stocked before we moved in, so I assume he will make a better drink than I ever would. I watch as he slips out of his suit jacket and begins measuring and shaking and pouring. His button-down shirt is pulled tight across his muscled back and his biceps. I like watching Viktor move. He has an inborn grace, a rhythm entirely his own that lures me in like a siren’s call. No matter how complicated being with him is, I can’t seem to pull away. I can’t seem to want to distance myself from him the way I know I should.
When he hands me a deep red drink, I take a long swallow without asking what it is.
“Juice, sparkling water, and a lime,” he says with a shrug. “Virgins aren’t my specialty.”
I snort, almost sending the mocktail out my nose, and clamp a hand over my mouth. When I manage to swallow, I laugh. “That feels like an understatement.”
He seems to relax as he makes his own drink, his shoulders easing, a small smile on his mouth. It’s nice to see him like this. I tilt my head to the side and watch him until I feel butterflies fluttering in my stomach. It’s too early for it to be the baby and the drink is sans alcohol, so there can only be one cause.
Viktor puts the lid on the shaker, grips it with both hands, and mixes it vigorously. His muscles flex and strain under the thin fabric of his shirt, and he nips at his lower lip. I spin away from the sight and walk out onto the balcony for some fresh air.
Fake wedding. Fake wedding, I remind myself.
I didn’t even want to do this. I had to be convinced to marry him, so I can’t possibly be enjoying this. It wouldn’t make any sense.
The evening is cool, and I feel goose bumps spread across my back and shoulders. As soon as they appear, a warm hand smooths across my skin, and I gasp.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Viktor says softly, his words whispered on the back of my neck.
“You didn’t,” I assure him. I turn around, pressing my back to the railing, and face him. “I don’t have a reason to be scared anymore, right? I’m safe now?”
Viktor tips his glass back, swallowing half of the drink in one go, and then presses his lips together. “You’re safe. One hundred times safer than you were before, at least.”
“Good.”
He nods and then swallows back the rest of his drink. Mine is still mostly full, but my stomach is too busy doing flips to enjoy it. I don’t know if it’s pregnancy nausea or nerves or both.
“There are guards at your door who know failing to protect you will be the end of their lives,” he says. “You will always be protected. Even when you’re alone in the apartment, you won’t really be alone.”
I set my glass down on the glass table and fold my hands in front of me. “What about tonight?”