Midnight Oath (Tasarov Bratva 1)

EMERY

The stylist has been pricking, poking, and brushing at my hair and skin for two hours, and I’ve had about enough.

I’d be more forgiving if she’d at least talk to me. Answer a few of my questions about the banging noises I’ve been hearing downstairs. About the voices floating through the vents.

But nope. Nada. Zilch.

“We might miss the ceremony if you don’t wrap up soon,” I say in a lame attempt at a joke.

The severe woman just stretches her wine-stained lips tighter and dabs at the apples of my cheeks. She doesn’t bother to respond.

Aside from the maids who delivered my meals, I haven’t seen anyone since Adrik pulled me into the hallway yesterday. I should probably be grateful he hasn’t “taken me for a drive.” Or, if he is to be believed, I should be so lucky to end up like Sofia.

Your fate is going to be much, much worse.

“I can’t believe this is really happening,” I whisper to myself. “I can’t believe I agreed to this.”

I glance at the stylist. I’m not sure how much she—or anyone else—knows about my “arrangement” with Adrik. Maybe it’s supposed to be a secret.

Then again, if Adrik is running around telling people not to talk to me, they can’t really think this is a love match. Can they?

“If I get cold feet, do you think you could roll me out of here in one of your makeup kits?” I ask with a breathy laugh. “They’re certainly big enough to fit a body.”

Instead of responding, the woman whose name I don’t even know steps back, tilts her head to the side as she studies me, and then nods once. “Done.”

She has a thick accent. Eastern European, by the sounds of it.

“Do you speak English?” I ask.

Again, she doesn’t respond. She just turns around and strides out the door, leaving me alone.

“Weird lady,” I mutter.

I stand up out of the salon chair and cold air rushes across my back. Sitting down for so long, I almost forgot what I was wearing. But now goosebumps break out across my skin and it’s impossible to forget.

I can’t believe a priest is going to see me in what amounts to lingerie. That has to be a sin, right?

I smooth out the front of the dress, pressing the material flat against my skin, and then finally turn to face my reflection in the mirror.

As soon as I catch sight of myself, I freeze.

At the dress fitting with Julia, I felt like a little girl playing a scandalous game of dress up. I couldn’t imagine how I’d ever look anything but ridiculous in the dress.

But now, with the hair and the makeup…

The door behind me opens. I turn around, expecting it to be the stylist.

Instead, it’s Adrik.

And he’s dressed in an impeccable, midnight blue tux.

For a few seconds, without realizing it, I stop breathing. My body can’t do anything except drink him in. The way the tux brings out the color of his eyes and plays with the golden undertones in his skin. The way it frames his broad shoulders and skims over his trim waist. His legs are strong and muscular, straining against the perfectly tailored pants.

He’s gorgeous.

When I make my way slowly up to his face again, I see a flash of emotion on his face as he takes me in. Lust, maybe. Or satisfaction.

But then it’s gone, whatever it was, and he’s moving towards me with a large white box extended in his hands.

“This is for you,” he says.

I turn back to the mirror and focus on my own appearance. It’s easier to talk to him if I’m not looking at him.

Except, I’m stunned by the sight of myself, too.

I’ve never looked like this. Dripping in lace and diamonds, my hair smoothed to a golden sheen, my skin polished and perfected. I drop my eyes to the floor.

“What is it?” I ask.

“That’s kind of the point of a gift,” he drawls. “It’s a surprise until you open it.”

“You got me a gift?” I look back over my shoulder. Adrik is still cutting a breathtaking figure. But it’s easier to keep my wits about me if I don’t look at him directly.

“Don’t get too excited. It’s more for me than for you.”

“I thought this was all for you,” I huff, throwing my arms out wide to gesture to the dress.

“Exactly.” He flips the lid open, letting it tumble to the floor, and reveals a bundle of white silk tucked inside the box. “Today is for me. The dress is for me. Most of all, you are for me—and me alone.”

Curiosity gets the better of me. I move closer and slide the material free. It tumbles down to the floor and puddles at my feet.

“Another dress?” I ask, bewildered.

“A cape,” Adrik corrects. “I changed my mind about your appearance today. No man will spend this wedding fantasizing about what is mine.”

“Who is yours,” I say, running my fingers over the silk. Then I shake my head, dismayed by which part I felt needed correcting. “Although, just to be clear, I’m not yours.”

“Say it as many times as you like, kiska. That won’t stop it from being true.”

Before I can formulate a response, Adrik grabs the silk cape from my hands and drapes it over my shoulders. The collar clasps tightly around my neck with a crystal broach. Immediately, I feel significantly more covered.

Adrik spins me back towards the mirror. He doesn’t take his hands off my shoulders, just stares into the reflection with me.

With him standing over my shoulder, I can’t help but think of the last time we were like this. Of the way his arms curled around my body. The way his fingers slipped inside of me.

I feel my skin flush, and I’m suddenly heated, even in the skimpy dress.

“I’m expecting you to play your part today,” he rumbles.

I nod. “I know.”

“If you upset me, I have no problem taking the cape away and letting you stand up there for everyone to see.”

I frown. “But I thought you didn’t want everyone looking at—”

“At what is mine,” he finishes sharply. “If you behave, if you do as I ask, then you’re mine. That was our deal. I’ll always protect what is mine. Remember that.”

Then just as quickly as he appeared, Adrik turns and leaves.

* * *

Half an hour later, Adrik is standing at the end of a long, narrow aisle.

And I’m walking towards him.

The ballroom where we first met has been transformed into a wedding chapel. A low stage is sitting in front of wide windows that look out over the grounds. The day is overcast and gray, but the sun shines white through the clouds, dousing the makeshift wedding hall in natural light.

White, wooden folding chairs have been arranged in neat rows on either side of the aisle. Most of the seats are filled with Adrik’s men and staff members. I see his father sitting in a wheelchair on the right side, but I’m so nervous I can’t really focus on any particular faces in the crowd.

For once, it’s actually easier to focus on Adrik.

He’s standing tall and proud in front of me. The ease with which he carries himself helps calm me.

As I put one foot in front of the other and draw nearer to the stage, I can finally see Isabella sitting off to the left. Her dark hair has been curled and piled into an intricate bun on top of her head. The little pearl pins woven throughout make it look like she’s wearing a halo of stars.

She grins at me and practically bounces in her chair. Travis the service dog sits next to her with a black bow tie around his neck, his long tail swishing happily behind him.

For a second, I can convince myself this is real.

We’re a happy family.

This is my happily ever after.

Maybe if I say it enough, it will start to feel true. I harness the fake energy and stretch a smile across my face.

When I look back to Adrik, his dark eyebrow arches in amusement. But I know what he’s saying. What he’s thinking.

Good girl.

Then, all too soon, I’m there. Up on the altar for the fake wedding of my nightmares. Adrik takes my hand in his, but it feels nothing like the warm touch of a lover. More like the iron clasp of handcuffs.

The ceremony is in Russian. The priest, an older man with a graying beard that hangs down over his chest, is wearing a high-backed white and gold robe over his black clothes. Matching white and gold fabric cuffs cover each of his arms from wrist to elbow.