Page 41 of Gilded Shackles
That shouldn't matter. But it does.
We don't speak for the rest of the song. Just move closer. Her hand slides higher on my shoulder. My thumb brushes her knuckles without permission from my brain. Our bodies sway in a rhythm too intimate for strangers, too instinctive for something this staged.
The music ends. I don't let go right away. She doesn't pull away.
Then the applause breaks out, loud and jarring, and the spell snaps.
We're surrounded again. Laughter. Vodka. Human attention acting like flashbulbs.
I step back. Reset my face into something cold and unreadable.
Mikhail stumbles over, sweaty and grinning. "Time for the main event!" he crows.
I resist the urge to headbutt him into the cake.
The room erupts in cheers and lewd comments that turn Elle's face crimson.
"Bed the bride!" someone shouts, and others take up the chant.
I want to put my fist through a wall. This archaic bullshit was supposed to be optional, but nothing's optional when the Bratva's involved. Viktor catches my eye across the room and raises his glass.
Traditions must be followed,I can hear him screaming in his head.
"Enough," I snap at the men closest to me, but they're too far gone on alcohol and tradition to listen.
"Don't be shy, Ivanov! We all know you've already broken her in!"
"Better enjoy it now," Yuri laughs. "First night is sweet. Then marriage will strangle your balls forever."
I say nothing. Just smile like I haven't killed for less.
Someone shoves me forward. "Go. Take her inside. Wedding night tradition."
Elle is crimson beside me, and I know I'd better get her out of here before these animals say something that actually breaks her.
"Come on." I put my hand to the small of her back. "Let's get out of here."
They push harder, half-laughing, half-dangerous, as they move us along. I let them because I've been on that side of the party before, and for the first time in my life, I'm starting to understand how fucked this is.
The walk to the private wing is loud. Slaps on my shoulder, mock cheers, drunken claims that they'll be listening at the door to make sure they hear her scream.
Fucking animals.
I shut the suite door before the noise can swallow her.
And then, quiet. Deadly, haunting silence.
I turn and find her standing in the center of the room, fingers trembling at the diamonds around her wrist. Not fear of me. Fear of the eyes outside. Of failing a performance no woman should ever have to give.
I exhale. "They're assholes. Ignore them."
She gives me the smallest, tightest smile. Brave but close to breaking.
Then, without warning, she turns her back to me.
And unzips her dress.
It falls in one soft rush. A pool of white silk hitting the floor.
