Page 75 of Pack Baby for the Bratva
"You don't have to like it. You just have to not commit a felony during the ceremony. We can revisit the felony afterward if you still feel strongly."
Maeve reached the altar. She had obviously seen the entire exchange, and she was smiling, despite being a bride trying to pretend her groom hadn't just threatened an elderly officiant. It crinkled the corners of her eyes. She took Artem's hands and the tension drained out of him so fast I could almost hear it go.
"Hello," she said.
"You're—" He stopped. Swallowed. "You're here."
"I told you I would be. I'm very reliable. You should put that in your files."
"I don't have a file on you."
"You absolutely have a file on me. Probably started it nine months ago and Gregor has most probably laminated it."
From behind us, Gregor said, "It is in a secure binder."
The celebrant, clearly deciding that proceeding with the ceremony was safer than acknowledging what had just happened, cleared his throat and launched into the vows.
I didn't hear most of it.
I was watching Maeve's hands in Artem's hands. I was watching Gregor behind her shoulder, his gaze fixed on her back like he was memorizing the shape of her spine through silk. I waswatching the candlelight catch Mac's face in the pram, his tiny fist already curled in sleep, completely indifferent to the fact that his parents were getting married feet away.
Then the celebrant said, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
He stepped back. Notably further back than was customary.
Artem pulled Maeve against him and kissed her. It wasn't a wedding kiss. It wasn't polite or performative. It was the kiss of a man who had spent thirty-two years expecting nothing and had just been handed everything.
When he pulled away, Maeve was flushed and breathless.
She didn't stop there.
She turned to Gregor. Reached up and cupped his scarred brutal face in both hands and pulled him down. She kissed him with a tenderness that made my throat close.
"Thank you," she whispered against his mouth. "For being perfect."
Gregor's eyes went dark. His hands settled on her waist. "Always."
Then she turned to me.
I pulled her in and buried my face in her neck. Caramel and rain and champagne and something underneath that was just Maeve, just her, the scent that had knocked me sideways in a Prague alley and never let me back up.
I kissed her. Hard and fast, because if I did it slowly I might say something true and I wasn't ready for that yet.
"Always," I murmured.
"Always," she promised.
The photographs were the most dangerous part of the entire operation.
Not because of security risks. Because Maeve was tired, Mac was hungry, Mary kept making faces behind the photographer, and Artem had the expression of a man who had just been asked to smile naturally and found the request physically impossible.
"You look like you're negotiating a hostage exchange," Maeve told him.
"I’m happy."
"Tell your face."
"I am telling it. It's not listening."
