Page 36 of Her BRATVA Protector
I’m crying again. The hair lady smiles kindly, dabs my eyes and tells me the makeup artist in on her way, and to let it all out before she gets here. I let it ALL out.
* * *
My dress is on a padded hanger in the bathroom. Jasmine drags me to it. She’s dressed in a blush-pink silk gown. My baby looking so grown I have to swallow hard to keep it together.
It’s ivory, soft, with long, lacy sleeves. The neck framing my collarbones. Gorgeous, elegant. Grown and sophisticated.Exactly what I’d have chosen ifsomebodygave me fucking time to prepare my own wedding.
He picked this incredible dress. In what, twelve hours? And I know it’s going to fit because the Mad Scot doesn’t miss.
“Mama,” Jasmine says. “You’re gonnafloorhim in this.”
I bark out a laugh. How the fuck is this my life?!
* * *
I don’t see Adam. I just know he’s out there behind a wall of peonies, and I’m at the back of the house with my arm through Jasmine’s, looking at a backyard I do not recognize. With lights strung through the trees, hundreds of them. And a path of white petals spread over the freshly cut grass.There’s an arch under the oak tree that’s overflowing with peonies, roses, and some beautiful blue flowers I can’t name. A row of stylish white chairs at the front, two holding our entire guest list: Kostya in a black suit, and Beth at his side. That’s it. That’s the whole party.
And at the front, under the arch, is Adam. He turns.And oh.My freaking fiancé’s wearing a black three-piece tux, looking sharp as a fucking blade, perfectly tailored for his massive shoulders, that chest, and those thighs… like the fabric was fucking poured on him. Paired with a black bow tie, a white pocket square. His lush hair, brushed back, beard neatly trimmed, his blue eyes incredible.Lord have mercy,this man cleans up like nobody’s business!
And his face when he sees me isunhingedwith joy. The Mad Scot of Edinburgh, standing under a flower arch in my back garden, grinning like a damn fool, that wicked mouth pulled so fucking high I let out a laugh, shaking my head. One of his hands is fisting and stretching at his side like he’s physically restraining himself from coming up the petal path to get me. His eyes drag from the lace at my wrists to the satin at my hips to the curlsaround my face. Making me feel warm all over. Heart full, and light, and blooming. Nipples hard, clit tingling.
This is not a man at his wedding. This is a man at thestart of his wedding night.I can literally hear him in my head:mine! Cannae wait to get my hands on ye, lass.
Jasmine squeezes my arm, whisper-shouting, “Mama, he looks hot!”
“Jas’!”
“He does, Ma, I’m sorry, he really does.”
I giggle, checking her with my hip.
Adam’s grin doesn’t dim as I come down the path. Itgrows.Every step feeds it. The man is going to dislocate his jaw. I’m laughing and crying. He’s fuckingradiant.
Jasmine kisses my cheek and steps back, and Adam takes my hand out of hers, both his palms warm around mine. His thumb runs over the rock he put on me, and his grin softens.
“There she is. The soon-to-be Mrs. Maksimov.”
Sweet baby Jesus.
Mrs. Maksimov.In his low, gravelly burr, with the sun setting around us, in this tux, with fairy lights in the trees, and my baby with us.
My knees buckle, of course, asshole catches it, and grins wider.
The officiant says words. I catch almost none of them. I catchdo youand say I do,and I listen intently as Adam repeats it low and rough, his brogue thicker than I’ve ever heard it.
The man pronounces us, and Adam’s grin breaks into a laugh…real, deep, and he hauls me into his chest and kisses me. Right there, under the arch, in front of my daughter, Kostya, Beth, and the officiant.
He kisses me the way he’s kissed me from the start. Like he’s climbing inside me through my mouth. Like I’mhis.His hand slides off my face to the small of my back and settles low…thekind of low a man’s hand goes when he’s already thinking about the dress coming off…and his mouth moves at the corner of mine, hot and smiling, just for me.
“My wife.”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“My fuckin’wife.Lisa Maksimov.Mine.”
“Yes, Adam.”
“Cannae wait tae get ye oot this dress, love.” His accent is so strong now, I barely understand the words, and I laugh against his mouth, and the Mad Scot dips his head and kisses me again. Deeper. Slower.Filthier.
