Page 71 of The Enemy Protector
His hand takes mine. Every muscle in my arm goes rigid. But he doesn't squeeze. Doesn't move. Just holds. I blink. The warmth grounds me.
I inhale and slowly let the breath out.
I jerk my hand away. “I’m fine.”
I refuse to lose my shit. I can do this.
“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter.
The priest begins. His voice is monotone, reciting words I’ve heard at other weddings. Words about commitment and partnership and joining together.
Blah, blah, blah.
This isn’t about love or commitment. It’s two people using each other to get what they need.
“The rings,” the priest says.
Kirill steps forward and hands Sergei a simple platinum band. It’s beautiful in its simplicity. No diamonds. No engravings. Just a smooth circle of metal.
Sergei takes my left hand. I force myself not to pull away.
“With this ring, I thee wed,” he says.
He slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly. He had Nelson get my ring size the other day.
Kirill hands me a matching band. I take Sergei’s hand and repeat the words.
“With this ring, I thee wed.”
I slide the ring onto his finger. It looks strange there. Wrong. Like I’m marking him as mine when we both know this is just performance.
The priest continues. More words. More empty promises about sickness and health and till death do us part.
Till death.
That’s the only part that feels real. This marriage ends when one of us dies. No divorce. No escape clause. And if my cousin has his way, my death will happen far sooner than I’d care for.
For better or worse, I’m bound to Sergei Sokolov until one of us is in the ground.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest says. He looks at Sergei. “You may kiss the bride.”
I tense. We didn’t discuss this part. I assumed—hoped—we’d skip it.
But Sergei steps closer. I tilt my head back to glare at him. To silently communicate that if he tries anything, I will make him regret it.
He leans down, his mouth close to my ear. Close enough that I feel his breath on my skin.
“This is part of the deal,” he whispers. “Be a good girl and convince this priest you love me.”
I want to argue. Want to push him away and tell him the deal didn’t include him touching me.
But he’s right. This is a wedding. Weddings end with a kiss.
And I agreed to this.
I close my eyes and wait.
His lips touch mine. Soft. Brief. Nothing like what I expected from a man like him.
