“Be specific, Marissa,” I tell her. “What exactly do you object to?”
“Arranging a marriage,” she says, her eyes pleading with me. “Get to know her, Tomas. Let her get to know you. Don’t just steal her and—and—” she looks at Stefan and flushes madly. “Make her yours without even the courtesy of knowing her!” She doesn’t want to mention me fucking my new wife in front of her father-in-law. I, however, have no such qualms.
“You don’t want me to rape her. Do you really not know me better than that by now?” Her eyes widen, and her mouth drops open.
“But there are—aren’t there rules governing the timeframe for…” she looks to Stefan again, still not wanting to speak frankly about sex and arrangements in front of her father-in-law.
“Consummating the marriage?” I ask her, barely checking the desire to laugh. “Yes, of course. If need be, I’ll take my time. Traditional Bratva regulations expect an arranged marriage between two brotherhoods to be consummated within three days.” What I don’t tell her is I don’t give a fuck about traditional regulations, and I’ll take my damn time. But I’m not saying that out loud.
“Three days?” she says. “That’s not long at all! You don’t even know her!”
“It’s long enough,” I tell her. “You underestimate me, Marissa.” I won’t abuse my new wife, but I will have my way.
She opens her mouth to speak, but then looks at Nicolai, frowns, and closes her mouth.
“Do you know me to be a fair man?” I ask her.
“Well, yes,” she begins, “But you’re… you’re stern,” she says, still flushing pink. “Very stern. You command men in your group with an iron fist. What if you scare her?”
I shrug. “What if I do?” I hope I do. I’d rather be feared than disrespected or disobeyed.
“It isn’t right that a newlywed woman fear her husband!”
“According to whom?” My tone sharpens, my patience waning. “It’s perfectly reasonable in the eyes of the Bratva. And anyway, let me ask you a question,” I continue. I need to remind her of her own experience, her own role in this. “Is having a stern husband a bad thing? You ought to know.” Nicolai is no pushover. Thirteen years her senior, he was her bodyguard and protector, and though he adores her with a fiery passion, I’ve seen him take her in hand with my own eyes. And it works for them.
“I—well, I wouldn’t know any other way,” she reluctantly admits, which earns a chuckle from Nicolai. She shoots him a look of hurt, as if he’s betrayed something between them, but he ignores her and shakes his head, walking over to her.
“I have to admit, your concern for her is admirable, my love,” he says, his tone softer now. “But I trust Tomas, and he will be a good husband to whomever he marries.” He lowers his voice and gives her a serious look. “And now that’s enough questioning Tomas. He is marrying Caroline Koslov whether you approve or not, but we owe him this, Marissa. Lest you forget, it is because of Tomas that you and I are together.”
I don’t speak, allowing Nicolai to persuade her in his own way. Looking from me to Nicolai, she finally nods. She inhales, then lets her breath out slowly. “Alright,” she says. “I’ll be witness.” Nicolai takes her arm and leads her into the living room.
Stefan’s phone rings.
“Yes? Bring her to Nicolai’s,” he says. They’re here. The tension in the room visibly heightens when Stefan hangs up his phone and shoves it in his pocket. He turns to me. “She’s arrived, and they’re on their way.” He furrows his brow.
“What is it?” I ask. “You look perplexed.”
“They said it’s their tradition to veil a bride before marriage, and they will not lift the veil until you’ve said your vows.”
I give him a curious look. “Fair enough.”
Stefan shakes his head. “It concerns me,” he says. “Is there something they’re hiding?”
“Like she’s ugly?” Marissa asks, giving me a look that dares me to question my future wife’s looks. “Maybe there’s more to a relationship than looks anyway.”
“That’s enough,” Nicolai says to her, giving her a pointed look.
“I agree, Marissa,” I say to her. “She was pretty enough when—”
But a knock comes at the door and we all fall silent. Nicolai opens it. I can’t see beyond him, but when he steps aside, I see a small, veiled woman flanked on all sides by men. She wears clothes so dark and baggy; I can’t see her figure at all. Her hands are clasped below the veil, her head is bowed. She might as well be wearing a paper bag over her entire body for all I can observe of her.
“Come in,” Nicolai says.
I try to see my future bride’s face, but though the veil is sheer, I see nothing. The thick, clumsy veil and dark, muted clothing make for an almost macabre appearance. I frown at the group that enters.