His uncle turns back to me and says, “My nephew assures me I have nothing to worry about. Let’s hope he’s right.”
I’m still trying to process everything when another man walks in and says something to Aleksandr in Russian before smacking him on the back with a laugh. He’s almost as tall as Aleksandr with brown hair and a nose that looks like it’s been broken one too many times to ever be fully straight again.
“Nice to meet you, Holly,” he says, holding his hand out to me. “I’m Ivan. Aleksandr’s cousin. Welcome to the family.”
I try to return the big grin he’s giving me, but it’s hard. I still feel like they’re going to say this is all a joke at any second, but no one does. An older man walks in, carrying a stack of papers. Viktor leads him over to his desk before they wave us over.
“What’s your last name, Holly?” Viktor asks.
“Knightly,” I say, and then when he asks for my address, I mumble the number and street to my shitty apartment that I guess I no longer share with Shelly. Aleksandr looks down at me when I say that my parents are dead, but he doesn’t say anything. Once the questions are done, we stand next to one another with Viktor and Ivan as our witnesses while the officiant goes through the quickest ceremony in the world.
Aleksandr takes two platinum bands from Ivan and slips one on my ring finger, making me wonder if they keep an assortment of rings on hand for situations like this. His deep voice says, “I do,” and then it’s my turn.
I pause. The man in front of me is for all intents and purposes a complete stranger, but he doesn’t feel like one to me. I remember the kiss he gave me, waking up in his arms, the sight of his powerful naked body when he’d showered, and the feral look in his eyes when he’d come. Would a life tied to him really be all that bad? And what choice do I have anyway?
I do the only thing I can do, and whisper an “I do,” slipping the matching band on his thick finger before the officiant pronounces us man and wife and tells Aleksandr to kiss his bride.
He cups my face, leaning closer so our lips are almost touching. His green eyes search mine. He whispers, “I’m sorry,lisichka,” before giving me a gentle, chaste kiss and then stepping back. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help but feel disappointed. He doesn’t love me, I remind myself. I mean, clearly, he just called me a pain in the ass during our wedding ceremony. He doesn’t feel anything for me, and it’s very likely he never will. I’m surprised by how much that bothers me.
Viktor smacks Aleksandr on the back and gives me a smile that I’m assuming he thinks is warm. “Welcome to the family, Holly.”
We’re given one last certificate to sign, and when I go to sign my married name, I realize that I have no idea what it is.
“I don’t know your last name,” I say, looking up at Aleksandr.
“It’s Lenkov,” he says, searching my eyes like he’s looking for signs that I’m about to crack.
I sign my new name, Holly Lenkov, and set the pen down. I know I’ve just crossed a line that I can’t ever uncross. I belong to Aleksandr now, and that means I’m a part of a mafia family that does all kinds of illegal shit that I really hope I never find out about. Knowledge isn’t power in this scenario. Knowledge just gets your ass shot. Ivan hands us both a shot of vodka, and I happily down it, needing the alcohol to calm my nerves. The last thing I want is an asthma attack in front of my new relatives. I imagine I’m embarrassing enough to Aleksandr as is. He’s probably wishing he’d just shot me last night and been done with it.
My wedding band feels strange, and I keep fiddling with it while I watch the three men speaking in Russian. Ivan says something that makes Viktor laugh and Aleksandr turn his green eyes to me. I really need to learn to read him. His face is like stone, though, and I can’t tell if he’s pissed, happy, or just plain bored. I have the insane urge to grip his beard and pull him down for another taste. He arches a dark brow at me, cutting into my thoughts and making me assume that I’m not near as difficult to read as he is. My dad always said I was an open book, that I always wore my emotions for everyone to see. When I start to think about what he would say about my marriage, I push the thought aside and instead focus on the men in front of me.
Aleksandr says something to them and then reaches for our jackets, holding mine open to help me into it in a gesture that almost lets me pretend we’re an actual couple in love before putting his own on and leading me out the door.
“It was nice meeting you,” Ivan yells to me before the door shuts.
The silence between us when we’re back outside and getting into his truck is awkward as fuck. I try to ignore it, try to tell myself that it doesn’t matter, but not even the Christmas decorations all around the city can cheer me up, and by the time we’re pulling back into the driveway, I’m fighting the tears with everything I have. Knowing I’m about to crack, I jump from the truck and run for the front door, impatient to get inside so I can hole up somewhere and cry my heart out.
As soon as he unlocks the door, I try to bolt toward the stairs, but he surprises me by grabbing onto me and pinning me against the wall, kicking the front door shut with his black boot. His green eyes bore into mine, and when my own eyes start getting watery, I see his soften the tiniest bit.
“What’s wrong?”
I let out a half-laugh, half-sob and try to turn my head away. He cups my face, forcing me to keep looking at him. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps holding me until I finally give in.
“A lot of things are wrong, Aleksandr. I just got married to a man who can’t stand me, and I have no idea what’s going to happen next. I don’t know you. I don’t know if you’re even going to be faithful to me.” My voice shakes, and tears are streaming down my face, but I keep going, unable to stop now that I’ve started. “I mean, we’re married, but that doesn’t mean you won’t just go out and have a ton of mistresses and then come home and treat me like shit.”
He waits several agonizing seconds before saying, “Why do you think I can’t stand you?”
“Why wouldn’t I think that? I mean, I know you didn’t really choose to marry me, but you didn’t have to call me a pain in the ass during our vows.”
The side of his mouth quirks up in a grin as he runs his thumbs over my cheeks, brushing away the tears. The feel of his skin against mine sends a rush of warmth through me before it pools right between my thighs.
“Lisichkameans little fox.”
“What?” I’m having a hard time concentrating with his body so close to mine and the intense, raw desire I see in his eyes.
“It means little fox, not pain in the ass. I call you that because of your enormous, fox house shoes.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling my face heat up. The nickname is cute now that I know what it means, and I secretly hope he keeps calling me it because I like the way it sounds in his deep voice and the intimacy of it makes me feel things that I’m not quite ready to investigate.