Deceitful Vows by Brook Wilder
Chapter 20
Andrei
My foot taps softly as Grigori Schevchenko drones through the ceremony in Russian. His voice is a monotone in the stuffy chapel as people fidget on the benches. Grigori was ordained a priest in the old country before joining the Bratva for a second chance to live in the new world. He retained his role as confessor. I watch him turn the pages of the ancient Bible in his hand, wondering if he’s even reading it.
My gaze drifts over to Paige.
I keep telling myself that she’s not my type. Too soft, too sweet, too emotional. There are tears in her eyes. Disappointment bubbles inside of me. I thought she was tougher. I don’t know what to do with a crying woman.
With the crowns raised above our heads, she looks like a bride from the old country, wrapped in enough white satin to smother a man. I could have hidden a tank under that ridiculous skirt. Every part of her is covered up like a virgin waiting to be unwrapped.
Another tear falls. She quickly wipes her cheek, and then it’s followed by a tiny gasp as the crowns are lowered. The weight of it tugs her head backward and she raises her head higher to accommodate it, exposing her neck.
I don’t know why, but there’s something that looks right with the image of Paige in that excessively modest dress and the crown nestled in her hair.
Like she’s made to wear both.
My gaze traces along the exposed skin of her neck, flawless and tempting. I remember the other dress—the one that was almost invisible. It hid no part of the desirable body underneath. The sheer fabric glided over her skin as my hands cupped her breasts and I tugged her against me. Her perfect ass nuzzled against my hard cock.
While I would’ve preferred that dress, I have no desire to let anyone else but me get that view.
Grigori is staring at me, and I realize that it’s my turn to speak. He repeats the words again. I, Andrei Barinov, take Paige Reyes as my lawfully wedded wife. My voice fills the quiet dread of the chapel, and then Grigori turns to Paige.
She says her vows, her voice no more than a whisper. She sniffs just before saying, “I do.” She stops sniffing when Grigori demands her hand, and that’s when I place the twenty-carat diamond on her finger.
Grigori raises his arms in a dramatic gesture, playing the role a bit too thick. “You may kiss your bride, Andrei Vasilyevich.”
My eyes give the crowd one last quick scan, looking for anyone reaching for something they shouldn’t before I turn back to Paige to pull her into my arms.
She winces, and I narrow my eyes.
Don’t pretend. You want this.
Her chin lifts and her mouth parts slightly. I press my lips to hers. A jolt explodes inside me, unexpected but curious. Sensations race along my skin as if I’ve touched a live wire. My fingers press into the volumes of her dress until she’s secure in my grasp. She leans into me, molding her body into mine. I swipe my tongue over her lips and kiss her harder. The sensation doesn’t lessen. It becomes intense. When we pull apart, I see she is blushing as she catches her breath.
With tears in her eyes, my mother leaps up from the bench and hurries over to Paige—all protocols and customs be damned.
She hugs Paige close, and I can hear her whisper, “You’ve done well, my dear. Welcome to the family.”
When we reach the end of the aisle, Paige snarls quietly that it’s the incense making her cry and nothing else. I grab her sleeve before she can wipe her nose on it and drag her into an antechamber off the chapel. She gawks at the legal documents on the desk, ready to sign.
“It’s fake, right?” she asks, a tinge of hope in her voice.
“The emotion is,” I reply coldly, “but the legality is not.”
She stares at me with a knowing look. “And what about the physical, Andrei?”
And before I can respond, she rips the pen out of my hand and signs her name brusquely before we walk out, hand in hand, to join the reception.
