Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 93506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Kirill’s attention never leaves mine as he says with blinding assertiveness, “I do.”
I’m about to cry again. Damn it.
The man looks at me. “Do you, Aleksandra Ivanova, take Kirill Morozov as your lawfully wedded husband, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?”
I hold back the tears as I finally choose myself. “I do.”
Kirill’s eyes blaze in a deep, deep blue that nearly sweeps me under from the intensity. He lifts my hand and slips the band on my ring finger, then offers me his hand.
My movements are shaky as I do the same.
We then sign our names where the pastor or civil servant tells us to.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride…”
The man hasn’t even finished his words, but Kirill has already tugged me toward him by the nape and slams his mouth to mine.
He kisses me like he’s my husband.
And I’m his wife.
I’m Kirill’s wife.
I kiss him as passionately as he kisses me, matching his intensity with mine.
This time, I let the happy tears loose.
25
KIRILL
I have a wife.
And her name is Aleksandra Ivanova.
My perception of marriage was skewed from a young age due to Roman and Yulia’s toxic and excruciatingly incompatible pairing.
They taught me to loathe the idea of tying oneself to another person for life, which is why I’ve always viewed marriage as a possible business opportunity. Nothing more and nothing less.
However, those feelings have changed dramatically since I witnessed Sasha’s state following the news of my engagement to Kristina.
She was crying nonstop. I know because I have cameras here and I’m the only one with access. What made matters worse was how she was often looking for ways to escape me.
I didn’t expect much when I asked if she wanted to be my wife, but her reaction woke a foreign part of me. A poignant sense of possessiveness grabbed hold of me and still refuses to let go.
The room plunges into silence after Viktor escorts the civil servant out. Part because I can’t get enough of studying the woman standing in front of me, looking like the best present I’ve ever received.
Her cheeks are covered with a pink hue, and her lips are swollen from how savagely I kissed them just now.
It’s been a long time since she dressed as a woman, but she’s not in just any clothes now. She’s wearing a wedding dress to be my wife.
My. Fucking. Wife.
I bring out my phone. “Let’s take a picture.”
The man took a few of us before he left, but that’s still not enough. I want to keep this image of her forever.
Sasha nods and stands beside me. I pull her by the waist, and she yelps as I raise the phone and snap a few pictures of us. Then I kiss her and take more. She smiles against my mouth, and I can almost taste her happy tears from earlier.
“You look so fucking beautiful,” I whisper against her lips, and she shudders.
Her eyes meet mine. “You look gorgeous yourself.”
“Gorgeous, huh?”
“You know you are.” She hesitantly plants a hand on my shoulder. “May I have this dance?”
“There’s no music.”
“That’s easy to fix.” She grabs my phone and taps a few things, and soon after, cool classical music fills the room.
“I don’t really dance,” I say as she places the phone back in my pocket.
Her expression falls, but she interlinks her fingers with mine. “I can teach you. Just place your hand around my waist and follow my lead—”
Her words are cut off when I slam her against my front and then twirl her around. When she lands back against me, her eyes shine with contagious joy. “I thought you didn’t know how to dance?”
“I said I don’t dance, not that I don’t know how.” I sway her in my arms a few times, then spin and catch her.
She’s flat out laughing now, and her happiness makes me wish we could stay this way for eternity. It’s rare to see her laugh, even when she’s in a good mood. My understanding is that she’s self-conscious about being too open.
Those concerns seem to disappear now as she throws her head back and laughs. She’s an excellent dancer by every definition of the word. Not only is she disciplined, but she also has an easy elegance to her moves like a former rich young lady would have.
Halfway through, she wraps her arms around my waist and hides her face in my chest. My hand flexes on her back, feeling her tremble slightly as we sway to the music.
Sometimes, when she’s being a fucking badass as my bodyguard, I forget that she can also be a vulnerable woman who needs hugs as a form of comfort.
She has this little personality trait where she loves and cares with all her heart.