Seduction: A Dark Bratva Fake Marriage Romance (Wicked Vows)

“Alright,” Polina says. She stands in front of me in a pale pink dress that somehow magnifies the brilliant blue of her eyes. “Let’s see how I did.”

I turn around to face the mirror and my mother. Mom covers her mouth with her hand and stares.

“Vera,” she breathes. “You look like you should’ve modeled for one of those magazines yourself.”

I blush and stare at my reflection. Harper, adjusting the flowers in my hair, smiles brightly. “I definitely understood the assignment,” she says cheerfully in a singsong voice. “Didn’t I? Thank you, thank you very much. She can do more than shoot a pretty gun, eh?”

Polina grins. “I helped, girlfriend. It wasn’t all on you.”

Harper rolls her eyes. “I did her hair and makeup! But yes, you got the dress, so we can go halfsies on the credit.”

“Absolutely,” I say with a playful smile. “You both deserve a medal.”

Polina winks. “I’ll take a cash bonus instead.”

Harper chuckles. “Deal. Just remember that it was me who spent hours perfecting those waves.”

I turn to the side as if somehow another angle will make it easier for me to understand that the beautiful woman in front of the mirror. . . is me. Gone is the wild, untamed hair I pin up in a weird bun ninety percent of the time because I can’t be bothered. Gone is the pale face that never gets enough sun and the tired eyes from lack of sleep. My hair is sleek and wavy, my face bright and shining. I’m glowing. . . though that isn’t all makeup.

“Yeah, girls,” I say in a stunned whisper. “You did good. This dress is exactly what I wanted.” Simple. Sophisticated. Elegant.

Harper nods with satisfaction. “And I can even walk in these heels,” I say, looking down at the pretty satin shoes that peek out from beneath the flowing silky hem of my dress, little kitten heels Harper promised me I’d like.

“Your groom has sent you a bouquet,” Aria says from the door. She grins and hands me a large bouquet of red roses.

“Now,” Polina says as she hands me the flowers. “Brief refresher on Russian wedding traditions.”

My mother giggles, but I groan. “You aren’t going to hold him hostage again, are you?”

“No, no, he passed that part. But we do have a few superstitions, and they matter. They matter a lot. Okay?”

“Okay,” I say with a grin. “Let’s hear it.”

“When you leave the house for the wedding, which will be held outside, you cannot look back. It’s bad luck.”

I nod. “Easy enough.”

“It’s raining!” my mother says excitedly. She even claps her hands.

“Oh no!” I rush to the window, but she shakes her head.

“No, no, Vera, it’s good luck, I promise.”

I look out the window and see it’s overcast and drizzling, so it’s not that bad. “During the wedding ceremony, we’ll tie a knot in a handkerchief that symbolizes your marriage bond. We also have a few things we do during the reception itself that will bring good luck.”

“Like breaking dishes?” I definitely heard about that somewhere. I think I saw a video somewhere of a bride gleefully smashing dishes.

“Mm-hmm. Yep. Don’t worry, we’ll show you,” Mom reassures me.

“Perfect.” I hold my head high as we head outside. When I first got here, the only familiar face was my mother’s, but I know the others now, at least a little. Aria’s impish grin inspires me. Harper’s lovely smile makes me feel welcome. Polina’s sturdy, calming presence makes me feel like I’m one of them.

Outside, the late summer afternoon is warm and inviting. My heart beats so quickly that I feel a bit woozy. My nerves are already on edge, so the presence of all of those guards, not even bothering to hide their weapons, makes me uneasy.

My mother stands at the front beside Ekaterina. The matriarchs of our families. They look regal and graceful as always, their presence alone inspiring to me. I swallow hard and stare straight ahead, gripping the bouquet of crimson-red roses in my hands. Tall trees and blooming flowers surround us, creating a romantic and picturesque setting. The imposing home behind us smacks of regal sophistication, which honestly is fitting. Against a backdrop of lush green gardens with a hint of the golden hue of late autumn, our guests wait.

With such short notice my sister couldn’t come, so I know hardly anyone. I don’t really care who’s here. All that I care about is Nikko, who’s waiting for me at the altar, dressed in a charcoal gray suit that fits him to perfection. Even from here, I can see the broad span of his shoulders and the hard planes of his muscles, barely contained in civilized clothing. I lick my lips.

I walk to where the ceremony will take place in a designated garden area, where rows and rows of white chairs are adorned with white flowers. The Romanovs have pulled out all the stops for our Russian wedding, even on short notice. The archway that waits for me takes my breath away, overflowing with cascading flowers in shades of ivory and blush. The gentle breeze carries the scent of roses from the garden.

It’s a picture-perfect day. A picture-perfect setting. And while a string quartet plays instrumental music in the background, I can’t help but notice the palpable tension in the air.

Nikko and I are the lucky ones. We found love in the midst of hatred and truth in the midst of chaos.

I walk toward my future husband, waiting beneath the floral archway and surrounded by his brothers. It’s only the first of two weddings between our families, but in many ways, our union forges us together. Forward.

I can’t help but wonder what my father would’ve thought.

My mother stands ahead of me and I am prepared, proud even, to walk down the aisle alone. It feels fitting, really. I am making this choice. I am the one solidifying the link between his family and mine.

Outside, the late afternoon showers have stopped and the warm sun shines down on us. Our guests are standing when I reach Nikko. He reaches for my hands, and I don’t know if it’s on purpose or instinct, but he moves his body in front of mine to shield me from the crowd. “You look beautiful,” he says, bending down to kiss my cheek.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Our vows pass in a blur. I hold his gaze and speak with honesty and conviction. I hear every word he says when he repeats his. The priest officiates, and Nikko’s brothers are on constant alert, scanning the crowd for any trouble. As the ceremony proceeds, I notice a few subtle things—whispers among the guests and a few sidelong glances. Hints of tension in the air. Maybe not everyone’s pleased with this union, but we’ve made our decision. I’ve heard of some commotion at previous ceremonies, but ours goes off without a hitch.

Nikko stands beside Viktor, the intimidating one who bears a few scars and looks as strong as an ox. His best man. Lev and Ollie stand nearby as well—Lev, the youngest, sober and a bit aloof, and Ollie, with his piercing green eyes and enigmatic presence.

I wonder which one of them will marry my sister. I grin when one of his brothers places a gold crown on his head. I take mine as well, and even though we laugh, I feel the weight of that symbolism.

Queen. King. Rulers.

Nikko holds my hand in the air like a prized fighter, and the next thing I know, I’m swept off my feet. “I present to you our newly married couple, Mr. and Mrs. Romanov!” I squeal with laughter, and he practically runs with me to the reception area just as the clouds break open again and our good luck rain pours down in buckets. He’s absolutely soaked but manages to shield me from the downpour so I’m still mostly dry as we make it to the main home.

Uniformed staff stand waiting by the bar, and large round tables are filled with coordinating flowers. “So that’s it,” I say, grinning up at Nikko as he stares down at me. His hair is soaked, and there are large splotches of water all over his dress coat. He shrugs it off and tosses it on a chair. I let my eyes feast on his chiseled body that’s been practically poured into a tailored dress shirt.

“Mmm,” I say in a low whisper. I fist his tie and yank him over to me. “Tell me we can skip the ceremony, husband?”

It feels natural to call him that after pretending for all this time. It’s hard to believe that he is, indeed, my husband now. I’d guess it’s going to take me a while to fully embrace that.

We’re soon pulled into the festivities and let them do all their traditions. We break our dishes—a strange tradition, but one we follow nonetheless. It isn’t until we’re picking the pieces up together, also a part of the tradition, that the symbolism of our actions really hits me.

Picking up the broken pieces, we clean up the mess. . . together.

We start again. . . together.

We tie the literal knot in a handkerchief to strengthen the marriage bond, and Mikhail presents us with a loaf of bread and salt, supposedly a symbol of hospitality and prosperity. We take a bite together to signify our willingness to break bread together.

By the time we get to tossing the bouquet and garter to the crowd, one of the only traditions familiar enough to me, I feel like I could fall asleep standing up. Just like in traditional American weddings, whoever catches it is the next to marry. Though the single women nearly push each other out of the way to catch it, the bouquet lands squarely in Viktor’s large, rough hands.

He and Nikko share a look. Ekaterina’s eyes go wide. Mikhail only nods.

We will see about that, then.

The celebration continues with music, dancing, and a lavish dinner featuring gourmet, traditional Russian dishes, as well as decadent American fare. Even the cake looks like it was taken out of the pages of a glossy catalog—tall, immaculately white, and decorated with shaved chocolate.

We take our first dance in the center of the room under a canopy of twinkling fairy lights. It feels. . . magical.

As the evening transitions into night, the garden is illuminated with soft lighting, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere. Though this is by no means a typical wedding, it feels. . . homey. Familiar. Comfortable. Guests begin to leave, and soon, it’s mostly family and close friends who remain.

“It’s time,” Nikko finally says.

“Time?”

I hear a horn blare outside the large window. I turn and laugh out loud at the sight of the car elaborately decorated with ribbons and flowers, even a little plush teddy tied to the antenna and two large golden rings hanging by ribbons in the back window.

“My brothers really outdid themselves,” he says with a groan. “And yes. It’s time for us to head to our honeymoon. We need some time to ourselves.” He reaches for my hand. “We’ll have to come back here again soon, but for now, I want to take you somewhere where just the two of us can finally rest.”

I smile at him and whisper in his ear, “You’ve never said anything sexier.”

My mother approaches us. “Come and visit?”

“Of course I will,” I tell her. “We’ll likely only spend half our time in Russia anyway.”

She smiles. “I’ll take it!”

“Plus, someone has to help you get ready for Lydia’s wedding.”

She sighs. “Indeed.”

Ekaterina kisses Nikko, then me. “Thank you,” she whispers in my ear. “He loves you so.”

Polina, Aria, and Harper all give me huge hugs and their cell phone numbers, and Harper hands me a bag she’s packed with “all the essentials.”

“I want you to tell me all about that research you’re doing when you come back,” Polina says. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

“You can count on it.”

His brothers aren’t quite as warm and fuzzy, but it’s probably because of the possessive grip Nikko has on me. He’s sort of exuding a “touch her, and I will fucking kill you” vibe to literally everyone, so it makes sense Mikhail and the rest only wave from a distance. Nikko has, after all, fought through hell and back to be where he is now.

Finally, we turn and face the darkness of the night, barely lit by the overhead twinkling of stars and the garden lighting. Hand in hand. . . our journey has only just begun.