Chapter 5 Yet they say weddings are no fun?

Viktoria 'Toria' Malchov

"Come on Toria, You can't just go fainting on me," a tense yet achingly familiar voice echoes, his hands cradling my face.

Tears cling to my lashes before they drop, staining the heavy blush on my cheeks.

His thumb reaches my left cheek and swipes, gently wiping the tears away, "quit crying now, we don't want to ruin that makeup. Do we?"

Fuck

I suck in a breath and my lungs are filled with that intoxicating cedar and woods scent laced with a hint of unsettling and mysterious.

I peek my eyes open, eager to sneak a sight of him but his thump strokes my cheek and I resist the urge to close my eyes and breathe him in. The fucking urge that makes me feel like an addict who has been thrown into bad habits.

"You're delusional if you think I'm going to marry you," the words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them. I peel my eyes open and a throaty groan escapes my throat the moment I realize how close he is.

His thumb drags the length of my face settling just below my chin. My breathing grows laboured when his lips tilt in a smug smirk, his left eyebrow arching in a comical yet stoic way when our eyes lock.

And I'm lost for thoughts.

His eyes are the most remarkable shade of blue. Like a magnet they pull me in, sucking me into their depths such that only their cold darkness surrounds me.

His face breaks out in a smile or should I say a nonchalant grin one that is devoid of any emotions and warmth, "let's not get it twisted-you have no say in this," he leans in his forehead brushing mine, his breath mingling with that of mine while his lips hover close to mine causing tingles to erupt all over my body, "You were never meant to belong anywhere else, solnyshko."

Solnyshko? The audacity with this man! After ignoring me for years he comes back calling me that endearment as if nothing happened. My head throbs with confusion as I try to string everything about this man.

"I don't belong to you!" The words fly out of my mouth. I try my best to keep my breathing in check, or else it could give me away.

But I doubt that is working, with the warmth creeping high up my cheek bones.

His gaze trails down to my parted lips and my body grows rigid to the intensity ingrained deep into them before his lips curve up in what I would assume is a grin. "Well, that can be arranged. Shall we?"

He loosens his hold on me before he steps back. My legs give up on me and I stumble back while my brain struggles to process what just happened.

He shifts his attention to the priest who has been silently enjoying the little show we were putting up in his church.

Continue with the ceremony," he orders his tone hard and devoid of the teasing tone it held earlier while he was talking to me.

The elderly priest hesitates, his wrinkled face shrouded with confusion. However, that reaction doesn't last long when Misha subtly raises his suit jacket such that only the priest sees the gun in his holster.

The priest swallows nervously as his gaze darts up, looking straight ahead to the congregation, "F-fine, I-I will continue with the ceremony. J-just...right now." he trips over his words, his malnourished frame trembling with fear.

Misha's earlier smug smile returns and he buttons up his suit jacket, satisfaction dancing in his eyes, "Perfect, lets continue and skip direct to the I dos,"

"Y-yes sir,"

"Try something fishy, and will shoot you to death,"

The priest nods frantically, his eyes distraught of his near or dare I say looming death, "Uh- do you Viktoria Malchov take this man here as your lawfully wedded husband?"

I open my mouth fully intending to dish out a protest but the words die in my throat when I catch Misha's hard glare on me and the thickening tension within the congregation.

"On one condition," I state my voice steady as my eyes lift up to look at the man whose face looks...impassive.

"What is it?"

I swallow, "if I marry you you'll have to treat me as your equal. I'm tired of all the sheltering you and papa did to me."

Something shifts in Misha's face–one that borders intrigue and amusements, "you want an in with the family business. That is no place for someone as soft as you."

I nod despite the regret gnawing me inside out,"if it means I'll not remain in the dark as major decisions on my life are made, then I'll do whatever you want."

His lips arch up in a smirk, "whatever I want, huh?" His gaze then darkens, "Are you sure about that?" he whispers close to my ear, an unsettling edge lacing his voice and something inside me drops.

Nodding, "Yes," my voice devoid of earlier confidence despite my best efforts to portray it.

His head tilts to the side, as if he's waiting for me to back down on my response judging by the intent look he's fixing me.

"Very well," he mumbles after what feels like eternity and I release a breath I didn't know I was holding as tension rolled off my shoulders.

"Thank you," I mouth at him and motion to the priest to continue with the ceremony.

The ceremony continues and when the priest asks if I will take Misha as my husband there is no hesitation in my voice.

"With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife." He announces.

"Y-you may now kiss your bride, Mr-," he hesitates or more like squirms under Misha's hard glare.

Misha shifts his attention to me, his hand snaking around the small of my back yanking me flush against him while his face dips down and he captures my lips in one fluid movement.

My hands darts out resting on his coat lapels grabbing them in search of some sought of support.

His lips play with mine.

But I don't kiss him back.

So he darts his tongue, swiping it against my lips, urging them to open for him. When I don't respond he sinks his teeth on my bottom lip, biting hard and my lips pry open, a soft moan escaping them.

He leaves my lips and lunges for my exposed neck.

His teeth tease my collarbone before he bites in the spot destroying me more than this sham of a wedding.

God almighty.

However, the pain lasts for less than a moment because his lips circle the spot, sucking it inside his mouth and soothing it with his warm tongue. An action that makes me weak in the knees so I tighten my grip on his coat.

I'd be ashamed that everyone is watching me kiss my brother including the old celibate dude who has his hands clamped together on his chest. But then his mouth trailing kisses up my neck makes me better close to being delirium.

"Kiss me back, wife," he growls close to my ear lobe.

I open my mouth to say everyone is watching but he lunges his mouth against mine, taking every protest from me.

My bro–my new husband doesn't kiss, he devours, he destroys...and I'm confident that he has ruined every kiss that I'll ever have with a man considering I've only kissed two guys, one of which was before high school.

I hear people getting on their feet. Some are clapping their hands while shrieking the old cliche line 'congratulation to the newly weds.'

That doesn't register because my mind is too stunned and frazzled to register everything that's happening.

My husband doesn't stop when the priest clears his throat. Instead he kisses me like he's making love to me in front of all these people and before the Lord himself.

And when his lips detach from mine, he runs his thumb over them smudging the nude lipstick as if I'm one of his art masterpieces.

His hands loop around the back of my thighs and back and he lifts me like I weigh nothing carrying me outside the cathedral like I'm some overpriced prize he just won in a tournament.

Yet they say weddings are no fun?