Chapter 49

Anton

It was the best day of my life.

My beautiful Mishka had agreed to marry me.

Again.

The only fly in the ointment was the man who had insisted on staying at the estate last night, without any security, to be present in the morning for the ceremony.

My father was here. I had agreed to a ceasefire. Particularly after he had agreed that Uranov should wait outside, all night. I was quite pleased that it had turned cold and rainy. We did not offer him food or water. I was certain that the old man would not do so either. He rarely thought of anyone other than himself, and certainly did not recognize the humanity in others.

How could he see something in others that did not exist in himself?

So, for now, for my wife, I would allow him to be here. I would not be civil. I also would not tear his head from his body with my bare hands.

Even though I had never wanted to do anything, other than make love to my beautiful bride, more in my life.

But someday, our father and Uranov would answer. For everything. Most of all, for Mishka.

I had slept in her room the night before. Not in the bed. In a chair, watching her rest. She had forgiven me, at least a little. My love had a tender, kind heart. However, she was a woman, and she had not forgiven me completely.

How could she? My love was not a doormat. Nor was she a church mouse. She was a warm, living, breathing, passionate woman.

I was not entirely sure that she was going to go through with the wedding today. It made no difference. We were wed. Nothing would change that.

But I was still on edge. I wanted to see her in the ornate wedding gown. I wanted to see her walking down the aisle.

In fact, I was tempted to demand another wedding, this time in a church, so that I could marry her a fourth time. Perhaps I would marry her once a year for the rest of our lives. Why not? Who would be there to stop me?

My little brat had scowled at me several times throughout the afternoon, evening, and even late at night. She had also allowed me to serve her and cuddle her. In the morning, I had hot chocolate and breakfast brought to her.

I had sat on the edge of the bed, watching her eat. I was always watching her. I only had eyes for her.

It was as if other women had simply ceased to exist, from the exactly moment I looked down to see the mystifyingly beautiful angel at my feet.

She had eaten primly, giving me looks that veered from exasperated affection to arch annoyance. I had explained to her what had happened, why I had done what I did, and when I had the cameras removed.

I had promised that I would never do anything like that again, including the tracking devices that were literally everywhere on her jewelry, shoes, bags, and devices, without her knowledge.

I did not promise to ask for her consent. That I would not and could to do. Nothing would prevent me from protecting her. My possessiveness and paranoia was what had saved her yesterday.

I could not and would not regret any of it.

Now I stood in the scant shade afforded by a pergola in the garden, once again covered in flowers by clever gardeners, waiting for a woman who I was not entirely sure would appear.

But appear she did.

This time, my bride looked not like a barefoot California princess, or a prim and proper bride-to-be, pretty as a peach and twice as fresh.

This time she looked like Cinderella. A princess at a ball. A Goddess beyond the reach of mortal men.

She should have been. She was a brunette Grace Kelly. A literal Princess. Royal. Elegant. Ethereal.

And yet, she was mine. She was already my wife. Somehow, this wedding, this dress, made it feel even more official.

The look she gave me as she walked - no, as she floated - down the aisle towards me was at first a bit spicier than you might expect on a bride, particularly one that looked like a porcelain doll. She was too perfect to be flesh and blood.

Too perfect to be giving me a look that said clearly ‘I am still angry with you'.

But a split second later, she softened, a tender love and acceptance shining in those luminous eyes. She loved me. She did forgive me, mostly. She accepted me as the obsessive, jealous, possessive, and protective man that I was.

It was all for her. Only for her.

She was my life. My love. My future.

The ceremony was longer than the other two. Too long. But not as religious as it might be in a church. Despite her serene presence beside me, despite the fact that we were already legally wed in two other countries and continents, I did not relax until the moment she said ‘yes, I do'.

After that, I could see the blue sky above me, with white clouds floating across the sun. I could feel the unseasonably warm breeze. I could smell the grass, and the flowers.

She was mine.

I kissed her, then stared searchingly into her eyes. What I saw there gave me a feeling of peace unlike I had ever known. She did love me. She was here for me. She would never leave me.