Epilogue April

EPILOGUE: APRIL

I burst out of the limo in full wedding gear. "Sorry! I think I'll walk after all!"

I don't stick around to hear the driver's apologies—I just run . Like the motherfricking wind. Which isn't a simple feat, considering the five-inch stiletto heels June shoved my feet into, but I've beaten worse odds.

After all, what's one more wedding to crash?

I leave behind the traffic jam and hoist up my white skirts. Some dudes wolf-whistle at me from the sidewalk, but I don't have the time to give them a piece of my mind. New York traffic has already robbed me of half my prep hour—I'm not sacrificing any more.

Besides—if there was ever a day to run, it's this.

Thank God we did hair and makeup at home.

I get to the venue with my heels in one hand and my skirts in the other. My feet look like I've been walking on coals, and frankly, the sensation isn't all that different.

"There you are!" Petra scolds me as soon as she sees me running up the stone steps. "What took you so long?"

"Sorry," I heave. "There was a last-minute hold-up."

"See, Nugget?" June croons to the bundle in her arms. A very big bundle, but a bundle nonetheless. The tulle certainly doesn't help. "Your mommy's a total sleepyhead, too."

"I wasn't sleeping!" I say. "I just forgot something, that's all. I had to go back home and grab it."

"What could possibly be that important?!" Petra hisses, her own white dress puffing around her like an angry prairie chicken.

I fish around my pockets—because if there's one advantage to designing my own wedding dress, it's that I get to have those, thank you very much—until I find the offending object. It isn't much to look at: a simple piece of blue satin. Cornflower blue, to be exact.

"Can you tie it to my wrist?" I ask.

"Now?!"

"I know, I know! It's just that I can't do it on my own and we're already?—"

"Allow me."

Oh.

Oh my.

I feel rough fingers slip the ribbon from mine. "I thought it was bad luck to see the bride before the wedding," I murmur.

"So don't turn around," that husky voice replies. "Give me your hand."

Stunned, I obey. I keep my eyes fixed on some distant spot, somewhere between Petra tapping her heel and June smirking behind her hand.

Maid of honor, my ass.

The fabric grazes my inner wrist. It's a soft, gentle touch, almost too light to feel. But I could never overlook the heat of that hand, not in a hundred lifetimes. It's the hand that brought me here, the hand that saved me.

The hand that reached out to me when no one else would.

"Done," he whispers against my ear.

To say I'm blushing is an understatement. I could stop traffic just by stepping off the sidewalk. "Thank you," I breathe.

Before he releases my hand, I feel the press of his lips on my knuckles. Just once—just enough to drive me crazy.

"I almost forgot," he says. "I have a gift for you."

"Me?" I blink.

"No. For the other bride."

Petra frowns. "What are you talking about?"

That's when I see his hand reach between us. I'm still not looking at him—call me superstitious, but I'm not going to invite any more bad luck on myself—so I'm even more surprised when I see what it is.

A folder.

"That's a weird gift," June comments as Petra takes the folder from Matvey's grasp. "I mean, dude, no offense, but I'd have gone with jewelry at the very least."

"I'll leave that to Yuri," he says. "This is from me only."

Well, now, I'm starting to get jealous. "Where's my special gift?" I grumble.

" Your special gift isn't something I can give you in public."

"Ew!" Petra says. "Double ew, triple ew—just get a room already!"

"Let them tie the knot first," June pipes up. "God knows these two have sinned enough."

"Jay!"

While I'm busy bickering with my maid of dis honor, Petra's eyebrows rise. "Huh. I thought these weren't going to be ready in time for the ceremony."

"What are they?" I prod.

"Our divorce papers."

Oh.

Oh.

Matvey mentioned that it was taking longer than expected. Since we'd already booked everything, we thought we'd go ahead with the ceremony anyway and formalize later, but…

This is real. This is happening.

"How did you get the lawyers to speed this up?" Petra flips through the pages with efficiency.

"Threatened mine," he says with a low chuckle.

"That's such bullshit," she mutters. "I threatened mine, too. What, they're taking you seriously but not me?"

"Simple math. Pakhan trumps vor. Nothing personal."

"Yeah, yeah, tell that to those dudebros you hired."

I feel exhilarated. I want to laugh and cry at the same time. "So we can sign?" I ask. "We can really sign today?"

"As soon as she signs," he confirms.

I take a glance at the papers. They've already been signed and initialed by him, every single page. "Got a pen?" Petra asks.

"Right here."

Once everything's in order, she hands the folder back over. "You'll send me a copy?"

"Sure. Consider it your honeymoon gift."

"You stingy bastard."

Despite Petra's words, this might just be the most amicable divorce I've ever witnessed. "So we're good?" I ask, still incredulous. "We can get married? For real?"

"For real," Matvey replies. He presses a kiss to the back of my head, and I can feel all his affection there. The love that already binds us, more than any contract ever could.

But still, the ring's pretty nice.

"I'd better go look for my brother," he sighs. "Make sure he isn't breathing in a paper bag."

Petra's eyes narrow. "He's not getting cold feet, is he?"

"I've blocked the exits just in case."

"Double check the locks."

I roll my eyes. Freaking Bratva. Some things never change. "See you at the altar, then."

"See you at the altar, Ms. Flowers."

He speaks those words right against my ear, low and gravelly as sin. It reminds me of the day we met, back when he still did call me that. ‘Ms. Flowers.'

How far we've come from that changing room.

Then again, some things never change. Like the heat crawling down my spine, so strong I can barely breathe. I want to rip this dress right off and let him sweep me off my feet, carry me where no one can see us. Declare his love for me in all the ways he knows how.

But first, we've got a wedding to attend.

After Matvey leaves, June spirits me away to the prep room. She touches up my hair and makeup—not without some choice swearing at the damage I did during my mad dash for the silk ribbon—and turns me once again into my fairytale self. Then she does the same to Petra.

"I have bridesmaids, you know," she protests.

"Sure. And they're both in the kitchens, making sure no tart goes untasted."

Petra mutters something about poison, but June's already moved on to her dress. "Jeez, did someone shoot at you on the way here?"

"Ask your bride. It's her design."

Indeed it is. Once the Mallard's exhibit was done, they reluctantly agreed to hand over my "Bulletproof Bride" piece. They even asked if I was interested in selling, but I told them no. This piece was made with one person in mind—it's only fair that she gets to wear it on her big day.

Well. Third big day.

"Swiss cheese effect aside, it's definitely a good choice. You don't even look pregnant in this one."

"Say that again, I dare you."

"What? It was a compliment!"

It's kind of true: the skirt starts high and puffs wide, so even if she's close to popping, you'd be hard-pressed to tell. Especially to her face.

I tune out their banter and look in the mirror. My own dress is familiar, but at the same time, it isn't. It has the same ivory color, the same draping, the same shape on my body. But on the left sleeve, where embroidered leaves once were, something else has taken their place.

Blossoms.

"Girls!" Corey comes knocking. "It's time."

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. In and out, like my grandmother taught me. Then I step out.

The nave is big, brightly lit, with white flowers cascading from every wall. I let Petra go first—I'm way too nervous to take the first step down the aisle. Everything still feels so surreal. Like I might wake up at any moment.

But when I pinch myself, it stings like a motherfucker.

Good. I spent all my life dreaming. I'm ready to wake the hell up. I'm ready to make my dreams a reality.

I take my first step. Then another. As I advance, I spy everyone I've ever loved in this room: Corey and Rob, their eyes wet already. Charlie, beaming like a kid on Christmas. Elias, looking at me with pride, carrying the memory of my grandmother here for me. Through us, Maia is here, too.

And then June, leading my daughter by her tiny little hands, helping her scatter flower petals all the way down the nave. She's stumbling with every step, not even one year old yet, but that's okay. That's how we all start.

Buttons trails after her, showing off the classiest bow tie in the room.

And then, on the altar, the rest of my family: Petra, the sister I never thought I'd find. Yuri, a brother beyond blood. Grisha, best man and loyal friend. And at the center, waiting for me…

Matvey.

The love of my life.

"Ready?" He holds out a hand.

For better and for worse. For richer and for poorer. In sickness and in health. Until death do us part—and it can damn well try.

"Ready," I answer.

Then I take his hand in mine.

Admittedly, I haven't been to many weddings in my life. And while I'm sure this has been the best, most kick-ass wedding on the planet, I can't help but wonder one thing…

How long before it's socially acceptable to drag your new husband to bed?

Husband. Such an unfamiliar word.

I try it on for size. Husband. Hus-band. I mouth it silently to myself while the guests party to their hearts' content. Rivers of champagne are flowing, and the cake's still receiving visits, especially from two hulking Russian bridesmaids in matching suits.

Out in the garden, I take in the villa in all its glory. It's gigantic—I can't even begin to imagine how much it cost to reserve it for one night. But we wanted our guests to have the best time without having to worry about getting home safe in the middle of the night, and this seemed like the ideal way to go.

It also meant we wouldn't have to wait for our wedding night.

God, I can't believe I'm so nervous. Matvey's seen all there is to see—surely there's no point getting shy now?

And yet, the butterflies won't stop butterflying.

It doesn't help that Matvey's never looked this handsome before. It's unfair, honestly: I should've seen all there was to see, too. Where did this glow-up come from? And how is it even possible in the first place? He was already the hottest guy I'd ever seen!

Like I said: unfair.

We've danced half the night away already, our hands roaming in all the appropriate ways. Now, nursing a drink as my husband— hus-band; nope, still weird — entertains his guests, I'm thinking of all the other ways. The not-so-appropriate ways.

Maybe another hour? I chew on my bottom lip, throwing cautious glances around the room. Maybe until the guests go to sleep? Or until Petra drags Yuri into the bushes?

Luckily, I don't have to wonder for long. "Come with me."

I almost jump at the sudden voice behind my ear. "Where?"

"I don't care," Matvey growls. "But if you're not somewhere else in the next fifty seconds, I'm going to take you right here, right now, in front of every single guest."

I swallow. He's definitely capable of doing that. "B-But the wedding?—"

"We've had our wedding. Now, come be my wife."

Wife. Goddammit, he just had to play that card. It sounds way too hot coming out of his mouth—how in the hell am I going to say no?

Then don't say it.

That's right. This is our night. If we don't make the rules, who will?

"Fine," I drawl. "But if you're not in our room in the next fifty seconds, I'm starting without you."

I can feel his gaze on me, hot and molten. I feel it every step of the way as I glide out of the garden. The villa interior greets me in marble and gold, a place fit for royalty.

Isn't that what you are now? the voice inside me whispers. A crowned queen?

If I am, then my king better not keep me waiting.

I stride towards our suite, my dress trailing after me like a carpet of flowers. Maybe the champagne's gone to my head, but I've never felt more powerful. More in control. Like I could take on the world and everyone in it.

And then, just as I'm about to step inside, my feet are swept out from under me. "Matvey!" I protest.

"You didn't think I was going to let you cross that threshold on your own, did you?"

"Yes? No? I don't know. I was having a cool moment."

"Ah, so I interrupted, did I?" He sucks my earlobe between his teeth, but only for a second. Enough to drive me wild with the promise of more. "I can leave. Let you get back to it."

Not a chance in hell. "Eh, the moment's passed."

"Pity. Guess I'll just have to carry you inside then."

"It's not even our house!" I laugh, too exhilarated to do anything else. Other people don't get to see this: Matvey's playful side. That's a privilege reserved for family only.

And his playful side in bed…

Well, let's just say I've got that under contract now.

"Then lead the way, husband. "

He groans against me. "Fuck, kalina. "

"What? Did I say something wrong?"

He doesn't even let me gawk at the expensive décor of the suite. Just presses me up against the nearest flat surface. "No. But if you keep saying that, I can't promise I'll stick to my plan."

"Which is?"

"To worship every inch of your body."

A shiver runs down my spine. "Better get to it then. Before you change your mind."

He smirks, wolfish and hungry. "As you wish, moya pakhansha. "

Then he's sealing his lips over mine.

It's a deep, devouring kiss. It leaves me stranded against the wall, drowning in pleasure and heat, with not a single second to catch my breath. I'm going to die, I think helplessly as Matvey steals my oxygen again, and again, and again. This kiss will be the death of me.

But when we break apart, I just dive back for more.

I feel his hands on my dress, fighting off layers and layers of tulle to get to my bare skin. But this dress is mermaid-shaped, which means there's very little space to maneuver anything down there.

"Wait," I gasp. "Let me."

I reach for a clasp at my side. It's a hellish endeavor, trying to connect my last two functioning brain cells enough to work it loose. But the second I do…

My skirts flare, open and ready.

" Blyat' ," he curses against my neck. "Had that ready for me, didn't you?"

"Actually, I had it ready for the dance," I breathe under an assault of kisses. "But then it wasn't really necess— ah! "

Pleasure sparks through me. With a single, swift move, Matvey frees my breasts from their cups and dives between them, biting each nipple in turn. His tongue is a hot, molten thing.

"M-Matvey…"

"Mine," he growls against my skin. "Only mine."

Yours, I want to gasp back. Only yours.

Then he drops to his knees.

I understand what he's about to do a split second before he actually does it. "Matvey, that's…!"

Embarrassing. Ridiculous. Corny.

None of those words make it halfway past my throat.

Because the truth is, it's also hot as sin.

Matvey's teeth clamp the lace garter around my thigh. I can feel his beard graze me all the way down, his canines scraping the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.

When he emerges with the piece of lace in his mouth, I almost lose it. "What am I going to do with you?" I exhale.

He spits out the lace. "That's the wrong question to ask."

"What's the right one?"

His eyes go dark, hooded. Hungry in a million different ways. "What am I going to do with you?"

Then he dives back under my skirts.

At the first lap of his tongue, I bite my lip so hard I draw blood. But I can't afford anything less—if I don't, everyone out there will hear me.

Except that Matvey seems determined to accomplish just that. "Don't hide," he rasps. "Let me hear your pretty little voice sing."

So I do. I throw my head back against the wall and moan as Matvey's tongue spells doom inside of me. With one leg hooked around his neck and five manicured nails digging into his scalp, I feel like the dirtiest bride who's ever lived.

I don't know how long he goes on: minutes, hours, days. Like he's eating me alive.

"Matvey," I gasp. I'm so close I can taste it, but it scares me, too. How good it feels—this rising wave of pure pleasure. How strong it'll hit when it finally crests and crashes. "I can't…!"

"Then don't."

That's all it takes. I push his mouth fully on me, shameless in my undone bridal gown, and ride out my orgasm.

When Matvey rises back to me, I hook both arms around his shoulders. "Bed," I demand. "Now."

He doesn't make me ask twice.

My feet lose solid ground again. He carries me all the way across the room, to the giant four-poster bed at the end. It looks lavish—fit for a king.

And his queen , I remind myself.

He lays me down gently, but there's no mistaking the hunger in his eyes. "I am going to keep you up all night."

He slips off my shoes and presses a reverent kiss to the side of my foot, then my ankle. With every kiss upward, I shiver a little more. Matvey's lips graze all the most forgettable parts of me, the ones that even I forget I have: the underside of my calf, the dip in my knee, the birthmark under my belly button. Places that should be worth nothing in a situation like this, and yet he makes them feel so precious.

He makes me feel precious.

And suddenly, the same hunger flares up in me: the burning urge to consume. To show Matvey just how much I want him, too.

"Lie back," I whisper.

He arches one eyebrow at me, but doesn't protest. He doesn't exactly go full starfish, but strips off his clothes and sits up against the headboard, which is about as submissive as he's ever going to get. Pakhan pride and all that.

But that's okay. I don't need him to submit. I just need him exactly where he is.

I shed my wedding dress and crawl into his lap. My panties have already been unceremoniously ripped off—not that I'd expected any different. In fact, it just makes my job easier.

"What's this?" he smirks.

When I take him in hand, he's already dripping. "Me being a good wife."

Then I sink.

"Fuck," he swears as I pop the tip in. " Fuck. "

Honestly, I'm right there with him.

I savor the drag of his length inside me, inch by torturous inch. I take him slowly, my gaze fixed on Matvey's hooded eyes, determined to catch every fleeting expression.

If I'm his, then he's mine, too.

I start moving. "Husband," I breathe.

Matvey bites back a curse. "Say it again."

"Husband."

"Again."

He thrusts up inside me as I ride him, the rhythm merciless. "Husband, husband, husb— ahh !"

It happens in a blink. One second, I'm the one on top, and the next?—

The next, my back hits the mattress. "I warned you."

"Ma—!" He drives into me. This time, it's so deep I can't even breathe. " Matvey. "

"I'm going to fuck you until the sun comes up," he growls against my pulse point. "Until you're begging for me to let you go."

"Ahh—"

"Until you're fucking stuffed ."

My eyes roll back. I just came—why am I feeling like I could come again in seconds? "Is that so?"

"Yes."

"You're going to put another baby into me?"

It's a half-joke, but the look Matvey gives me is dead serious. "Yes. And then another."

"I—"

"And another, and another, until not a day goes by when you aren't filled with my babies."

God help me. I know it's just dirty talking, and yet…

And yet, part of me wants nothing else. Not in the literal stuffed-with-babies-until-you-die sense, but in the only sense that matters.

May's going to be one soon. And really, I've always wanted a big family. Three kids at least, maybe more. Perhaps it isn't such a bad idea to start right away.

"Okay," I breathe.

"Yeah?" Matvey rasps into my ear.

"Yes." I take his face in my hands. "Fill me with your baby."

Whatever else I have to say to that, it gets swallowed up by his lips.

He hooks my leg behind his shoulder and makes good on his promise: he fucks me until I'm begging. Until I can't tell if I'm still coming from a previous orgasm or if I'm being tipped over the edge again, over and over.

"Ready?" he teases.

"Yes," I babble incoherently. "Put your baby in me. I'm ready, I'm— ahh !"

He bites down on my shoulder and spills inside me. I can feel it everywhere, filling me up just like he promised, so much that I have to squeeze my legs around his hips to keep it from overflowing. And yet, I still can't get enough: of this, of him . Of us.

So I keep chanting it to him. Every time he starts thrusting into me again, I sink my nails into his scalp and moan, I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready.

I'm ready for your baby.

The best part, though?

This time, I really am.