Chapter 11: Afanasy

The chandelier lights above cast a warm glow over the guests seated in the pews underneath the church's golden domes and intricate frescoes.

Impeccably dressed men and women, the majority of whom were close friends and family members, sat poised—some with serious faces, others with soft expressions.

The air was thick with the scent of incense, candles, and old wood as soft, ethereal chants filled the space, performed by a male choir dressed in black robes. Their melodious voices—angelic—echoed throughout the church building, adding to the ambiance of the event.

“I still can't believe this is happening, Boss,” Yakov said, his tone hushed under the choir's harmony. “But congratulations, sir.”

He looked his best today, suited up like a proper gentleman with a tie.

I squinted, my lips spreading into a small grin as I patted his shoulder and excused myself after spotting my cousin, Alexei, at a distance.

“So, you're finally off the market.” He chuckled lightly as I approached, his arms spread wide.

I slipped into his embrace with a faint smile. “Thanks for coming, cousin. I appreciate it.”

“I wasn't gonna miss it for the world.” His eyes crinkled at the corners.

“When I said that you needed to settle down and find a wife…” a familiar voice spoke from behind me.

I turned, and there he was: my older brother, Roman, clad in a white tux, his buzz cut shimmering in the light.

“I honestly didn't think you were going to listen to me, at least not this soon, anyway.” He halted in front of me with a hand in his pocket, pride flickering in his gaze.

“You came,” I said, a brief boyish grin flashing across my face.

“Of course, I did.” His face relaxed, nose crinkling. “I wasn't going to miss my little brother's big day.” He hugged me, gently tapping my back. “Congratulations, Afan.”

After he let go, his eyes fell on Alexei. “Good to see you, cousin.”

“You, too, Roman,” he replied, shaking his hand. Alexei looked at me and added, “ Pakhan Artem sends his best wishes. He would've been here, but something came up.”

A slow, tender smile curled onto my lips as I gave a gentle nod.

“So, where’s the lucky woman? Where's the bride?” Roman questioned, his eyes roaming the church.

Just as he spoke, the pianist transitioned to the timeless “Wedding March.” The front door opened, drawing everyone's attention to the most beautiful woman in the building—no exaggerations.

My brows arched at the sight of my bride emerging from the doorway, holding a bouquet of flowers in her hands. Her steps were slow and graceful, a vision in ivory and lace.

She was bathed in the sun's golden lights, its rays filtering through the stained glass windows behind her, casting a halo effect that made her radiant.

The fitted bodice of her ivory gown highlighted her slender waist, and the flowing skirt cascaded down her legs, which were fitted perfectly with a pair of heels.

My expression softened, and my breath caught, suspended in awe, as I stood transfixed, rooted on the spot. At the sight of her, my heart swelled, an unusual warmth spreading across my body while my eyes widened with wonder.

I was lost in her beauty, oblivious to everyone else, my chest expanding with emotions. I'd never been so excited to see anyone before. This feeling was alien to me, and for some reason, it felt good.

I'd always known that she was a pretty one, but the woman gracefully walking down the aisle beat my expectation of pretty. She was gorgeous in every way, her beauty ethereal as if she'd just stepped out of a Renaissance painting.

At that moment, I knew that I had made the right choice.

As she approached the altar, her poise electrified the air, stealing everyone's attention. Heads turned, eyes locked on the rare sight of a goddess.

Her hair, styled in an elegant updo, shone with subtle hints of gold and honey, the sunlight illuminating her amazing baby face and sparkling eyes.

“My God….” The words fell out of my mouth in a hushed tone, my eyes never leaving her.

Alexei's voice came through beside me: “She is beautiful.”

“Yes, she is,” Roman said, resting his palm on my shoulder. “And you need to be up there. It's time.” He gestured at the altar a few paces to the right, where the priest was waiting.

“Shit.” I sprang to my feet, jolting up the long steps leading to the altar.

I'd lost track of time and gotten so carried away watching my bride that I’d forgotten my place.

As she drew nearer, I extended a hand, helping her up the steps. For the first time in my life, I felt butterflies in my stomach as she took my hand with a small smile playing on her cherry-red lips.

She stood across from me, barely a foot away, her expressive brown eyes sparkling like diamonds as she stared at me, a hint of confidence dancing in their depths.

Had she been rehearsing for this moment since the day I announced her fate? This was the only explanation for her calmness—her collectiveness—on such an occasion that should undoubtedly bring tears to her eyes.

I knew how much she hated the idea of being my wife, so I'd expected some resistance. But right now, there was none. Her face was lit up with a bright smile that accentuated the hint of shyness in her countenance.

Wren was either an amazing actress, or she’d finally come to terms with her new reality.

She batted her eyelashes, her enticing lips curling into a subtle grin that melted my heart.

Is this real? I couldn't help but wonder.

“Dearly beloved,” the priest's voice resonated through the church, “we are gathered here today to witness the union of Afanasy Tarasov and Wren Everett in holy matrimony. We pray that the good Lord bless and strengthen their love.”

Her head was slightly bowed, her eyes momentarily meeting mine every now and then.

Stunned by her elegance and grace, I maintained my smile, my gaze unwavering.

The priest continued, his eyes locking on the both of us, “Marriage is a sacred bond between two souls. Afanasy and Wren, you stand before us and the almighty today, ready to commit to one another…forever.”

I watched her chest swell at his last word as though it terrified her. Her breaths now seemed heavy, her body subtly tensing. She swallowed hard, her eyes darting across the floor.

This was more of the reaction that I was expecting earlier. The idea of spending the rest of her life with me as my wife had just kicked in. And it wasn't pretty. The concept of an eternity with me must have struck her like lightning.

Her fingers trembled. Her lip quivered, and her head remained bowed.

The priest looked at me and asked, “Afanasy Tarasov, do you take Wren Everett to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to love and cherish her, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?”

Without a moment of hesitation, my voice rang clear, eyes fixed on my beautiful bride. “I do.”

He shifted his gaze to her and asked, “Do you, Wren Everett, take Afanasy Tarasov to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love and cherish him….”

While he spoke, she raised her head, her eyes misting ever so slightly as she gazed at me. A flush rose to her cheeks as she struggled to curtail the emotions within her. Tears danced in her eyes, threatening to spill, but she held them back in.

Her chest rose and fell with slow breaths as though bracing herself for the vow she was about to make.

She blinked rapidly, her lips quivering when it was time for a response. Wren drew a deep breath without breaking eye contact.

Her hesitation stole my breath for a moment, my brows knitting together.

“I do,” she said, her voice quiet but audible.

A gentle sigh of relief escaped my lips, my composure unaffected.

The priest's gaze swept across the congregation. “Is there anyone seated here with a reason why this union should not take place? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Silence fell amongst our guests as they exchanged glances. My men, ever ready, rose to their feet, their sharp eyes roaming the church, their expressions stern.

But just as the priest was about to continue with the ceremony, there was an interruption.

“Stop!” a man bellowed, barging into the church and quickening his pace toward the altar. “Stop this madness! I have your money.” He raised a briefcase in his hand.

“Dad?” Wren's brows arched, her eyes darting toward him.

“Here's your money.” He waved the case, his tone laced with hostility. “Now, let my daughter go.”

My jaw tightened, eyes narrowing beneath furrowed brows as I glared at this fool, my fingers balling into fists.

The scowl on my face deepened at the murmur rising from the crowd.

How dare he embarrass me like this?

My teeth gritted as I thought about how to make him pay for this act of disrespect.

I seethed in silence, my blood boiling with rage.