Chapter 47

Chapter

Forty-Seven

"Having perfected our disguise, we spend our lives searching for someone we don't fool."

― Robert Brault

Volk

"I hate surprises," Sofiya grumbled.

I took her hand, guiding her down the steps of the jet.

The smoothness of her tiny hand was a comforting sensation against my palm.

After the wild night we had shared, I wanted her undivided attention all to myself.

This morning, I'd told her to pack for a three-day getaway. I'd already informed Angelo so she wouldn't feel guilty about missing work. She had no clue where we were going, and I'd made sure the flight attendants kept their mouths shut.

In the past ten hours, she'd spent a lot of time napping in the jet's bedroom, occasionally pulling me into cuddles. After dinner – beef stroganoff with lemon pie, her favorite – she'd crashed again. Apparently, my stamina had taken a toll on her. Her words, not mine.

"I know, dorogaya ," I said gently, adjusting her blindfold. "But trust me, this surprise will be worth it."

I led her to the waiting car and nodded at the driver. I couldn't bear the thought of waiting another day to make her my wife. The need to have her as mine, just as much as I was hers, consumed me. A part of me was scared she might pull away for good – out of fear or doubt. I had to make my move, and I had to make it fast.

Call it toxic if you want, but I didn't give a damn.

She was part of my family now, ingrained in my heart.

I needed her to bear my name as proof of it all.

And so, I resolved to fulfill one of her most cherished dreams and make our relationship official in every sense: legally, spiritually, and physically.

"My eyes are getting itchy," she complained, rubbing at the blindfold.

"We're almost there." I placed a soft kiss on the top of her head. She snuggled in closer, wrapping her arms around my waist as we moved ahead.

"I hope you're not taking me to a brothel or something. Fucking me in front of a window was one thing, but in front of a crowd is another," she joked.

Jealousy clawed at my chest. I'd rather be cut open and have acid poured in my eyes than let any other man see her naked. Even thinking about her in regular clothes made my possessiveness flare, knowing how they might look at her .

"Stop putting ideas in my head."

She laughed. "I'm hungry too, Mikha?l. If you don't feed me in the next five minutes, I'll break off our engagement."

I laughed as the driver guided us through the entrance of the private villa, the imposing gate swinging open. In front of us, the stunning expanse of the sea stretched out, sunlight dancing on the azure waters.

The villa itself was magnificent, perched elegantly on the coastline—a luxurious haven that promised privacy and serenity.

As we pulled up to the entrance, my eyes caught the three majordomos standing in impeccable black tailored suits, each adorned with a crisp white bow tie.

"Sorry, dorogaya ," I murmured into her ear, my lips brushing against her skin. "You've already sold your soul to the devil. No turning back now."

She smiled. "How exciting."

I helped her out of the car, our hands clasped together. With a casual nod to the staff, I led her slowly towards the house and its terrace. Ahead, a big pool surrounded by rocks sparkled in the setting sun, while the gentle sounds of the sea's waves created a soothing melody in the air.

"I can smell the sea," she hummed.

Creeping up behind her, I wrapped my arms around her waist, burying my face in the curve of her neck and peppering it with kisses.

Finally, I carefully removed her blindfold.

"Welcome to Santorini."

?

I adjusted my black tie and fiddled with my watch as I paced around the terrace, my heart racing. Sweat started to bead on my palms, and I clenched and unclenched my hands, trying to relieve the tension building up inside me. I even tilted my neck to crack it, hoping to ease the pressure.

Fuck, I've never been this nervous in my whole fucking life.

After arriving here last night, things got really emotional for her. She had a good twenty-minute cry fest where she clung to me like she never wanted to let go. She covered me in kisses everywhere she could reach, showing me how grateful she was. I held onto her like my life depended on it, soaking in the feel of her body pressed against mine.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the beach, we set up a cozy picnic spot. Sitting on the sand with a gentle breeze lifting the edges of her skirt, we savored a meal that felt like the perfect culmination of our journey together.

Blankets were spread out beneath us, adorned with a delicious feast. Our private chef had surpassed expectations, preparing a spread that captured the essence of Greek cuisine: homemade moussaka, grilled octopus, Tsoureki , and a classic feta Greek salad.

While we were dining, Sofiya proposed playing a round of twenty questions.

She asked about my father, my favorite movies, and my hobbies, wanting to know everything about me.

Amidst our chat, I shared how my father and I used to celebrate my birthday with his favorite lemon cake in the park. When I admitted my soft spot for "Scarface," she responded with an amused eye roll.

Our conversation then shifted to tattoos, and I revealed my pla ns for the next one – a red rose etched on my left ribs, positioned right next to my heart.

The blueprint was ready, waiting for us to hit Moscow, and I intended to have her initials permanently marked there, claiming her on my skin.

"I'd love to come to Moscow with you, but I really enjoy my job at Lazzio no one else gets to hear them."

I fucked her harder than I'd intended, the force of it leaving a mark I knew she'd feel for days.

Afterward, I lifted her from the sand and carried her back to the villa.

We shared a shower, our hands and bodies exploring each other as we cleaned up. All the while, I whispered against her lips how much I loved her.

She looked up at me, her eyes soft. "I love you more than anything, Mikha?l."

We then fell into bed, and she slept the second her head hit the cream pillow.

But I could hardly close my eyes. I spent nearly the entire night just staring at her.

That's why I was still walking around like a frustrated dog by the pool, feeling damn stressed .

I hoped she'd love the surprise I'd left on the bed for her this morning.

Checking my watch again, my heart raced with anticipation.

Soon enough, I heard the soft patter of her barefoot steps coming down the grand staircase.

I quickly made my way back to the house and there she was, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

At that moment, time seemed to stand still.

She wore the light, silk sleeveless white dress from Vivienne Westwood that I had secretly arranged for the staff to buy. The dress hugged her chest, waist, and hips, accentuating every curve in the most delicious way.

"How do I look?" she asked, nervously biting her lip.

She's ethereal.

"Like my wife," I replied, my heart full.

Closing the distance between us, I extended my hand and gestured for her to twirl. As she moved, my breath caught in my throat.

"You—" I exhaled, wiping my mouth instinctively. " U tebya zakhvatyvayet dukh. "

She tilted her head, eyes filled with uncertainty.

But as I held her hands and kissed them, I whispered the translation of my words onto her lips, just before capturing them with a kiss.

You take my breath away.

And she fucking does, and I couldn't be happier about it.

"Let's get married," she said, her smile irresistibly sweet and impossible to resist.

And that's exactly what we did—on the same beach where I'd made love to her the night before.

Rose petals marked our path to a priest, whom I had paid a cons iderable sum to officiate this unconventional ceremony.

There, I finally vowed to cherish, protect, provide, and love her until my last breath.

This, above all, was my ultimate promise to her.