by Bella Rose
She lapsed into silence, thinking about his handsome face and the way it had felt to have him carry her against his chest. He was so incredibly strong. She’d felt like a tiny bit of nothing in his arms. And really, the guy had ripped apart those men who had attacked her and her friends as if they’d been playground bullies and not grown thugs.
Someone banged on her bedroom door. “Get out of bed!” The housekeeper’s voice drifted through the thick wooden door. “Your stepfather requests that you be dressed in your wedding clothes and ready to join him for breakfast in an hour.”
“An hour?” Tori swung around to glare at the clock on her end table. “That’s ridiculous!”
“Then I might suggest you stop dawdling.”
Tori made a face since the old fuddy duddy couldn’t see her. Mrs. Tobolovsky had been running Stanislas’s house since before he had married Tori’s mother. Tori secretly thought the woman had hated both mother and daughter because they were Orlovs. The Orlovs had been responsible for Mr. Tobolovsky’s death a million or so years ago. Regardless, the woman had never been particularly friendly to Tori.
“Fine!” Tori shouted. “I’ll be there, but I’m not going to be too worried about my appearance.”
The housekeeper snorted and said something Tori couldn’t hear. But if Tori’s grasp of that particular northern dialect was any good, she was pretty sure the woman had predicted that Tori would look like a whore anyway. Fine. Everyone was so sure they knew what Tori was like. She’d just live up to their expectations and see if that made them happy.
***
MIKHAIL SAT PATIENTLY in the dining chair as he watched Stanislas fidget irritably in his own seat. The older man was grumbling and picking at the cloth napkin folded intricately into the shape of a swan that sat on the plate before him.
“Sir, I’m sure you could go ahead and start your breakfast,” Mikhail began. “Surely Tori wouldn’t begrudge you that since she is quite late.”
It was as if Stanislas had been waiting for an invitation to unload. “I told the housekeeper to wake that girl at dawn! How can it take four hours to get ready? It isn’t like she required a maid to button her into some elaborate disaster of a dress!”
Mikhail was taken aback. He had no idea how to respond, and even less idea of whether or not he was supposed to agree or disagree. He was beginning to think that being stuck between Stanislas and his rebellious stepdaughter was worse than being between a rock and a hard place.
“Good morning, gentleman.” Tori sashayed into the dining room and sat down without a word of apology for being late.
“Where on earth have you been?” Stanislas burst out.
Tori frowned, reaching for the juice and pouring herself a glass. “Personally, I think an hour and fifteen minutes is pretty good for a woman who is prepping for her wedding.”
“An hour and fifteen minutes,” Stanislas said, his tone laced with obvious confusion. “But you were told to wake up more than four hours ago.”
“If you asked Mrs. Tobolovsky to do it, then you made a bad choice,” Tori told him matter-of-factly. “That woman hates me. She would do anything to make me look bad. Haven’t you noticed that over the years?”
“What?” Stanislas began to stammer, trying to come up with a response. Finally, he went with the obvious. “That’s ridiculous! You’re behaving like someone suffering from paranoid delusions.”
“Or,” Tori said with exaggerated slowness. “I’m telling the truth, and you’re the one who is suffering from a delusion. Who knows?” She waggled her eyebrows.
Mikhail was actually struggling not to chuckle. There was such a tone of playfulness in her manner. She was irreverent and perhaps even a little fun. In fact, he was a little in awe of her sassiness toward Stanislas. Surely someone who was so inclined toward good natured teasing couldn’t be an empty headed, entitled weakling.
“So.” Tori looked from Mikhail to Stanislas. “I guess we’re not even pretending that we care about that whole ‘it isn’t good luck to see the bride before the wedding’ thing. Hmm?”
“It’s traditional in my family to have a wedding brunch,” Stanislas said stiffly. “I was merely attempting to uphold my family traditions since it is my daughter and my successor getting married.”
“Stepdaughter,” Tori pointed out. “You might as well be clear about that since it’s practically the only reason I have to marry Mikhail anyway. If I was your real daughter, I wouldn’t have to worry about being disinherited.”
***
TORI WATCHED MIKHAIL’S expression grow exponentially darker when she listed such a mercenary reason for marriage. Why would the guy believe she was doing this for any other reason? Surely he couldn’t believe she was excited to do this duty for her family?
“I’m glad to see you dressed up.” If the sarcasm in his tone didn’t piss her off, the derisive expression on his face would have. The man was insufferable, and she was about to marry him!
Tori glanced down at her little black dress. The skirt hit her just above the knees. The bodice was fitted, and the scoop neck showed off an impressive amount of cleavage. Her little cap sleeves were very flattering to her arms, and she couldn’t help but think that the black kitten heels she was wearing made her feet look incredibly dainty too. She was perfectly happy with her choice of attire. And really, the black was both elegant and appropriate given the circumstances.
“This happens to be one of my best dresses.” Tori kept her tone intentionally snotty. “In fact, it’s by a top designer. I bought it in New York the last time I went shopping.” She waved her hand as though that was an every month occurrence instead of a once-in-a-lifetime event. “So if you can’t be flattered by Vera Wang, I think you might just be too out of it—fashion wise—to appreciate the compliment I’m giving you by being married in this dress.” There. That explanation made Tori want to vomit. She’d sounded shallow and silly. Exactly as they were all making her out to be.
Nobody said a thing about her performance.
Instead, her stepfather got down to business, filling his plate from the dishes offered on the table and ignoring her completely. Mikhail’s expression throughout this process was priceless. He was poking around at something on his plate. Eggs or sausage. Her stepfather had a plate of blini in front of him. Tori couldn’t bring herself to eat anything. She knew if she ate she would just throw up. Her nerves were in tatters at the moment.
“Did you sleep well, Tori?” Stanislas asked after nearly five minutes of uncomfortable silence.
Tori blinked at her stepfather in utter shock. Finally, she managed to locate her words. “Certainly.” She pursed her lips, wondering if she should say more. “I’m sorry. Are we pretending that last night never happened?”
Mikhail’s gaze lifted, locking with hers and warning her not to say anything to her stepfather.
She frowned a bit and wondered why Mikhail hadn’t ratted her out. It was oddly out of character. Or at least it was out of character for what she assumed he was like. Her stepfather would have relished the opportunity to berate her for making a poor decision to go out and therefore proving him right that her choice of fun activities with her friends was a bad one.
***
MIKHAIL WONDERED IF Tori wanted an excuse to think badly of him, or if she was just angry about the arranged marriage. Whatever her feelings, he was beginning to think that this brunch was the worst idea ever. It was tense in the dining room with just the three of them. Plus, he hadn’t had an opportunity to explain to her that he didn’t think they should divulge what had happened at the club to her stepfather. It would do Stanislas no good to know the details of what had transpired. The man would just get angry about it.
“What are you speaking of?” Stanislas snapped. “You ran off with your friends, and Mikhail had to bring the lot of you home because none of you were smart enough to save enough money to call a cab.” He seemed to suddenly realize that he was missing a vital part of the story. “Where did you go anyway? Mik
hail never said.”
Mikhail felt his stomach tighten. The eggs he’d eaten felt like sawdust in his gut. Then Tori passed him a conspiratorial smile from behind the lip of her juice glass. Mikhail’s stomach was now tense for a whole new reason. Damn. That woman could be sexy as hell when she wanted to be! Those lips. Her eyes. The entire package looked as though it had been made to entice a man in the bedroom.
“Well,” she began. “The girls and I thought it would be fun to get some frozen yogurt. Then we made such huge sundaes with our froyo that we spent all of our cash. It was good that Mikhail and Dimitri found us. Otherwise, we might have been washing dishes trying to pay for our desserts.”
Mikhail tried not to be impressed by how quickly she’d come up with the completely bogus story. In fact, it should have concerned him to think that she could so easily come up with a lie. Did that mean she’d be able to lie to him at the drop of a hat and make him believe it in the bargain?
No. He watched her giggle a little, mostly to herself, and realized that he was feeling as if the two of them had a secret together. It wasn’t much, but it did provide at least a tiny sliver of common ground.
Stanislas suddenly stood up. “It’s time to go. The priest will be waiting at the church.”
“Church?” Tori asked, her mouth hanging open in surprise. “You’re bringing God into this farce of a marriage?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Tori,” Stanislas said irritably. “Your marriage must be legitimate. That means it must be performed by a member of the clergy.”
“I think you just need a judge for that, actually.” Tori shrugged. “I’d rather do that. But whatever you want. Let’s just get this done and over with.”
Mikhail stood up, once again trying to decide how he felt about marrying a woman who was so obviously against having him for a husband.
Chapter Five
Tori’s hands were sweating on the bouquet of flowers she was clutching between her fingers. Nobody had told her it was going to be like a real wedding. This was the sort of thing where there were actual guests. In fact, all of her stepfather’s men were in attendance. Even grouchy old Mrs. Tobolovsky was there, looking down her nose at Tori.
“Marriage,” the priest droned in Russian. “Is a sacred pact between a man and woman that binds them together in the eyes of God for all eternity.”
Tori couldn’t help but wonder if that meant God would be sending some lightning to strike her down for daring to blaspheme this whole marriage thing. She peeked up at Mikhail from the corner of her eye, wondering if he was having the same thoughts she was.
The guy had the best poker face ever. In fact, she could not imagine that he ever lost a game of poker down in her stepfather’s kitchen when the men played almost every single night. She got strangely distracted, trying to imagine what Mikhail might be like if he was actually relaxed and having fun with his friends. Did he relax? She was starting to wonder if she was marrying a statue. If so, her wedding night was going to be extremely uncomfortable.
“Ahem.” The priest cleared his throat, and Tori realized that he was staring directly at her. “Please recite your vows.”
“Uh.” Tori’s mind went blank. Her stepfather had given her something to memorize, but she was so nervous there was no way she was going to remember it now. “I, Victoria Orlov Vasiliev, solemnly swear to do my best to listen to what Mikhail has to say. I won’t tell him no without at least thinking it over first. I won’t ever try to deliberately piss him off. I will attempt to be reasonable with my requests, and will not get angry for no reason. If he agrees to do the same, I will agree to marry him.”
From the corner of her eye, Tori could see her stepfather’s face turning a dull shade of red as he became increasingly irritated with her. Then she got a look at Mikhail and realized that he was laughing. Laughing.
The priest started to object. At least, Tori was pretty sure he was going to object, but Mikhail held up one hand. “I, Mikhail Alexander Ivanov, take you—Victoria Orlov Vasiliev—to by my wife. I accept your vow and agree to do my best not to piss you off, tell you no without thinking it over first, be reasonable with all of my requests, and I promise to protect and cherish you for all of my days.”
Tori felt her heart do a little flip flop as she saw his dark eyes sparkle with mirth. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all. Maybe he wasn’t a troll.
***
MIKHAIL WAS STRUGGLING with a desire to laugh his ass off at Tori’s irreverent use of her vows to poke at him and Stanislas. Mikhail supposed that if the girl was being made to marry essentially against her will, she had the right to determine the conditions under which she wanted to be bound to her husband. It was only fair. Highly unusual perhaps, but fair all the same.
Besides, he had gotten a smile out of her. When she’d first walked down the aisle, her face had been pale and lifeless. The way she’d looked around, taking in the guests, had made him wonder if Stanislas had bothered to let her know that this was an actual ceremony. The Bratva council had to be present for this marriage to be legal and binding in a way that would guarantee their support when Mikhail took over the Vasiliev syndicate.
“If the two of you are satisfied with your vows,” the priest said with a glare of disapproval. “Then I declare that this union is binding beneath the eyes of God and the laws of this nation. Let no man come between that which God hath joined together.”
The priest seemed to drone on and on. Mikhail wondered if every groom felt like this during his wedding ceremony. It was interminable. It felt as though the man read half the Bible before finally raising the holy chalice in his hands. Mikhail held out his own hands, as did Tori. The priest placed the sacred cup in their joined grasp.
“Drink of this holy cup that you may be joined until death do you part,” the priest intoned in a severe voice.
Mikhail lifted the chalice first to his lips. He watched Tori, wondering if she was brazen enough to dump the wine down the front of Mikhail’s dress shirt. As he sipped, he saw a gleam in her beautiful blue eyes that suggested she might actually be considering it. Then a smile played at the corners of her mouth, and he was surprised to see her expression soften just a little. Perhaps she wasn’t so set against him after all.
The two of them lifted the cup to her lips next. Mikhail was careful not to drown her in the wine or slosh it down her chin. She took her sip, and the priest removed the holy cup from their hands. Mikhail gazed down at Tori. She was no longer his bride. She was his wife. It was a shockingly odd sensation, almost dizzying. He was married. Who would have ever imagined such a thing?
“I now pronounce you man and wife.” The priest swept his hands into the air. Thankfully he’d put the cup down first, or he would have flung wine all over the first two rows of guests. “Friends, I am pleased to present Mr. and Mrs. Mikhail Ivanov!”
Mikhail took both of Tori’s hands in his. He smiled down at her and gently turned to face the audience, tugging her along with him. It was odd. For a woman who normally seemed so confident, it was obvious that she did not like to be in the spotlight.
***
TORI WAS GOING to throw up. She was so nervous! What was supposed to happen now? Would they go their separate ways? Surely Mikhail wasn’t of the same mind as her stepfather that the two of them should actually live together!
She clutched his arm, trying not to seem so panicky, and walked down the aisle of the church toward the front doors. Everyone was staring. It was eerily quiet. There was a smattering of applause, but for the most part Tori could see that these people were here in order to witness this union on behalf of her stepfather. She wondered briefly if this was how her mother had felt about her marriage. Had she experienced the same sensation of being a fish in a bowl with a whole pack of cats staring at her?
Stanislas waited for them at the end of the aisle. He raised both arms as if he were about to offer Mikhail a warm embrace. “My son!” he said in a hearty voice. “I welcome you to my family and my heart, an
d I declare you my successor. The Vasilievs could ask for no man more worthy than you to lead when I am gone.”
Now there was noise. Her father’s men raised their voices, the sound echoing around the dome of the church and making Tori’s head throb. What was this anyway? Some sort of political message? Of course, with all of the other bosses from every other family in the Boston Bratva, it basically was a political statement. Her stepfather had timed this carefully and planned out every detail. Sometimes she couldn’t argue with the idea that he was brilliant in his own single minded way.
“Now!” Stanislas clapped his hands. “If you will all join us at my home for a celebration of the union of my stepdaughter and my heir.”
“There’s a reception?” Tori felt completely blindsided. The house had looked totally normal when she’d left it earlier that morning. Could she have been so preoccupied that she hadn’t noticed party preparations?
“Come.” Mikhail gently tugged her along after him. “Our car is waiting at the curb out front.”
“Don’t we have to stand here and shake people’s hands?” she asked bitterly.
“No. They can give us their congratulations later. When we are all relaxed at the party.”
“Who holds a wedding reception at noon anyway?” She didn’t even bother to pretend she wasn’t grouchy. This whole thing was a farce! Why make it worse by pretending on every level that it was real. “My friends aren’t even here.” She sniffed, feeling saddened by this as much as everything else. “It’s not a real wedding if the bride doesn’t even get to invite her friends.”
“I thought as much,” Mikhail told her. “So I took the liberty of inviting them to the reception.”
“Really?” She was taken aback by this gesture. “That was thoughtful. Thank you.”
***
MIKHAIL WISHED THERE wasn’t so much animosity already built up between them. He felt as though he were waging a war he could not win. He helped her into the car and then climbed in himself. The driver began the short trek to the Vasiliev mansion, but Mikhail and his new wife sat on opposite sides of the vehicle. She stared out the window with an almost morose expression on her face, leaving him to his own dark thoughts.