Page 49 of The Bratva's Forced Bride

“Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.” – Aristotle

A small orchestra played next to the stage, dramatic lights hung from the ceiling and white mist rose from white flowers lined up along the way.

The décor had been Mark’s idea. Much to my surprise, he wanted a dramatic theme after I suggested something mellow.

I had to hand it to him; the man sure knew how to plan an event. It was elegant and stylish, and no expense was spared.

I plucked at my dress and fanned my cheek. The air conditioning was working perfectly, but I was hot, burning inside. I had woken up with a mixture of nervousness and excitement and had a rush of emotions.

I could not believe it. I was going to do this. I was going to marrying a man I barely knew yet carried his baby. But a feeling deep inside me assured me that everything would be okay.

When I slipped into my wedding dress, the moment had been even more surreal. The custom-made dress was breathtaking. The intricate details hugged my body perfectly and made me the image of a perfect bride. Maeva had outdone herself.

The skirt flowed elegantly and created an enchanting silhouette. Every time I looked in the mirror, I couldn’t help but smile. I felt like a princess, even though my prince had woken up from a nightmare.

“You look so pretty, honey.”

The compliment came from the man with the salt and pepper hair standing next to me. I turned to face him with the biggest smile on my face, and I threw my arms around him, grateful that he was well enough to be here.

“Thank you, Dad.”

His embrace was immediate and firm. His arms went around my waist and he offered me his shoulder to rest my head on. I sniffled to stifle the tears. Mark would have had a terrible scowl on his face if I'd ruined my makeup.

Dabbing a handkerchief under my eyes, I straightened, and Mr. Robert flashed a reassuring smile before heading off to his reserved seat. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

He beamed, the wrinkles around his gray eyes crinkling even more, as he patted his elegant double-breasted suit jacket. “I wasn’t going anywhere, honey. I’m alive and kicking.”

“But you gave us such a scare.”

Leaning forward, his gaze softened, and he kissed my forehead. “I’m here now, mi preciosa, and I won’t lie, I thought that I wasn’t going to make it. Such a good thing I have a fighting spirit.”

Immediately, after the incident with Logan, we ordered a stop on the medications my father was given and got the doctor fired. Mark recommended—no, deployed two of the world’s finest doctors to supervise the progress of my dad’s health.

His recovery had been speedy and soon enough, he was able to recognize his environment. And now he stood here, looking dashingly handsome as he waited to walk me down the aisle.

He was staring at my dress. “Are you comfortable?”

Laughter bubbled out of me, and I fanned my cheeks again. “I am, I am. I just can’t believe it; I’m getting married.”

“I can’t believe it either.“ The proud smile disappeared from his face, and I knew why the sudden concern arose.

“Dad, don’t start.”

“Don’t start what?”

I huffed. I shifted my weight from one leg to the other. We had gone through this banter for two weeks after he had regained the strength to speak.

Nudging him lightly, I wore a small smile, silently dissuading him from continuing the discussion.

“Today’s my wedding day.”

His sight traveled to the orchestra with scowl on his lips and rubbed his forehead.

“You are getting married to Mark Varkov.”

I sighed. Here we go again. “I know he’s not the man you wanted for me—”

“That doesn’t even begin to cover it, darling. He lives in a world where it's normal for bullets to fly across the breakfast table. He's dangerous, sweetheart. Men like him—”