Accidental Bratva Daddy (Bratva Blessings)

Chapter 7Luka

7

Luka

T he soft strains of a string quartet fill the air as I adjust my cufflinks, standing at the altar in a fitted tux that's a departure from my usual dark attire. The deep mauve fabric catches the light, giving off a subtle sheen that speaks of wealth and refinement. It's all part of the illusion we're crafting today.

I scan the small, intimate venue I've rented for this charade. Every detail has been meticulously planned, from the lush floral arrangements to the soft glow of candles scattered throughout the space. The scent of roses and lilies hangs heavy in the air, almost cloying in its sweetness. The guests—all hired actors playing the roles of our closest friends and family—mill about, chatting and laughing as if this were any normal wedding.

But there's nothing normal about this day.

I insisted on making it look as real as possible. If people were going to believe our story, we had to sell it. And I'm nothing if not thorough. The venue, a converted mansion on the outskirts of Moscow, is picture-perfect. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the polished hardwood floors. Garlands of white roses and baby's breath adorn every surface, their delicate petals a stark contrast to the danger that lurks just beneath this facade of romance.

A hush falls over the crowd as the wedding march begins. I turn, my breath catching in my throat as Natalia appears at the end of the aisle. She's a vision in white, her A-line gown hugging every curve before flaring out at her hips. Delicate lace sleeves cover her arms, and a gauzy veil obscures her face. The dress is a masterpiece, clearly designer—I made sure of that. Nothing but the best for my bride, even if this is all for show.

She's breathtaking. And she looks like she'd rather be anywhere else in the world.

As Natalia glides down the aisle, I can see the tension in her shoulders, the tightness around her eyes. To anyone else, she might look like a blushing bride with a case of nerves.

But I know better. Every step she takes is filled with reluctance, maybe even resentment. Her eyes dart around the room, taking in the elaborate decorations, the faces of our "guests," and I can practically hear the scathing commentary running through her mind.

It should bother me, her obvious distaste for this whole affair. But instead, I find myself oddly amused. Her fire, her stubbornness—it's part of what drew me to her in the first place. And now, watching her approach with that barely concealed irritation, I'm reminded of just how captivating she truly is.

Natalia reaches the altar, and I offer her my hand. She takes it, her grip just a little too tight to be comfortable. I have to suppress a smirk at her small act of defiance. Even now, in front of all these people, she can't help but push back against me.

"You look stunning," I murmur, pitching my voice low so only she can hear.

Natalia's eyes narrow slightly. "Let's just get this over with," she replies through gritted teeth, her smile never wavering for the benefit of our audience.

It’s all brimstone and fire with this lovely woman, but that translates well to the bedroom. I already know she’s attracted to me physically, at least, as I’ve had a taste of her passion before our next unfortunate encounter.

But although there’s a stark disadvantage to killing a woman’s father in front of her, a benefit has come out of it that’s simply undeniable. I get to marry her, and even now, it all feels like a dream.

The officiant begins the ceremony, his voice resonating through the space with practiced solemnity. I tune out most of it, my focus entirely on the woman beside me. Natalia stands ramrod straight, her posture almost militaristic in its rigidity. Every few moments, I catch her stifling an eye roll or biting back a sigh.

It's entertaining, really. Here we are, surrounded by the trappings of a fairytale wedding, and my bride looks like she's enduring some form of medieval torture. But even in her obvious discomfort, she's mesmerizing. The sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows catches on her auburn hair, setting it ablaze with golden highlights. Her skin seems to glow, the creamy expanse of her neck and shoulders a temptation I can barely resist.

I find my mind wandering to our night together in the hotel, before everything went to hell. The memory of her soft skin under my hands, the taste of her lips, the sounds she made as she came undone beneath me—it all comes rushing back, sending a jolt of heat through my body. I shift slightly, trying to focus on the present moment.

When it comes time for the vows, I turn to face Natalia fully. Her eyes meet mine, a challenge burning in those emerald depths. I begin to recite the words we'd agreed upon—flowery declarations of love and devotion that sound hollow even to my own ears.

"Natalia," I say, injecting as much warmth into my voice as I can muster, "from the moment I saw you, I knew my life would never be the same. You've brought light into my world, joy into my heart. I promise to cherish and protect you, to stand by your side through whatever life may bring."

Something flickers in Natalia's eyes—surprise, maybe, at the sincerity in my tone. Because despite the falseness of this ceremony, despite the circumstances that brought us here, I find that I mean every word. The realization is unsettling, to say the least.

Natalia clears her throat, a faint blush coloring her cheeks as she begins her own vows. "Luka," she says, her voice steady despite the tension I can see in the set of her jaw, "you've shown me a world I never knew existed. Your strength, your passion—they inspire me every day. I promise to be your partner in all things, to face whatever challenges come our way together."

As I slide the ring onto her finger—a flawless diamond that cost more than most people make in a year—I lean in close. "You're going to have to sell this act to your family," I whisper, my lips barely moving.

Natalia's eyes flash with annoyance. "They wouldn’t even buy the ring, much less my willingness to marry you," she mutters back, her smile never faltering.

"Do it anyway," I reply, an edge of warning in my tone. We both know what's at stake here. If her family doesn't believe our whirlwind romance, if anyone starts asking too many questions, the whole house of cards could come tumbling down.

I'm posing as an investor she met at her fashion show. According to our carefully crafted story, we fell madly in love and decided to elope. It's a tale as old as time, the passionate designer and the wealthy businessman, swept away by a whirlwind romance. The wedding is meant to make our story airtight, and I'm not taking any chances.

The officiant pronounces us husband and wife, and I pull Natalia in for a kiss. It's meant to be chaste, a performance for our audience. But the moment our lips meet, something electric passes between us. Natalia stiffens for a moment before melting into me, her lips softening under mine. I pull her closer, one hand at the small of her back, the other tangling in her carefully styled hair.

For a heartbeat, I forget about the charade, about the danger lurking just beyond these flower-bedecked walls. There's only Natalia, the feel of her in my arms, the taste of her on my lips. It's intoxicating, this connection between us. Even knowing it's built on lies and desperation, I can't deny the pull she has on me.

All too soon, it's over. We break apart, both a little breathless, and turn to face our "guests." They erupt in applause, showering us with rose petals as we make our way back down the aisle. The scent of crushed petals rises around us, mingling with Natalia's perfume, something floral and delicate that stands in stark contrast to the fire in her eyes.

As we exit the venue, I catch Natalia watching me out of the corner of her eye. There's confusion there, and something else, a heat that matches the fire still burning in my veins from that kiss. It's a dangerous combination, this mix of attraction and animosity between us. But then again, I've never been one to shy away from danger.

"Well done," I say as we climb into the waiting limousine. "You almost had me convinced."

Natalia's eyes narrow, but there's a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I could say the same to you," she retorts. "Those vows were... surprisingly believable."

I lean back in my seat, studying her. Even with the irritation still evident in the set of her shoulders, she's stunning. The wedding dress hugs her curves in all the right places, the delicate lace a tantalizing contrast to the smooth expanse of her skin. I find myself wanting to trace the patterns with my fingers, to peel away the layers of fabric and rediscover every inch of her.

"Who says I was acting?" I ask, letting a hint of challenge creep into my voice.

Natalia's eyes widen slightly, caught off guard by my words. For a moment, I think she might actually believe me. But then her walls come back up, her expression closing off.

"Right," she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Because this is all so real. The hired guests, the staged ceremony… It's a real fairytale romance."

I can't help but chuckle at her biting tone. "Come now, wife," I say, emphasizing the word. "Where's your sense of adventure? We've just embarked on a grand performance. The wedding was merely Act One."

Natalia rolls her eyes, but I catch the hint of a smile she tries to hide. "And what's Act Two?" she asks, unable to completely mask her curiosity.

I lean in closer, close enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume. "That's where things get interesting," I murmur. "We have a reputation to uphold now, after all. Can't have anyone questioning the validity of our union."

A shiver runs through Natalia, whether from my proximity or my words, I'm not sure. "What exactly are you suggesting?" she asks, her voice low and slightly husky.

I reach out, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. My fingers linger on her cheek, tracing the soft curve of her jaw. "I'm suggesting, my dear, that we give the performance of a lifetime. Starting with a very public, very romantic honeymoon."

Natalia's breath catches, her pupils dilating slightly. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head as she processes the implications of my words. When she speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper. "And how far are you expecting this performance to go?"

The heat in her gaze, the slight tremor in her voice—they send a jolt of desire straight through me. I lean in even closer, my lips brushing the shell of her ear as I speak. "As far as you're willing to take it, Natalia. After all, we are newlyweds."

She pulls back slightly, her eyes searching mine. I can see the conflict there, the lingering anger and resentment warring with the undeniable attraction between us. "This doesn't change anything," she says finally, her voice firm despite the slight quiver in her lower lip. "I still hate you for what you've done."

I nod, not bothering to deny it. "I know," I say simply. "But hate and desire aren't mutually exclusive, are they?"

Natalia's sharp intake of breath is all the answer I need. I settle back in my seat, a smirk tugging up the corners of my mouth. "Get some rest, wife," I say, my tone light but with an undercurrent of heat. "You're going to need it for our honeymoon."

As the limousine winds its way through the streets of Moscow, I can't help but feel a thrill of anticipation. Natalia Orlova may have agreed to this marriage out of desperation, but I intend to make her mine in every way possible. The passion between us is undeniable, a living, breathing thing that threatens to consume us both. And I'm more than ready to fan those flames.

I steal another glance at Natalia, admiring the way the fading sunlight plays across her features. She's still tense, still wary, but there's a softness to her expression that wasn't there before. It's a start.

By the time our "honeymoon" is over, I have a feeling she'll be just as invested in this union as I am. The game has only just begun, and I intend to win. Not just her body. I've had that already. No, I want it all. Her trust, her loyalty, her heart. And Luka Volkov always gets what he wants.

Let the real performance begin.