Deceitful Vows (Marital Privileges #2)

64. Andrik

64

ANDRIK

T he agitation keeping my skin slicked with sweat clears away when I receive a text message.

Anoushka:

Zakhar wanted to say good luck.

Anoushka’s thumb finds its way into almost every photograph, but even with its inclusion, I can’t miss Zak’s big grin in the image she forwarded with her message.

He’s wearing a blue hospital gown, and an ugly hairnet keeps his trademark light-brown locks off his face. He’s trying to portray excitement, as to no doubt Anoushka’s request, but I can tell he is scared.

You’re not the only one, Zak.

Today is the day we were waiting for. Zakhar is about to get a new heart. He’s prepped and ready for surgery in a hospital eight hundred miles from my location. All he needs to get better is for me to say the vows I’ve been dreading all month.

Love, honor, and obey.

Could there be three lesser respected words when it comes to this marriage? Fraudulent, immoral, and corrupt seem far more fitting.

When my father signals that it is time for the wedding to begin, I send Anoushka a message to say I will commence travels to the hospital minutes after I’ve exchanged vows. My helicopter is on the roof of the hotel, waiting for me.

Me:

Don’t let them take him in until I’ve returned.

I hit send before I can tack on the words I refuse to speak: I don’t want to miss out on the opportunity of saying what could possibly be a final goodbye.

There are no guarantees that Zak will survive his operation, but we’re meant to be thinking positively.

It is a hard fucking feat when you feel like your life won’t stop circling the toilet.

A pfft vibrates my lips when Anoushka replies with a thumbs-up. As quickly as my annoyance surfaced, it clears away. Anoushka’s thumb still features in her next image, and so does my little brother.

Mikhail looks like hell. His skin is scaly, his beard is unkempt, and his eyes are sunken, yet he still looks more alive than Zakhar’s whitening expression.

That shows he proved right when he chose his location today.

Just like I did when I let Arabella live.

My father straightens my suit jacket when I reach the end of the altar before fiddling with the white rose the wedding planner pinned on in a hurry. I pull away before signaling for the quartet to commence playing the song Dina selected for Arabella to walk down the aisle.

The quicker this is over, the sooner my son will have a new heart.

As I twist to face the people filling the pews the event company donned with thousands of roses and hydrangeas, my eyes instantly land on one face. It isn’t hard to spot her in a crowd. She is the most beautiful in the room, and the most feared.

She could ruin everything with two little words. I object.

She won’t, though, right? I don’t approve of the approach Arabella used to scare her away, but a ruse of an absentee father will be the most effective. Zoya is unaware of her lineage because she was raised without a father’s influence. To her, he is a shadow. A nightwalker. Someone who only ever comes out when it’s dark. She’s never seen his face.

Well, she has. She just doesn’t know it.

In case Arabella’s delivery wasn’t convincing enough, I permitted Konstantine to release some information Maksim’s team would have never stumbled onto even if they were looking into me. I know they are—that’s all part of the plan—but if they don’t interfere in Zakhar’s procedure today, I have no issue with them using anything they unearth.

I just have to hope Zoya feels the same way, or I’m fucked.

When the crowd ahs in sync, I try to shift my eyes to the end of the aisle—to move them to the woman I am marrying. I fail.

I can’t take my eyes off Zoya for a single second. It isn’t solely her beauty that demands the attention of any man with a pulse. It is how fast her lips move when a man wearing a backward baseball cap butts shoulders with her.

Whatever he whispers in her ear pisses her off and balls my hands.

That should be the end of my reaction. It isn’t, however. After slanting my head to hide the movement of my lips from the people in the front three pews, I ask, “Who is he?”

The earpiece in my ear crackles before Konstantine murmurs, “No fucking clue. I ran him through facials after he approached her at Le Rogue. Nothing came up.”

I accept Arabella’s hand from her mother before guiding her onto the podium where the celebrant is waiting for us. Her veil and puffy white dress should be enough incentive to let this go, but Zoya’s agitation grew the further Arabella walked down the aisle, which means mine tripled.

“What about in the other system we’ve been utilizing over the past few months?”

“I wasn’t sure it was worth the hassle.” My jaw tightens when Konstantine says, “You said you were done with her.”

“I am done with her. But I still want to know who he is.” I glare down at Arabella while saying through clenched teeth, “Since she is my soon-to-be sister-in-law, I should probably look out for her.”

Konstantine’s shocked huff announces my exchange with Arabella in the elevator last night wasn’t monitored. “All right. I’ll run it now. It may take a bit.”

“You have five minutes.”

He calls me an asshole before the strokes of his keyboard are drowned out by the celebrant commencing proceedings. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the legal union of Kazimir Andrik Dokovic and A?—”

“I object!”

As everyone’s eyes snap to Zoya, the celebrant says, “We haven’t reached that part yet, and you better have a very valid reason for the interruption, young lady.”

I hope he kissed his family goodbye this morning. The derogative tone he uses to publicly dress down Zoya ensures it would have been for the final time.

“I have a good reason,” Zoya murmurs as her eyes shift from her sister to me. “I’m pregnant, and from what I read last night, there hasn’t been a Dokovic child born out of wedlock in over a hundred years. I’d hate for my child to be the first.”

Although everything she is saying is true, I scoff before gesturing for the celebrant to continue. The “I’m pregnant” ruse is the oldest in the book. I’ve dodged it numerous times in the past twenty-plus years without incident.

Though it is a little harder this time since I’m aware her next comment is true. “We had unprotected sex more than once. That comes with a risk, An”—Zoya recovers quickly from her near fumble of my name—“Kazimir. One you failed to adequately assess before you decided to fuck with me.”

“I didn’t assess the situation adequately because you’re infertile,” I argue back, hating that she’s airing our dirty laundry for the world to see, but too fucking furious she is placing her anger before Zakhar’s life not to snap back. “We met at a fertility clinic.”

“Exactly!”

Zoya fights to get out of one of my father’s goon’s hold before Maksim ends her struggle with a threat. It sees the goon stepping back with his hands in the air, confident he is seconds from death.

I hate that Maksim is defending her, but not as much as the turmoil her following sentence instigates. “I was at a fertility clinic seeking treatment. You can ask anyone who has suffered from endometriosis. The chances of conception increase tenfold after laparoscopic ablation.”

I shake my head, too sickened to even consider the possibility. A month ago, I would have banged my chest. But now… fuck. I’ll be seen as a mockery.

This is not something I will ever live down.

“She’s telling the truth,” fires up her best friend. “I’ve also been pumping her with fertility supplements over the past six months.” Nikita shifts on her feet to face a still and slack-jawed Zoya. “I didn’t mean to snoop. I just wanted to lessen your pain. I was trying to help.”

The crowd loves the tension the sheer honesty in Nikita’s eyes offer.

I fucking hate it.

So much so, I dismiss Zoya with an edge of arrogance I am certain she is growing to loathe. “It doesn’t matter. I love Arabella, and I want her to be my wife.”

I also love my son, and I refuse for my foolish mistakes to end his life.

He isn’t even five yet.

He has barely lived.

Why the fuck am I the only one who cares about that?

“That choice is now out of your hands,” says a voice steeped in history.

The wedding invitees whisper among themselves when my grandfather stands to his feet and turns to face Zoya. Although he projects his voice in her direction, the sneer of his words reveals who his anger is truly directed at.

It isn’t Zoya or me.

It is my father.

“I didn’t work so hard to keep our family name in good graces to have a child born out of wedlock. If her claims are true, they will wed. Today. ”

With a flick of his wrist, he sends Kolya out to purchase a pregnancy test and ends the nuptials saving his great-grandson’s life.