Knocked Up by the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #3)

Chapter 7 - Amy

It was supposed to be bad luck to see the bride in her dress before the wedding, but Amy didn't feel like a bride as she let Ivan help her out of Zia's car. She felt like a fraud in a very expensive gown and hated how she loved the shape and feel of the silk dress Madam Purrit had made for her. The underdress was pale lilac silk that hugged her curves and flared at the bottom. Above it, white lace decorated the dress sparingly in a floral design that made her feel like a fairy princess. It had a sweetheart neckline and cut-out sleeves that met at her shoulders, her elbows, and her wrists. It wasn't really anything she would've thought to get married in, but she'd fallen in love with the design the moment the sweet, older woman suggested it.

"You look beautiful," Ivan murmured, snapping her out of her thoughts as he escorted her back to her suite. He'd booked a couple of rooms specifically for them to get ready, and also so that Mira and Zia had somewhere they could take the kids to if things got too stressful. She wouldn't admit it, but Amy had actually listened while he'd been planning it all. Ignoring him was a hell of a lot harder than she'd like it to be.

Pulling her attention from hotel guests staring at her, Amy smiled for the first time in over a week. "You're just saying that because you know we'll be a married couple tomorrow."

Ivan frowned, and while she hadn't said anything, he cleaned up nicely—more so even in that dashing black-on-black suit. "No, I'm saying it because I mean it. You look beautiful, Mishka."

Hearing her nickname, Amy ignored the way her heart fluttered. So what if he hadn't said it in several days? It wasn't special—just another name like "babe" or "honey."

Instead of continuing their argument, Amy shrugged and thanked him. She'd gotten a way out, even if it meant waiting the six months it took for him to get rid of the threat on her life.

They reached the door to her suite in a couple of minutes, and Ivan left her as soon as she knocked. Watching him go, her heart thudded in her chest as the door swung wide open.

"Amy!" Zia hissed, looking around the hallway, curlers in her hair. "What were you thinking? The ceremony starts in like fifteen minutes!"

Fifteen minutes. Amy let out a bark of laughter. It still didn't feel real.

"Amy?" her best friend called, suddenly looking worried. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know," she answered truthfully, and Zia snorted as she grabbed her hand.

"Yeah, well neither was I. Move your butt, we've got so much to do, but if you hurry, then we can both sneak a glass of champagne before you walk down the aisle."

***

Three glasses of champagne later, Amy was clutching Mikhail's arm as she waited for her turn to walk down the dark purple crushed velvet carpet. The Pakhan gave her a small smile that she ignored in favor of staring around her. This... was not what she'd expected from Ivan. Sunlight filtered in through the hotel's skylight windows and onto the chandelier, casting sparkling reflections across the guests and decorations. It looked like something out of a fairytale; there was even a complimentary flowered arch waiting at the end of the carpet.

How the hell had he come up with this on such short notice? Maybe it was foolish, but she'd thought marrying Ivan wouldn’t be much more than a shotgun wedding—signing papers and getting a silver or gold ring as her own little party favor . This was nothing like she'd imagined it. For one, she actually liked it. More so, though she'd rather die than admit that.

Ahead of her, her little sister Ava walked with a bright, beaming smile, and a few paces behind her were Mira, then Zia. Her bridesmaids wore A-line dresses the color of Amy's heirloom amethyst earrings, each of them carrying a bouquet of purple wildflowers, like her own, with blooms she hadn't ever seen in a flower shop before. Amy recognized dahlias, foxglove, and violets, but the rest were foreign.

"Are you ready?" Mikhail, her soon-to-be brother-in-law, murmured, and Amy just stopped herself from scoffing, scared he might think it was disrespectful.

Ready? For this? No. Her heart pounded. She didn't think she'd ever be ready for this charade—but they had no choice. Her family stood in the front row; she had to keep them safe. There was no possible way she'd ever be ready for this, but here she was.

The time came for her to walk, and she straightened her shoulders. Scarred, tattooed men with guns stared at her when she passed, and Amy's mother's grin grew impossibly brighter. While this might have been a day that Amy had been dreading for the past week, her mother looked like she was on the verge of tears—happy tears, as if she'd never in her wildest dreams thought her daughter would be here.

Well, I didn't either , she thought to herself. Her fingernails dug into the Pakhan's arm, yet he didn't flinch, and somehow that made her feel better. It was as if she wasn't falling apart inside her mind.

With her focus on the man waiting at the flowered arch, Amy walked. Ivan stood there in his tailored black-on-black suit, tattoos curling above his collar. He might have made this look like a fairytale, but that didn’t make him her knight in shining armor. How the hell had he designed everything? It looked like something she'd put on her Pinterest board back when she still believed in things like love at first sight.

Her bridesmaids stopped a few paces from Ivan and turned to look at her with encouraging smiles that Amy ignored. She walked down the aisle to the soft, lilting tune of a harp. The harpist seated on the far right in a green dress, flowers woven into her hair. It must have been part of the theme because all the women she'd seen so far had flowers clipped to their hair. All the decorations seemed to echo the same theme—ribbons and flowers. While teenage Amy would have gone wild with the colors and designs, whoever Ivan had worked with managed it all rather tastefully. It was so well done that she had a slight suspicion that Mira and Zia might have been more involved than she'd thought. Especially with the flowers, those had to have been from Zia's little flower shop.

Sooner than she thought it would be, Mikhail handed her over to Ivan, and the officiant began the ceremony. Amy barely heard him over the buzzing in her ears, her focus on the sweat forming in her shoes and down her spine. There was nothing comfortable about this— it's too late to stop it .

Next to her, Ivan appeared calm and composed—a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her. He reached for her hands, his tattooed fingers bare of any rings for the first time in her memory, and her stomach fluttered. It's just nerves, she told herself, hoping to soothe her anxious heart. But with every sentence, the atmosphere thickened. It left her breathless and on the cusp of fainting.

"—Amy Spencer, do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in holy matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," she stammered, drowning in Ivan's ocean-blue eyes. He was smirking, she realized almost hysterically. Why the hell is he smirking?

"Please repeat after me," she heard the officiant say, his voice swimming in her mind only to be replaced by Ivan's solemn declaration. His vows.

"I, Ivan Nikolai, take you, Amy Spencer, to be my wife. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish."

A dimple appeared in his cheek as he paused, and Amy blinked, her body frozen. Just say it!

"Until death do us part."

Licking her suddenly dry lips, Amy croaked her own vows when the time came, her whole body trembling as one of the groomsmen provided the rings.

When her ring was placed on her finger, Amy stared at it in alien wonder. The thin platinum wedding band held three deep purple amethysts in sharp rectangle cuts, and her spinning head vaguely realized they were far bigger than the earrings she'd worn for that day. A carat—maybe more each. Too much...

"Breathe," Ivan whispered, fingers stroking her own. Amy jolted at the touch, swinging her gaze to his. Oranges and bourbon filled her lungs with panicked breaths, only to be taken away the moment the officiant said: "You may kiss the bride."

Her knees weakened as Ivan's tattooed hand, wearing only his wedding band, gripped her jaw and pulled her close. His lips met hers, and she inhaled. One breath whispered from her lips the second he deepened the kiss, parting them with his tongue. It would have been a cliché to say that sparks flickered across her vision—but they did, and no matter how much she tried to ignore the heat coiling in her belly, Amy couldn't.

Kissing Ivan left her reeling, and she reached toward his chest, gripping the lapels of his suit in clenched fists to keep her balance. Something ignited inside her—annoyance, perhaps. But the thought was gone with a stroke of his tongue, and before she could think any further about how his touch left her feeling, he'd already pulled away.

"I now pronounce you, husband and wife!" the officiator announced, and loud whoops and clapping reached her ears as Amy blinked open her eyes and stared up at him. Ivan... her husband .

For the next six months , she reminded herself as he nudged her forward with a palm on the small of her back.

Flower petals cascaded over them and Amy glared at the floor to avoid meeting anyone's eyes. What the fuck just happened?

Ivan led her into the reception hall and to a seat at the largest table. This place shimmered with decorations similar to the previous hall, but Amy didn't feel like the main focus anymore as people spread out at the tables, popping champagne and laughing. Dim lights twinkled above like stars, and tables were adorned with lavish centerpieces of roses and candles. She stared at it all with a detached expression.

"Just breathe," Ivan murmured, his body interrupting her sight as he pretended to press a kiss to her cheek. "You look like you're about to faint. We just need to sit here for another hour, and I'll take you home."

Home? Amy's thoughts echoed incredulously. Home wasn't his apartment; it was her little apartment in downtown Chicago or her mother's house, where she normally went once a week for family dinner and movie nights. Not his place. Never his place. Not that it mattered because Ivan was right; she still had to play the part of the blushing bride for another hour. She didn't know how the hell he was convincing everyone so easily when she struggled so badly. Her adrenaline rush was starting to crash and she felt like passing out.

Her mother joined them a moment later, squealing about the decorations, and Amy tried on a smile. "It really is beautiful," she murmured as Ivan's expression turned playful.

"Why don't I let you ladies chat, and I'll go grab you a drink, wife."

"Sure, husband ," Amy spoke through gritted teeth, her focus sharpening with her ire. He snickered and left, joining the rest of the Nikolai men and Kostya at the bar.

"That man must really love you to prepare all of this on such short notice," her mother teased, her green eyes sparkling under the fairy lights.

No, Amy thought bitterly. He's just a damn good actor. Unsure how to respond, she was relieved when a flustered Zia appeared from the crowd and spoke for her.

"Vanya did a great job," she agreed as she sat down in the seat meant for Ivan. "I swear, I got like five hundred calls from him this week to double-check if things were right."

What? Amy thought distractedly, but Zia's arms were wrapped around Alexander, and he babbled, chubby arms reaching for Amy the second he was close enough. She let Zia pass him over and cuddled him close to her chest. Alexander refused to sit and instead wobbled himself into a standing position. She let him, her mind occupied as she wrapped an arm around his waist to make sure he didn't fall.

She'd known Ivan was planning their wedding, but the lengths he'd gone to still didn't make sense to her—fabric swatches and wedding magazines. Hell, he'd even brought the cake testing to her while she was on a call with Brittany. Thinking back on it all made her feel a little guilty... She and Ivan had come to an agreement this morning—but Amy hadn't been very agreeable this past week. In fact, she'd purposely been a bitch. She knew that.

"Those boys!" her mother murmured, pulling her from her thoughts, and Amy glanced over to see wrinkles appearing on her forehead. "Oh, no."

"Leave them. They're having fun." Amy smiled as she saw her brothers dart around the guests and toward the cupcakes being set out. A wry smile flickered across her lips before she glanced away, meeting the eyes of a man who looked vaguely familiar. The memory of a gunshot rang in her ears, and her breath hissed out. It was one of the men who shot that man. Boris , she recalled vaguely. Her vision swam in and out of focus, and Amy just barely heard her mom complaining about the boys' behavior.

God , she'd known the Bratva would be attending, but she hadn't realized any of them would be here. Zia's hand wrapped around hers, and she blinked, inhaling sharply.

"Everything alright?" her best friend asked, and Amy shook her head before pasting a smile on her face and turning to her mother.

"Actually, Mom. There are a couple of Ivan's associates here; maybe we should get them to come sit down?" Amy suggested, and her mother nodded.

"Of course, sweetheart. Knowing your brothers, they were probably just about to grab a bottle of champagne. The twins have been eyeing it all morning. Trust my luck to have kids who would attempt to drink at fifteen. I'll be back soon, sweetie."

"Thanks, Mom." Amy kept her smile until her mother had exhaled heavily.

"What's wrong?" Zia muttered, keeping a pleasant expression on her face.

"I just—I forgot that they'd be here," Amy swallowed heavily as Alexander spotted Lev and squeaked happily.

"Daddy!"

"There's Daddy, Lexi," Zia cooed before turning back to her friend. "You forgot who would be here?"

"The guys who gunned down that one guy at the club," Amy admitted under her breath, and Zia nodded.

"Only Andre accepted an invite," Zia whispered as the man in question raised his glass in acknowledgment. "He's really not that bad once you get to know him. Just a bit harsh—but you've married into the Bratva. Most of these people are hard, Amy."

Temporarily married , Amy corrected in her head, but all she said was, "I know."

"Don't worry. Only an idiot would do something right now," Zia said as she squeezed Amy's arm sympathetically.

They turned their gazes back to where Amy's little sister Ava and her mom were bringing the boys back to the table—they were quickly joined by Ivan, who was carrying two flutes of champagne, and as if sensing their gazes, he turned to meet her eyes and winked.

"Have you opened any of your gifts yet, wife?" Ivan asked playfully as he placed the champagne on the table in front of her and Zia, then held his hands out for his nephew. Amy handed Alexander over, then shook her head.

"No, why?"

"Well," he paused as Ava and her mother sat down, the boys standing behind them. They were all looking at him with curious gazes, and Amy's brow furrowed as she waited for him to speak.

"Well, what?"

Ivan pulled an envelope from his pocket. "I wanted to give your mother this before we opened our gifts."

"What's that?" Amy asked as her mother thanked him, a bright smile on her face as she opened the envelope.

"You shouldn't have," Paisley murmured before reading the letter. Whatever she read left her frozen with an expression of disbelief, and Amy couldn't wait any longer. She snatched the letter, terrified and unsure why, as she read what was inside.

Her breath rushed out of her before she turned to Ivan. "You bought my mother a house?"