I fixed my eyes on my bride as the ceremonial rites were recited. She held my gaze, a glimpse of something familiar flashing across her face. I couldn’t tell if it was defiance or acceptance. Or maybe a blend of both.
Her expression had become hard to read; it was as unsettling as it was fascinating. I used to read her so easily. But today of all days, I couldn’t. And a part of me hated that. I was either losing my game, or she had leveled up hers.
Soon, it was time for the vows, and I saw her breath hitch in her throat.
“Do you, Celine Hart, take this man, Artur Tarasov, to be your lawfully wedded husband…?”
Her eyes grew glassy, her lips subtly quivering as the question was asked. She hesitated, but only for a moment before responding.
She said, “I do.”
My lips curled into a faint, self-satisfied grin.
The priest turned to me, “Do you, Artur Tarasov, take Celine Hart to be your lawfully wedded wife…?”
Without hesitation, I answered, “I do.”
We exchanged rings, and while mine slipped on her finger, I noticed her hands were trembling.
He spread out his arms. “By the power vested in me, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife.”
Her shoulders slumped, and a quiet exhale escaped her lips—painted a muted shade of red.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
I pulled her close, sealing our union with a soft kiss.
The guests rose to their feet, clapping and cheering.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Tarasov,” I whispered in her ear. “You’re officially mine now.”
She didn’t say anything to me; she just smiled, the kind born of pain and defeat. Perhaps I should go easy on her. Perhaps I should dial it down on how much I rubbed her inability to be free right in her face.
Under the right circumstances, this was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. But it wasn’t, and she was hurting so much already. Maybe a little sympathy from me would go a long way.
Camera lights flashed in our faces as my private photographers captured the moment. I held her close, my possessive hand around her waist as we smiled at the crowd.
***
The wedding was a success.
The ceremony went smoothly, the guests left elated, and there was no attack on life or property. None whatsoever.
Later that night, after walking my cousins to the car, I returned to our bedroom, a bit exhausted. She was gazing out the window when I walked in, jacket draped over my hand, tie sagging around my neck.
The zip of her dress was halfway down her back, the sleeves loose over her shoulders. She had her arms across her chest, her back against the door. And in the silence of her new bedroom, she stood by the window, watching the night sky outside.
I tossed my jacket onto the nearest chair as I approached her, one hand in my pocket.
“I’d always wanted to be a mother. A wife,” she said softly without turning to look at me. “I just never imagined it happening this way, you know.”
I halted behind her, silent.
“It’s quite unfair,” she added under her breath, her tone laced with defeat.
She wasn’t raging. Just sad. Like she’d lost the will to fight and had accepted her fate.
“Itisunfair,” I replied quietly. “But that’s how life works. It doesn’t always go our way. It doesn’t favor us unless we turn the tide and take matters into our own hands.”