[REBECCA]
“I didn’t imply that,” Lynda’s reply held a hint of defensiveness.
As the conversation twisted, Brayden interjected, injecting a new layer of reality. “Technically, it’s not yet legally binding. Formal paperwork needs signing, and there were no witnesses,” he explained matter-of-factly.
Artemy’s irritation escalated, his temper simmering just beneath the surface. “Excuse me?” His growl was potent.
“The legality necessitates documentation, and you lacked witnesses to validate the union,” Damian clarified, his voice adding gravity to the situation.
Lynda, seemingly nervous, fidgeted with her lips, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by Artemy.
The atmosphere shifted as guilt took root in the faces of Brayden, Leon, Avim, and Camilla. Dread coiled within me, for I sensed the unfolding of a dreaded revelation.
“Oh no,” I involuntarily voiced my dismay.
“We were only present for the beginning!” Camilla’s plea for innocence was swift, attempting to avert the impending chaos.
Lynda affirmed, her voice wavering. “We left immediately after the rings exchanged hands.”
The tempest within Artemy brewed, his restraint hanging by a thread.
The collective retreat of those around us was palpable, a shared awareness of the impending storm.
“Concern for the plan’s success and your recollection of the vows compelled us,” Leon interjected, his attempt at reason etched with concern. “You were struggling to memorize the lines.”
Brayden’s voice joined in, his words revealing a past of unscripted lines. “And it was clear that the words spoken deviated from the practiced script.”
A bittersweet confession emerged from Camilla amidst the tension. “But your improvised vows were touching. Even if I weren’t already smitten, I might have fallen for you, Artemy.”
Brayden’s sudden focus on Camilla, however, disrupted the equilibrium. “What did you just say?”
Avim’s demeanor betrayed a discomfort akin to swallowing a heavy truth.
The unease in the room deepened.
I grasped at a thread of understanding, seizing the opportunity to redirect the storm. “Artemy, about your practice sessions… Who was your partner in rehearsing?”
Artemy’s attempt to intervene was in vain, as I plunged forward with my inquiry.
Brayden’s proclamation hung heavy in the air. “It was I who played the role of the bride.”
My eyebrow arched as I shifted my gaze to Artemy, who let out an exasperated oath under his breath.
“Is that so?” I questioned, a playful veil shrouding my words, a concealed amusement dancing behind my hand.
Brayden positioned himself next to Artemy, draping an arm over Artemy’s shoulders. “We’ve rehearsed every single detail.”
“And when I say every detail, I mean absolutely everything. You catch my drift, right?”
“What the hell!” Artemy’s shout reverberated.
Artemy released me. The sound of Brayden’s pained scream reached me, obviating the need to turn and see what unfolded.
“You’ve broken my nose. What the hell?”
“That one was well-deserved,” Camilla sighed.
I could no longer contain myself. Laughter erupted from within me, uncontrollable and effervescent. Amidst all of them, I burst into fits of laughter.
They were a bundle of lunacy. Utterly insane.
Yet, I cherished them. They undeniably brought me the greatest joy.
“You lot are absolutely bonkers,” I wheezed through my laughter.
Artemy was back at my side, enfolding me in his arms. I smiled, taking in the whole group.
My eyes met Lynda’s gaze, and I bestowed a gentle smile upon her. “Lynda, whether or not we have the wedding doesn’t really matter. It won’t carry any legal weight, remember? I’m supposed to be deceased, my identity erased.”
Her expression turned melancholic, reminded of my past life. “Alright, no formalities then. But can we still have a grandiose wedding? Pretty please? I’ve been meticulously planning this for months, even years! Please, Artemy. Rebecca,” she implored.
Her puppy-dog eyes were impossible to resist. She pouted, with Camilla mimicking the gesture.
“No,” Artemy stated succinctly.
I sighed and shrugged. “How grand are we talking?”
“About a thousand attendees? Just the closest ones,” Camilla proposed.
My eyes widened in awe.
“Will I get to wear a bridal gown?” I inquired, a sudden surge of excitement coursing through me.
“Yes!” Lynda squealed.
I was well aware that Artemy and I were already wedded. Another wedding wasn’t exactly on my wish list. Yet, the thought of strolling down the aisle towards Artemy, professing my love before everyone, uttering vows-it kindled a trace of giddiness within me.
Moreover, resisting Lynda and Camilla’s persuasion was a herculean feat.
I turned within Artemy’s embrace, facing him directly. “In my heart, we’re already married. Another wedding isn’t a necessity. The promises we exchanged suffice,” I paused.
“Do you yearn for the wedding?” Artemy inquired.
“Do you?” I parried. “If you don’t, then we’ll forgo it.”
“I’m indifferent, Angel. You’re my wife already. No one can alter that,” he retorted, casting a stern look at everyone.
“I wish to don a wedding gown,” I murmured shyly, a sudden bout of nervousness settling in. “And walk down the aisle for you. Once more.”
I took a sharp breath as Artemy kissed me passionately. “Then a wedding it shall be,” he declared resoundingly.
Echoes of excitement emanated from Camilla and Lynda.
My gaze rested on my husband, a smile illuminating my face.
My heart overflowed with love for this man.
How could he be a ruthless killer and yet exude such tenderness…I couldn’t fathom. Yet, understanding wasn’t imperative. I simply craved him as he was.
Perilous, unyielding, and yet, tender and affectionate.
He winked, causing a flutter in my stomach. His smile and azure eyes hastened my heart rate.
“But let’s limit the guest list, and after Princess is born,” I proposed as I turned to address the others.
“Agreed,” Lynda promptly assented.
It appeared we were on course for a wedding after all.
Artemy pressed a kiss to my temple. “You’re quite the sweetheart, my husband.”
He playfully nibbled my earlobe. “Only for you, my wife.”
Giggles erupted from me-I felt so liberated, so cherished, so utterly loved.
In Artemy’s embrace, I found completeness.
***
Two weeks had elapsed since that moment, and now I found myself asking the same question once again. “Where are we headed?” I inquired, perhaps for the tenth time.
Artemy’s response remained as enigmatic as before. “You’ll soon find out,” he said in his usual composed manner.
As we strolled hand in hand, his grip gently tugging me along, curiosity gnawed at me. I had absolutely no inkling of our destination, given his insistence on keeping it a secret.
Our steps echoed down the corridor, heading in the direction of his office. “Are we going to your office?” I ventured, hoping for more insight.
Artemy’s reply was succinct. “No.”
Just as I was about to press further, our progress halted two doors shy of his office. I looked up at him, a silent plea in my eyes for an explanation.
He observed me intensely, his eyes locking onto mine. “You’ve never been in here, have you?” he asked softly, his voice carrying a mix of sentiment.
My head shook slowly. “No. The door’s always been locked.”
“Today holds significance,” Artemy began, as if unraveling a cherished tale. “Consider it another facet of our shared traditions.”
Perplexity etched across my features, I followed him inside as he unlocked the door, sealing it behind us.
The room embraced darkness, its ambience cocooned by drawn curtains, shrouding the sun. Artemy advanced to the window, parting the curtains with a deliberate sweep, permitting sunlight to cascade into the room, infusing it with a warm, golden hue.
The abrupt illumination forced me to blink repeatedly, striving to adjust my vision to this new reality.
Positioned with my back to the room, my eyes beheld the world as Artemy intended. The first focal point was a pair of sizable portraits, both exuding a sense of history.
My breath caught in my throat, a nearly inaudible gasp escaping me. Within those frames, the figures of Damian and Celia stood frozen in time, captured in their youthful essence.
The inaugural portrait depicted Celia seated gracefully in a chair, Damian standing beside her, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. Both directed their gazes toward the camera Celia radiating a faint, serene smile, while Damian exuded an air of intensity, a gravity that bordered on ferocity.
The subsequent portrait, a lone addition, featured a pregnant Celia with a small boy nestled on her lap. The roundness of her belly bespoke the child’s impending arrival none other than Artemy himself.
That portrait encapsulated the era of Celia’s pregnancy, a poignant reminder of the daughter they were destined never to meet.
Damian’s countenance mirrored the first portrait, every bit the image of the man he had become a man known for darker deeds.
My gaze lingered on the second portrait, absorbing the innocence of young Artemy nestled against his mother. The weight of his expression conveyed a solemnity beyond his years, as though he comprehended the gravity of the moment captured in that frame.
My heart clenched with a mixture of sorrow and empathy as I contemplated the situation. Artemy had been thrust into the realms of adulthood prematurely, robbed of the chance to revel in the innocence of his childhood. The untimely demise of his mother had propelled him into a rapid descent towards darker inclinations.
Before he even drew me into an embrace, I sensed his comforting presence enveloping me. Artemy’s arms encircled my waist, and his lips trailed a series of moist kisses along the curve of my neck.
His touch was a constant, an unceasing caress that expressed his affection without reservation. In the haven of his arms, I discovered my utmost joy and contentment.
“You were incredibly adorable,” I murmured, my gaze still affixed to the portrait.
“Is that so?” he inquired, his curiosity piqued.
“Yes, indeed. I hope our child inherits your captivating eyes,” I responded.
“Hmm…I’m secretly hoping she possesses the beauty of your eyes,” he mused.
Nestling deeper into his embrace, I felt an undeniable sense of comfort. “Care to make a wager?”
Artemy hesitated momentarily. “You should consider spending less time with the guys.”
His remark elicited a chuckle from me. “You’re quite the charmer.”
“No, it’s not charm. I am the epitome of allure. Irresistibly and sinfully alluring, remember?” he retorted.
I shook my head, a hint of regret tugging at my words. “I should never have said that. You’ll forever remind me of it, won’t you?” I sighed, feeling the weight of his considerable ego and arrogance.
He possessed an arrogance that bordered on audacious, and I pondered whether it was wise to indulge his vanity. However, in my heart, I acknowledged the undeniable truth in every word that passed between us.
“Repeat it,” he demanded, a playful edge to his voice.
“No,” I responded, amusement dancing in my tone.
He playfully nipped at my neck, and I involuntarily gasped as I felt his hips undulate against my back. Artemy pressed himself against me, allowing me to discern his evident arousal.
“Oh, my goodness,” I breathed, catching my breath as his laughter echoed.
“Say it,” he teased, his voice dripping with suggestion. His hand navigated its way to my breast, and a jolt of surprise coursed through me when his fingertips brushed against my nipple.
His touch was gentle, tracing delicate patterns through the fabric of my dress. A moan escaped my lips as he continued to manipulate my sensitized flesh, alternating between pinches and teasing tugs.
“Definitely impossible, Artemy,” I managed to utter.
My resistance weakened as he persisted, his actions prompting an involuntary moan from me. “That’s not exactly the response I was hoping for, kitten,” he husked.
“Your physique exudes a tantalizing allure. You’re the epitome of sensuality,” I confessed as his seductive ministrations persisted.
His languid touch came to a halt. “Would you like to partake in some sin then? Right here, right now?”