Weddings Aren’t Sweet

Leni

"We need to marry. Now." Dusan's words weren't a request, they were a command, delivered with a chilling urgency that made my blood run cold. I stared at him, confused at his words. I understand that it was part of the plan, I just didn't expect it to happen so suddenly.

"Marry?" I repeated, the word left a bitter taste in my mouth."Why so sudden?"

"Your life is in danger," he stated, his gaze unwavering. He moved towards me, calmly in the empty room, his presence both comforting and exciting. "They know about you now. About your real connection to your father."

"And marriage changes that?" I asked, my voice laced with mistrust.

"It makes it clear you're under my protection," he explained, his tone firm. "It's a shield, Leni. I am the only one you have right now."

I looked away, weighing the reality of my situation. I was trapped, caught between two worlds, neither of which felt safe.

"This is insane," I muttered, shaking my head. "I can't just… marry you."

He stepped closer, his presence soothing me just a bit. "You don't have a choice, Leni," he said, his voice low and serious. "Not anymore."

I met his gaze, searching for any hint of deception, any sign that this was a game. But his eyes were dark and unreadable, reflecting only the cold reality of our situation.

A wave of fear washed over me, a chilling realization that I was truly alone. I thought of my brother, his unsolved murder, the hole his absence had left in my life. I couldn't let my own life be taken, not like that, I thought of Elise. I couldn't put her in harms way either.

"Give me a moment," I said, turning away, needing a moment to process the impossible.

I walked to the window, staring out at the rain-streaked cityscape. My reflection stared back at me, a stranger with haunted eyes. Was this really my life now? Forced into a marriage with a dangerous man, a man who moved in the shadows?

I turned back to Dusan, my decision made. "Okay," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I'll marry you."

A flicker of something that looked like relief crossed his face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He moved with swift efficiency, making arrangements, issuing orders. The wedding was a rushed, almost a closed off affair, held in a small, dimly lit chapel.

Papa wasn't there to walk me down the aisle, I walked silently into the empty parish building. My dress was given to me by Rafaela. She said I couldn't disrespect the church by walking down in jeans and one of Dusan’s shirt.

The priest had been told to keep the ceremony as short as possible, so it wasn’t long before we were at the vows. He cleared his throat, giving me an uneasy look before looking at his paper. “Dusan Nikoliç and Leni Kaiser, have you come here to enter into marriage without intimidation, voluntarily and wholeheartedly?”

“I have,” I said.

“I have,” Dusan said. His voice was soft and demanding, and I felt a strange twinge in my chest. Almost forgetting the situation that brought me here.

“Are you prepared, as you follow the path of marriage, to love and to be loyal to each other for as long as you both shall live?” the priest continued.

“I am,” Dusan said, and I echoed his response.

“The vows were next. When the priest asked Dusan if he vowed to “love, honor, and obey” me, his jaw clenched tightly.

The priest cleared his throat, and I gave an annoyed huff before saying, “I do.”

***

And then, we were in St. Petersburg. The city, with its grand palaces and shadowed canals, felt like a world away from the sterile opulence of his Moscow estate. The mansion we stayed in, overlooking the Neva River, was breathtaking.

He showed me the city, not as a tourist, but as a master revealing his domain. We walked through grand halls filled with priceless art, the silence broken only by the echo of our footsteps. He pointed out landmarks, not with pride, but with a detached observation, as if he were cataloging assets.

One night, we found ourselves in a small, dimly lit restaurant, the air thick with the scent of spices and the murmur of hushed conversations. He ordered in fluent Russian, his voice a low murmur that sent a thrill through me.

"You speak the language well," I observed, breaking the silence.

"It is my language," he replied, his eyes fixed on the flickering candlelight. "I was born here, in St. Petersburg. My family has been here for generations." He paused, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "It runs in my blood."

"And your family...?" I asked, hesitant.

He looked away, his jaw tightening slightly. "They are… complicated," he said, his voice flat. "But they are Russian."

"It is necessary to have knowledge, Leni," he continued, changing the subject, his eyes fixed on the flickering candlelight. "In my world, knowledge is power."

"And what knowledge do you seek from me?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

He leaned forward, his eyes dark and intense. "Understanding," he murmured, his voice husky. "And perhaps… more."

His gaze, intense and possessive, made me acutely aware of the space between us, the unspoken tension that hung in the air.

Back at the mansion, the silence was heavy, charged with an unspoken energy. He led me to a grand ballroom, its polished floor reflecting the moonlight streaming through the tall windows.

"Dance with me, Leni," he said, his voice a low command.

He took my hand, his touch sending a jolt through me. We moved together, the music a slow, sensual rhythm that mirrored the tension between us. His hand on my waist was firm, and possessive, drawing me closer until I could feel the warmth of his body.

"You're beautiful, Leni," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.

"And you're dangerous, Dusan," I replied, my voice barely a whisper.

He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "Maybe," he whispered, his lips brushing against my temple. "But danger can be fun when you're with someone like me.”

He pulled me closer, his eyes dark and intense, and I felt a strange mix of fear and desire, a dangerous cocktail that left me breathless.

Later, in the quiet of our shared suite, he stood by the window, his silhouette stark against the city lights.

"There's something I must show you," he said, his voice low and serious.

He led me to a hidden room, a small, unassuming space tucked away behind a bookcase. Inside, a single object rested on a velvet cushion: a small, ornate music box.

"This belonged to my mother," he said, his voice soft. "She gave it to me before… before she died."

He opened the music box, and a delicate melody filled the room, a haunting tune that spoke of loss and longing. He watched me, his eyes filled with an emotion I couldn't quite decipher.

"This music box, it holds a secret," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "A secret that… that changes everything."

He reached out, his fingers brushing against my cheek, his eyes locking with mine. "But that secret," he murmured, his voice husky, "is for another time." He closed the music box.

He stepped closer, his presence filling the small room. The air crackled with unspoken desires, the tension between us a tangible thing. He tilted my chin up, his eyes dark and intense. "Leni," he whispered, his voice a low rumble, "you are mine."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against mine, a feather-light touch that sent a jolt of electricity through me. Just as our lips were about to meet, he pulled back, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Not yet," he murmured, his voice husky. "Patience, zheltofiol. Patience is a virtue."

He turned and walked away, leaving me breathless and wanting more.