I was Mrs. Sasha Nikolaev.
Outside, the sun shone bright. October in New Orleans was like being in the Bahamas. At least when comparing it to the temperatures we’d had in Russia for the past few months.
“My little baby sister isn’t so little anymore,” Alessio drawled then pulled me into a hug. I might have glimpsed some tears in his eyes. And my brother never cried. I smiled with my own tears glistening in my eyes. Happy tears.
“I love you, brother,” I choked out.
He pressed a kiss to my forehead.
“And I love you, baby sister,” he rasped. “Mia would have been happy to see you today.”
A lump in my throat grew. So many emotions. Happiness. Love.
A promise of a beautiful future.
I nodded. Autumn nudged him. Their little daughter slept soundly in my best friend’s arms. Just as she was about to hug me, Kol shoved his little body in between us and wrapped his arms around me.
“I love you, Aunt Branka,” he said, burying his face into my stomach. “I don’t want you to live away from me. Tell Sasha to let you come live with me.”
A round of laughter rang out around us.
“I love you too, buddy.” I ruffled his hair softly. “Sasha and I will visit you all the time. And you can visit us. Anytime. You just call me. Okay?”
He nodded seriously and I knew without a doubt Kol would spend a lot of time with us in Russia.
“Can Mommy hug Aunt Branka now?” Autumn asked amused. Kol was still between us and she leaned over, then pressed a kiss on my cheek. “I’m so happy for you, bestie.” She flicked a glance to Sasha who stood next to me, his own brothers teasing him. Apparently it was payback time. “Sasha kidnapping you was the best thing that has happened to you. You’re glowing. Wait until you see the photos I snapped.”
I was so lost in Sasha and our vows, I hadn’t even noticed she snapped pictures.
“Of course it was the best thing that happened to her,” Sasha chimed in. “I know what I’m doing.”
Everyone rolled their eyes, except for me. Sasha saved me. Multiple times. While Killian wouldn’t have made my life hell, he wouldn’t have made me happy. Even worse, I wouldn’t have made him happy.
The next ten minutes everyone hugged us and wished us many years of love and happiness. It was our own happily-ever-after. Seven years in the works.
And every single day of waiting was worth it.
Once everyone left, Sasha and I stood in the middle of the sidewalk. My heart patted with happiness and pinged off the walls of my chest. My hands shook slightly as I put my palm on his chest. He wore black leather pants and a silky black shirt, highlighting his light hair and eyes even more.
Satan’s spawn became my angel.
“Do you want to ditch The Den of Sin reception with family and friends, Mrs. Nikolaev?” he drawled, that irresistible smirk on his face tempting me. I leaned over and kissed him. I loved kissing him. I loved feeling his hard body against my soft one.
I loved him. Period.
“We better not,” I murmured. “They are already accusing us of being reclusive and hiding in Siberia.”
His thumb swept over my bottom lip, the love in his eyes leaving me feeling raw.
“Are you happy?”
He asked me that often. As if he worried whether he was worthy.
I nodded. “So happy.” I parted my lips and my tongue darted to brush over the tip of his thumb. “You make me so happy.”
His arm came around my waist and pulled me closer. “I love you, kotyonok.”
God, he was so much more than that psychotic mobster I thought him to be. “I love you too, husband.”
A smile pulled on his lips. His eyes ignited with a spark.
“I love that title.” His voice was coarse, then he kissed me. Soft and slow, yet deep enough to rattle my soul. “You make me happy, kotyonok,” he rasped against my lips.
God, life was unexpected. So much heartbreak and so many ghosts got us here, but none of them mattered. Our parents lost their grip on our souls. I wasn’t sure how the rest of our lives would play out, but I knew one thing for sure.
We’d do it together. With love.
He brushed his nose against mine.
“Are you in the mood for one stop before our party?” he asked.
I lifted my eyebrows curiously but he didn’t elaborate. “Sure.”
Handing me his motorcycle helmet, I took it with a sigh. “My hair will be messed up.”
Sasha’s gaze flickered with amusement. “My wife’s safety comes first.”
Twenty minutes later, we were in a tattoo parlor. The sound of the constant hum of the machine buzzed through the air. And I bawled like a baby.
My initials, B.M.N., were well underway of being inked into my husband’s chest, right above his heart.
For the tenth time, I repeated softly, “You don’t have to do this.” I
I tasted the salt on my lips, my cheeks wet. This man was too much. Everything I needed and didn’t know.
“This is the last tattoo,” he said, holding my hand. It was the only thing he asked of me. To hold his hand as my initials were being carved, rather tattooed, into his chest. “The happy ending to my story. Our story.”
My eyes roamed over his chest, a carpet of tattoos marking his skin. The story of his life.
It turned out, I carved my initials into Sasha Nikolaev after all.
