Eileen
My wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of my life.
Yet here I stand, at the doors of the ceremony hall, holding my bridal bouquet and my breath. I look around at the approximately fifty people present. This feels like a shotgun wedding. Hell, it really is, if I think about it.
“Oh, God,” I whisper, my dress suddenly too tight.
My father hooks his arm through mine. He’s yet to see a doctor, and he’s looking like he’s got one foot in the grave already. It’s the stubborn Irish in him, through and through. “Come on, Eileen. You’ve got this,” he whispers.
I glance down at myself. The bridal gown is beautiful. Trying it on and having it adjusted for my ever-changing figure was one of the highlights over the past few weeks. The white satin wraps around my chest and arms, leaving my shoulders and the upper part of my back bare. Everything else is an elegant tulle with thousands of pearls embroidered in delicate floral motifs. My veil flows from a gold band fastened around my updo. Curls tickle the base of my neck. I look beautiful. I should feel beautiful.
“Do I?”
“You do, my child,” my father says. “For better or worse, this is your day. And you must seize it. You’re a Donovan.”
I look around again, spotting guests from our side of the family, some from Anton’s. Ciara sits in the front row, still sulking. I bet she’ll grow old and be buried with that frown on her face.
“She hates me.”
Dad follows my gaze. “Ciara will get over it. Come, Eileen. Let’s get you married.”
I should be gliding down the aisle, weightless with joy. But I can’t savor this moment. Not really. It feels as though I stole it from Ciara. Anton stole it, actually. He couldn’t leave well enough alone, and now he waits for me at the end of the aisle, next to the priest and his brother.
We didn’t have any bridesmaids. No pompous ceremony. Nothing too flashy. We agreed on something small and private after the debacle at the first wedding attempt.
Bitterness lingers on the tip of my tongue as I take a deep breath and let my father walk me down the aisle. The organ fades into the background as the thudding of my heart echoes in my ears.
“You look wonderful,” Laura whispers from her seat.
I give her a warm smile. “Thank you.”
If only I felt wonderful. For a moment, as my gaze locks on Anton, I fool myself into thinking that this might turn out beautifully, after all. The sparkle in his eyes lights a fire within my heart.
We haven’t seen much of each other since I got back from the hospital. I made sure to keep busy and out of his reach, and every time we did meet, I kept it short and at a reasonable distance.
“Congratulations!” a cousin of ours whispers loudly.
I smile and nod, pretending this really is a most auspicious day. To my surprise, whenever I look at Anton, I actually believe it long enough for me to play my part, anyway. My father gives me away, quietly shaking the groom’s hand before he takes his seat next to Ciara. She’s got tears in her eyes, and spite curls her red lips. The off-white dress she’s wearing is yet another jab. Dad gives her a gentle squeeze on the knee.
“Ready?” Anton asks me.
“As I’m ever going to be,” I grumble, then put on a fake smile and face the priest.
“Dearly beloved,” the priest begins as he prepares to read a few passages from the Good Book, “we are gathered here today to join…”
His voice fades as my mind and gaze wander.
I smell the candles burning. The subtle fragrance of my rose bouquet.
I hear the last of the organ music’s notes dissolve into echoes across the wedding chapel.
My mother would’ve never allowed this to happen.
I look at Anton and take a deep breath. He looks so handsome and ready. There’s so much I’d like to say to him.
“Miss Donovan?” the priest shakes me from my reverie.
I give him a startled look. “Yes?”
“This is the part where you say, ‘I Do,’” Anton whispers.
Murmurs rise behind us.
For a moment, I lose myself in my groom’s hazel eyes, and I actually feel like this could work out. That it could lead somewhere, despite the shoddy kickoff. Something drew us together that night. The child growing inside me is proof of that.
“I guess I do,” I sigh heavily, wishing I had the luxury of genuine enthusiasm.
The priest gives me a strange look, then asks Anton the same question.
“I do,” Anton says without hesitation.
The vows are spoken. It all becomes so real, so fast, that I barely have a moment to properly digest it, to fully understand how my life will change.
This is not what I wished for growing up. It’s not how I imagined my wedding day would unfold.
“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest concludes.
“Here’s to you, Mrs. Donovan-Karpova,” he says.
“How did you know I’d want to keep my name?” I whisper.
“You underestimate my ability to read you, my darling,” he replies, then kisses me, sealing the deal in a way that leaves my head spinning and my core aching for more.
For a long, sweet moment, the entire world disappears. I don’t hear my stepsister’s bitter sighs anymore. I don’t see my father’s pale, ailing face. Gone are the thoughts of a miserable existence ahead, as a different image dares to flutter before my eyes. It’s an image of me and Anton, at peace, loving one another while our kids run around, laughing and growing.
It sounds sweet and it’s what I truly want, but I’m not sure what I’ll get.
The live band performs an excellent Rat Pack revival as the lead singer croons, most of the ladies present breaking into soft smiles and slowly batting their eyelashes.
I sit beside my husband, torn between two different thoughts—can this actually work out or will it forever be a farce meant solely to advance our families’ business interests?
“Daddy, I’ll stop drinking when I wanna stop drinking.” An already drunk Ciara yanks her glass back from our father when he tries to curb her self-destructive tendency. “My sister just got married! I’m celebrating!”
“Ciara, please,” he tries again.
Ciara walks away, but not without giving me an ugly side-eye as she storms past our table. Everyone else seems to be aware of her discomfort, and judging by the looks on their faces, most of them sympathize. I’m the monster in this story.
“It’s going to be fine,” Laura tries to assure me.
“I need to borrow your hubby for a second,” Andrei adds and whispers something in Anton’s ear.
My “hubby” gives him a long look, then plants a soft kiss on my cheek and leaves the table.
“I’m serious,” Laura insists, nodding at the waiter to refill her champagne glass. “Eileen, everything will work out once Ciara gets past that bruised ego. You’ll see.”
I can’t help but laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “This whole thing shouldn’t have happened in the first place.”
“There’s a lot that shouldn’t have happened in the first place,” she chuckles. “But the heart wants what the heart wants. It took two to make that baby you’re carrying, honey.”
“Fair enough.”
“And don’t give me any BS about how you feel. It’s obvious to the blind that you two are into each other and then some. I could tell from the moment I first saw you two interacting at Ciara’s engagement party. The thought crossed my mind that your dad clearly set Anton up with the wrong Donovan sister.”
I give her a startled look.
She laughs. “Oh, come on. Love is always messy and inconvenient.”
“That’s a big word for what’s going on here.”
“Eileen, listen to me. What’s happening today is a good thing. You’re a wonderful woman, you’re smart and educated. You come from a powerful family, and you’ve got a heart of gold. Anton may seem like the devil to you, but the man’s got a soft center, and it’s burning for you. He’ll lay the world at your feet.”
“Then why do I feel so miserable?”
“Well, that’s your choice, isn’t it?”
Suddenly, the room feels too small.
“I’ll be back.”
Tears sting my eyes as I head out of the restaurant and into the hotel lobby.
“I want to go home,” I cry to myself as I look around, searching for a place to hide.
Just then, Anton’s voice wraps my heart in something warm and soft. “We’ll go home, then.”
“I don’t wanna go home with you!” I snap, desperate to let my anger get the better of me. Maybe if I hurt him, he’ll keep his distance. “You don’t want this any more than I do, Anton, at least admit it.”
“Remember those wedding vows we took? I didn’t dream any of it, did I?”
I give him a confused look. “What?”
“I’m not gonna lie to you, Eileen, even if that’s what you’re asking me to do.”
“I don’t understand.”
Anton takes me firmly by the arm and escorts me to the nearest elevator.
My heart races as we step inside, and I glance back at the restaurant doors. “What are you doing?”
“Explaining something to my wife.”
I stand beside him, puzzled, as the elevator doors slide shut.
My core tightens as I take a deep breath, letting his spicy cologne fill my lungs and dissolve the tension in my muscles. Anton’s mere presence is enough to literally unwind me. It’s infuriating when I’m trying so hard not to like him.
As soon as we reach the top floor, Anton pulls me out of the elevator and brusquely ushers me into the bridal suite. For a moment, I’m breathless as I take everything in.
“Oh, wow,” I whisper, overwhelmed by the explosion of white roses and gold-specked silk linens spread over the California king-sized bed.
It smells beautiful, the scent of roses and lily-of-the-valley filling the space, along with soft vanilla and just a hint of cinnamon. The room is huge and brightly lit, the city of Chicago glimmering beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The skyline burns red and yellow, while my heart burns white-hot for the man standing in front of me.
“‘What exactly is the matter with you?” Anton asks, his smoldering gaze turning me to embers.
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t want this any more than I do, Anton; at least admit it.” He mimics my voice in an unflattering fashion that forces a giggle out of me.
“But Ciara—”
“Enough about that spoiled, entitled brat your father took in,” Anton cuts me off, then pulls me into his arms. “What happened that night was all about us. What we wanted.”
“But me getting knocked up was—”
“A gift from the gods. It still is,” he says. His hand comes up to gently cup my cheek, and there is so much tenderness and wanting in his touch that I can feel my defenses crumbling. “Eileen, not a day has gone by that you haven’t been on my mind. Stuck right here, beating loudly,” he lightly pounds his fist against his chest. “You’re carrying my child.”
“That was a mistake, an accident.”
He laughs. “It’s amazing that you can say that with a straight face. I guess I’m going to have to prove a few things to get you to stop believing that you were cattle sold to the highest bidder.”
“It’s how I feel,” I say, lowering my gaze. “I didn’t plan it. You certainly didn’t have it on your agenda either.”
“Eileen, no matter how this came to be, a child is a miracle that we get to have in our lives,” he says, warmth exuding from his voice. “It only makes me want this more, beyond any strategic benefits I may have noted earlier. Frankly, even those were just really good excuses. I want this child, and I want you.”
“You do?”
“I need you to understand that no matter what happens, you and the little one are under my care, my protection.”
“I just want this baby to be loved.”
“You needn’t worry about that, Eileen. This baby is the luckiest kid in the world. He’s got you, and he’s got me. I may come across as the big bad wolf to you sometimes, but I am ready and eager to be a loving father.”
For a moment, I actually believe him. I want to believe him.
“I know you’re trying to reassure me, but this entire situation is such a mess.” He gently brings up a finger to shush me.
“Ciara will be just fine, and you are going to be great. I told you, no matter what happens, you are my family now, and I will do anything and everything to protect you. Do you hear me?”
“I—”
“Do you hear me, Eileen?”
A strange sense of comfort comes over me, compelling me to give him a soft nod.
He kisses me. Firmly. Decisively. My reason, my logic—poof—out the window.
My body takes over. The blood rushes to my head as everything I’ve been holding in comes out in sizzling waves. The desire, the longing, the secret wishes. It all pours out of me as I devour his lips, and he devours mine.
“You stubborn, annoyingly proud woman,” Anton growls, then nibbles on my lower lip before his tongue slips through and eagerly wrestles mine.
“Anton,” I whisper against his lips, tasting the whiskey and the hunger burning inside him.
His hands move up and down, feeling my curves through the layers of white satin and tulle. His fingers dig in, feverishly squeezing everything in his path. Our hips meet, and I feel him nestled against my lower body, hard as a rock, before he finds the delicate laces at the back of my dress.
He removes it with remarkable speed and swiftness.
“Look into my eyes,” Anton commands me.
Shyly, I meet his gaze. “I’m looking.”
“Tell me I didn’t want this.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
My lips tremble as I stand before him in nothing more than my white lace bra and panties. He gingerly removes the veil and the tiara from the top of my head, followed by the pins holding my hair in place.
I haven’t felt like this since the last time we were together. Like a woman.
A beautiful, highly desired woman.
A goddess.
“Because I know you do want this,” I whisper.
“I want you,” he says, letting his fingers trace the contours of my full breasts. “Not just for a night. Not just for a fling. I’ve wanted more from the moment I met you, Eileen. Even as I stood there a month ago, waiting for Ciara to walk down the aisle, I wanted you. It was always you.”
He kisses me again, destroying the last bit of doubt I have left in me. I have to give Anton Karpov credit. He sure knows how to dismantle me. Completely
“This pregnancy is the best thing that ever happened to us,” he says, his hand gently palming my lower belly. There’s a bump forming, albeit not yet noticeable underneath a larger pair of pants or a roomy dress. “For me, it was the perfect excuse to do what I wanted to do from the moment I snatched you away that night. I’d already agreed to marry Ciara, and I’m a man of my word. But extenuating circumstances such as, well, this, allowed me to do what I did.”
“Anton…”
I gasp as he loosens the satin bows keeping my panties on, tossing them to the floor. His hand slips between my legs, and he finds me wet, hot, and oh, so ready for him. “Perfection, baby. Sweet, sweet perfection,” he whispers against my lips.
“Oh, my God,” I manage as his fingers slide between my slick folds.
My hips sway in a slow but steady rhythm as he works my clit into a swollen frenzy. I hold on to him, reveling in the feel of his chiseled muscles and smooth skin against my fingertips. He deepens the kiss and brings his left hand up, grabbing me gently by the back of the neck.
He pulls me against his broad chest, my breasts soft and heavy, as he finger-fucks me into the sweetest madness. “I love your curves, your fullness,” Anton whispers in my ear, then nibbles on the lobe, sending a myriad of shock waves down my spine. “I love every glorious inch of you, Eileen, and it’s all mine.”
“It’s all yours,” I say as I surrender to him once more.
My climax leaves me wanting more as he carries me to the bed and pins me against the silken pillows. We consume one another. Touching. Squeezing. Pinching and scratching. I wrap my legs around his waist and welcome him deep inside of me.
Our eyes are locked.
Our hearts echo furiously as he builds a rhythm for me to follow.
“I missed this,” I moan as he spears me with his full length, his cock thick and pulsating feverishly inside of me. I feel every inch, every throb as I clench tightly around him.
“I’ve missed you, baby,” Anton growls as he fucks me harder and deeper. Faster.
My fingernails dig into his shoulders as he slips a hand between us. He finds my tender clit and proceeds to tease me into a slowly unraveling madness. I cry out his name, over and over, as he pounds into me. A second orgasm builds up, the tension too much for my body to bear.
“Come for me, darling,” he commands. “Give me everything.”
“Oh, Anton!” I whimper as I come hard. He continues to plunge into me, giving me everything, as well. Our bodies melt into each other.
This has been a long time coming. I’ve been so busy being angry with him that I deliberately ignored everything else. This is what I’ve been dreaming of since we first parted ways.
He fills me with his seed, grunting like a beast as he bites into my shoulder. I squeeze every drop out of him, my pussy quivering, sated and glazed.
We collapse into each other, basking in the afterglow, but only for a moment.
We step into the shower. He lathers rose-scented soap all over my body. His hands are everywhere.
He goes down on me, licking and suckling my clit, three fingers in as he throws me over the edge of sanity again. My third orgasm finds me barely standing in the hot stream, rolls of steam rising all around us.
“I want you,” I tell him as he takes me from behind. “All of you.”
“You’ve got me, Eileen,” he says, fingers digging ferociously into my hips.
He fits perfectly, as if he was made for me. And I dare believe that I was made for him.
“You’ve got me for life,” Anton adds as he claims me.
Again and again all through the night.
No inhibitions.
No limits.
Just the two of us while the forgotten wedding reception fizzles away somewhere on the ground floor. We forget about everyone and everything as we make love again and again until we’re spent, tangled between the satin sheets.
Maybe I was wrong; maybe this will work out, after all.
This could be my true happiness.
