Chapter 4
843 Words
Angelica POV
The days pass too quickly.
Suddenly, I’m standing in front of the mirror, staring at myself as if I don’t recognize the woman looking back. The dress hugs my body perfectly—simple lace, fitted at the waist, soft over my curves. Dancing has shaped me, not thinned me, and I love that. My body feels strong. Feminine.
And Alexander has made it clear he appreciates every part of it.
Love or not, at least he wants me as a woman. That matters more than I expected.
We’ve talked so much these past days—about music, about traveling, about small things that feel almost normal. If this marriage hadn’t been arranged, I think we would have been friends first. Maybe more. That thought is dangerous, so I push it away.
“Angelica,” my mother says softly. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I reply. “How do I look?”
She smiles, eyes glossy. “Beautiful.”
My father enters with Nicko. They both look emotional, and I immediately shake my head.
“No. Don’t cry. You’ll ruin my makeup.”
Maria laughs. “She’s right. She insisted on simple makeup—it took me forever.”
“I like simple,” I say. “Elegant.”
“Boys,” my mother says sharply, clapping her hands. “Take her outside. Her husband is waiting.”
Husband.
The ceremony is held in the small church on our property. Everything is intimate—family, close allies, quiet power. No extravagance. No time. And honestly, I don’t mind.
When I see Alexander waiting for me, my breath catches.
He’s wearing a light blue linen suit, relaxed but impossibly handsome. His eyes lock onto mine immediately, like nothing else exists. I barely hear the words spoken around us as we walk toward him.
When he takes my hand, his grip tightens slightly.
Possessive.
The ceremony passes in a blur. Papers signed. Rings exchanged. Photos taken. Alexander smiles constantly, but there’s something intense beneath it—like he’s holding himself back.
I remind myself not to fall.
He told me about his past. About the woman who broke him. And I know—if she ever came back, I would be nothing more than a replacement.
So I keep my heart guarded.
At the reception, Alexander doesn’t leave my side. His hand always finds my waist, my lower back, my fingers. If someone gets too close, his posture changes subtly—shoulders squared, jaw tight.
“Do you want to dance again?” he asks.
“One more,” I smile. “My feet are starting to hurt.”
“I’ll carry you to the car later,” he murmurs close to my ear. “You don’t say no to me anymore, baby.”
The words send a shiver straight through me.
Not fear.
Something else.
After another dance, his uncle and my father approach us.
“Why don’t you take your bride to rest?” his uncle suggests. “We’ll be leaving soon.”
Alexander doesn’t wait for an answer. He takes my hand and leads me away.
In the car, he kisses my cheek, then my lips, then my neck—soft, slow, claiming. By the time we reach the hotel, my head is spinning.
In the elevator, he leans in, voice low. “Are you ready, baby doll?”
I can barely breathe. I nod.
Inside the suite, the city glows outside the window. I don’t even realize he’s behind me until his arms wrap around my waist, his hands resting possessively over my stomach.
“You’re tense,” he murmurs. “You don’t need to be.”
I turn and hug him tightly. “I want this. I just… don’t want to disappoint you.”
He pulls back, looking almost offended. “You couldn’t.”
His tone shifts—firmer. “You’re mine now. I won’t let anything hurt you.”
Something about the way he says mine stays with me.
Later, when he finally pulls me into bed, everything is slow, deliberate, overwhelming. He watches every reaction, every breath, like he’s memorizing me. Like he needs to know every part of me belongs to him.
When it’s over, he doesn’t let go.
He keeps me pressed to his chest, one arm wrapped tightly around me, his chin resting on my hair.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.
“I’ve never felt better,” I admit.
He exhales like he’s been holding something in for years.
“We’re good together,” he says. “I haven’t felt like this in a long time.”
There’s relief in his voice.
And something darker.
When I suggest resting, he only tightens his hold. Even in sleep, he doesn’t release me. If I shift, his hand moves instantly, pulling me back.
As if afraid I might disappear.
As if he already can’t imagine letting me go.
And lying there, wrapped in him, I realize something terrifying:
Alexander Petrov doesn’t just want me.
He’s already afraid of losing me.
- Writer
