But she will be.
If everything goes according to plan.
“I apologize,” I say, letting a charming smile tug at my lips. “I’m so eager to take my wife home that I’m counting the minutes.”
Scattered laughter fills the hall. The priest smiles and mumbles that it’s okay.
Kristina, however, is nowhere near amused. She looks too pale, as if she’ll pass out any second now.
That’s it, robot. Show emotions for once in your miserable life.
“You can proceed,” I tell the priest and grab Kristina’s gloved hands in mine. They’re frigid cold, like her expression and corpse-like presence.
Her deep blue eyes look into mine, but they’re lifeless, and the wrong fucking color.
The only color I approve of belongs to those eyes that flicker between green, brown, and yellow in a symphony of emotions.
Her hands were warm, too, when I held them, and she couldn’t stop smiling. She even pinched her thigh when she thought I wasn’t looking.
And when I said ‘I do,’ a sheen covered her eyes as they turned a bright glittery yellow and green. She was so overwhelmed with emotions, she looked to be choked by them.
This one, though? It’s like she’s having a fucking stroke. And not because of emotions, but more due to the lack thereof.
Should I make it worse?
To be completely honest, I don’t believe this woman can ever be useful in my schemes, but if what I gathered about the situation is correct, then it might be worth a try.
I cast a glance at the first bench, where Yulia sits with my sister Karina, who’s barely hanging in there. I told her she didn’t have to attend the wedding, but she vehemently refused and had Anna accompany her. The old woman is holding my sister’s hand—to Yulia’s dismay. Needless to say, my dear mother didn’t want either of them to attend since, according to her sociopathic thinking, they ruin the family’s image.
In fact, she was against this entire wedding happening, and it shows in the lasers she keeps shooting from her rancid eyes.
But the star of this theatrical drama is notably absent.
Igor, his wife, and his son, on the other hand, are watching the show intently on the bride’s side. Or more like, they’re focused on Kristina and her frosty fucking demeanor.
She follows my line of vision, stares at Yulia—or who is supposed to be sitting beside Yulia—then she subtly turns to the priest.
“Do you, Kristina Petrova, take Kirill Morozov to be your husband, to live together in holy matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”
Her eyes focus on mine intently, but it’s like she’s not seeing me. Or perhaps she’s seeing someone else in my lifeless gaze.
“I…” she chokes on the word, swallows, then closes her eyes for a brief second.
She sways on her feet, and a better man would reach out to steady her, but where’s the drama in that?
From my peripheral vision, I catch Igor sitting taller and growing more agitated the longer his daughter remains silent.
“Kristina?” the priest asks as a low murmur breaks out in the crowd.
She opens her eyes, but when she looks at me, there are tears in them, even as her expression remains the same.
My, my. Who knew the robot was capable of feeling?
I didn’t expect much from her today, so this is going way better than I anticipated.
“Is everything okay?” I say loud enough for the front row to hear. I need Igor to listen to me being an absolute gentleman to his daughter, who’s fucking up his image as we speak.
Her lips tremble, and she whispers so low that I can barely hear her, “I can’t…”
“It’s just an ‘I do,’ Kristina. Say it.”
She shakes her head.
“Everyone is watching, including your papa.” My tone turns sinister, provocative. “Say. It.”
“No! I can’t!” she screams at the top of her lungs. This time, not only do I hear it, but the entire audience does, too.
This is really going above and beyond what I knew was coming.
Kristina screaming? In public? At all, for that matter? And with so many emotions?
Someone call the apathy police.
I didn’t think she was capable of saying anything that didn’t sound like a real-life imitation of a robot.
Without another word, she grabs the material of her wedding dress, hikes it up, and runs out of the church, leaving me stranded at the altar.
From the outside looking in, I should be either mad or humiliated. In reality, I’m barely stopping myself from breaking out in laughter.
Now, that’s how it’s done.
The crowd goes silent, but only for a beat before their voices rise and all heads turn toward a red-faced Igor and me.
Time to be a hero.
“Everyone,” I speak to them in a calm, completely unfazed voice. “Seems that Kristina is a bit too emotional right now. Please remain seated. We will be back shortly.”
I stride out of the church, tuning out the looks and the vain gossip. As soon as I’m out the door, Viktor falls in step at my side.
“Anything from Maksim?” I ask as I loosen my bow tie.
“Not yet, Boss.”
Fuck.
“Keep trying to reach him.” I stop outside the church and face him. “Where’s Yuri?”
“He said he was feeling sick and had to go back to the house.”
Hmm. Not like him to miss such an event, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. Both he and Maksim have been such assholes ever since I sent Sasha away, even though she said she wanted to leave.
Karina, too.
I caught her and Maksim having coffee together like when Sasha was with them. But instead of laughing and joking around, they were sighing like old ladies.
Then those insolent little shits confronted me about it and nearly got punched in the process. Yuri, on the other hand, stood there and glared at me. He schooled his expression when I looked at him, but I don’t like it.
I’ll have to look into that after I take care of this situation. One thing at a time.
“Block the exit,” I tell Viktor. “No car leaves until I say so.”
He nods and strides toward the entrance.
I take the route in the opposite direction, a hand in my pocket and a small smile on my face. Sure enough, Kristina has gone to the back entrance, where there’s a parking lot that’s usually used by the staff.
Although she was running, she wasn’t fast, considering the heels and the impossibly long wedding dress. By the time I arrive, she’s jogging all over the parking lot. Her tears come faster the more she frantically circles the cars and doesn’t find what she’s looking for.
I hide around the corner and check my watch. At this rate, I’ll get back to my actual wife sooner than I previously calculated.
But for now, I’m only missing popcorn for the movie that I made sure would happen.
Kristina’s headless-chicken phase comes to a halt and the ex-robot actually sobs. “Where are you? I came as you asked… Where are you—”
She cuts herself off and lets her dress drop to the ground as none other than my ex-baby brother—he’s a fucking giant now—emerges from between the cars. He has a hand in his pocket and the other holds a gun as he breathes harshly.