30

Waving his fingers over the rings, the priest raises his voice so it belts around the church without the aid of a microphone. “The servant of God is betrothed to the maid of God in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

Asher takes my hand; I jump at the sensation of our skin touching as memories of him fucking me invade my thoughts again. He slips the ring on my finger to settle beside the engagement ring. When he lets go, my arm feels like it weighs ten times more than before.

“Asher Volkov,” the priest says, his hand held in the air. Asher cringes when he hears the name. It’s the first time I’ve heard him addressed like this. I try to catch his eye, but he purposefully avoids it. “Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

There—now he looks at me. “I do.” His voice is solid as stone. It gives me strength, helping the shaking in my knees evaporate. How strange that two simple words could have so much power.

“Camila Marakov Rubinova.” It’s my turn