The Player (The Game Maker #3)(87)

Getting played never felt so good.

I crossed the short distance to my husband. “Dmitri, you’re not a gull.” Hadn’t I called him a thrall from night one?

“I . . . no, I don’t suppose I am.” Hope flared in his eyes. “Perhaps I’m starting to read people better. Because I think you’re about to kiss me.” He murmured, “Do it, Vika.”

Two tears in a bucket. Right now I didn’t feel as if I’d be reaching for the stars; I felt as if I’d be claiming what was mine. My due. I clasped him close and rose up on my toes. Then I kissed my husband.

A grifter for a grifter. . . .





EPILOGUE






One wedding dress later . . .





You would think I’d given Dmitri the moon.

From our bedroom balcony, I watched him showing off his ring to his groomsmen—Maksim, Aleks, Pete, and Benji—at our reception.

Glorious did not begin to describe my husband in a tux.

In fact, the five of them made quite a picture, all of them formally dressed, lit by the brilliant fire-red and gold sunset over the Pacific.

Karin, my maid of honor, and bridesmaids Lucía and Nat had just helped me gather the train of my gown into a pleated bustle. Then they’d returned downstairs to give me a minute to decompress.

Our home was inundated with family, all of our bungalows filled. Guests laughed on the dance floor, drank fine wines, and polished off sumptuous delicacies. Hey, free food awakened any grifter’s appetite. My little cousins ran around on the beach with the dogs Maksim and Lucía had brought with them.

How Jess—part bridesmaid, part coordinator—had planned the elaborate ceremony and reception in such a short time was beyond my comprehension.

She’d even made all the arrangements for Dmitri and me to go to Paris for our honeymoon, advising me cryptically that there was one club in particular we’d want to visit. . . .

Champagne glass in hand, I leaned on the balcony rail and watched Dmitri laughing with the others. Seeing him this happy made my heart feel too big for my chest. Over the last three weeks, he’d relaxed so much, radiating contentment now that he had nothing to hide.

The day we’d cleared the air at my parents’, I’d introduced him to in-laws who already adored him as my “hero husband,” the man who’d saved Gentleman Joe’s life. Dmitri had been less discomfited than usual, probably because he’d already bared his soul in front of everyone.

That night, he’d taken me back to the Caly. After he’d made love to me until my toes curled and I’d promised him everything, he’d told me one last secret:

“If I hadn’t hit rock bottom, I never would have been in Las Vegas. I never would have found you. The pain of the past is so much easier to bear now that I feel it had purpose. It led me to you. Moya zhena, you are my reward for enduring. . . .”

Today I’d pledged myself to Dmitri Sevastyan with no pressure and for only one reason: I loved him.

As if he’d sensed my thoughts, he glanced up at me. His vivid eyes brightened even more, and his smile widened. He started for me at once.

Judging by Pete and Benji’s puzzled looks, I figured Dmitri had left the conversation midsentence. His brothers just appeared amused.

Footsteps boomed as Dmitri bounded up the stairs to reach me. How fitting. Two months ago to the day, I’d climbed the stairs to reach his lair, hoping I could tempt a beast.

I had. Then I’d made him part of my pack.

And Lady Luck smiled. . . .

Catching his breath, Dmitri joined me on the balcony. A healthy flush tinged his chiseled cheekbones, highlighting his golden eyes.

The color always brought to mind blazing sunsets and new beginnings.

“I’ve been waiting for you to come down,” he said, as if I’d been gone ages. “How much time does it take to do a bustle? You made the dress quicker than this.” The first garment created in my new studio.

The strapless silk gown was a modified A-line with a straight-cut neckline, classic seams and no embellishment. The traditional-white skirt had a sweep train and ballroom bustle. So incredibly simple.

Except the bodice was black.

I called the look “edgy angelic.” It’d turned out pretty snazzy, if I did say so myself. Like any great idea, the process of making it had been inspired, fast and furious.

Dmitri had been there for every step. He’d made sure I ate and slept, and we’d nearly broken that poor couch.

Well, he’d been there almost every step of the way. I’d surprised him with the final reveal, loving his brows-drawn expression when he’d first seen me on my dad’s arm. As Dad had murmured, “He’s bewildered by his good fortune. A man like that will never take it for granted. He’ll never take you for granted. . . .”

Now I gazed up at Dmitri. “I was just savoring the sunset and the music—and my husband showing off his ring.”

“You saw that, did you?” He held it up, unable to stop another grin. “At last, it’s mine. Which means I’m yours.”

I’d had the band engraved on the inside with the words: Because I know you’ll never take it off. Love, V.S.

We’d decided to go with traditional vows today—his voice had been rumbling and proud as he’d repeated his—but last night, I’d asked him what he would say on the fly.