Page 207 of Arrow

44

FORTY-FOUR

HARLOWE

Morning arrived with a flurry of activity. I awoke to Luna gently shaking my shoulder, her face alight with excitement.

“Time to get up,” she said. “We’ve got to go. Your glam team will be at the reception hall in thirty minutes.”

I groaned, stretching carefully to avoid disturbing my new tattoo. “What time is it?”

“Eight. The ceremony is at three, but there’s so much to do.” She set a cup of coffee on the nightstand. “Frank’s waiting to drive us.”

I sat up, sipping the coffee gratefully.

“Atlas called. They’re all alive and apparently heading to get ready after we get there, so you both don’t accidentally run into each other.” Luna said with a smile. “Orion’s nursing the worst hangover, according to Atlas.”

I laughed, picturing the three men in various states of disarray. “And Arrow?”

“He’s fine. Russian blood is strong in that one.”

After I showered, Frank drove us through morning traffic to the reception venue. The preparation suite was already bustling with activity when we arrived. My dress arrived in a garment bag carried by two armed guards—a gesture that would have seemed absurd in any world but ours. It was hung on a mannequin by the window. A team of stylists waited, professional smiles in place, armed with curling irons and makeup brushes, like soldiers ready for battle.

Luna handed me a gift bag.

“What’s this?”

“Something to wear while you’re being pampered.”

Inside was a delicate silk robe in deep burgundy, with “Mrs. Romanov” embroidered in black script on the back.

The sight of those words made my stomach flip.

“It’s beautiful,” I told Luna, slipping the robe over my underwear.

“Arrow had it made for you,” Luna said with a knowing smile. “He wanted you to have something from him this morning.”

Pulling the robe tighter around me, I tried to imagine Arrow selecting something so delicate, so thoughtful. It seemed at odds with the man who’d branded me, who’d fucked me against windows and bent me to his will. Yet it fit perfectly with the man who’d held me last night, whose touch had been tender rather than punishing.

The stylist approached, gesturing for me to sit in the chair in front of the illuminated mirror. “We should get started, Ms. Virelli. We have a tight schedule.”

I settled into the chair, watching my reflection as the team descended upon me—one working on my hair, another preparing my face for makeup. Luna sat nearby, scrolling through her phone.

“Any word from the guys?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

Luna glanced up with a smirk. “Missing him already?”

“Just making sure they’re all still alive,” I replied, though we both knew it was more than that.

“They’re fine. Atlas says they’re almost here.” She paused, her expression growing more serious. “The security teams are in position. Frank has twenty men at the cathedral already, plus Atlas’s team. Your father’s security arrived an hour ago to do their own sweep.”

The mention of my father brought reality crashing back. This wasn’t just a wedding—it was a summit between warring factions, a ceasefire negotiated in white lace and black suits. And somewhere in the middle of it all, my father was planning... something.

I closed my eyes as the makeup artist began applying primer to my face. “So we’re getting married in what’s essentially an armed camp.”

“Welcome to the family,” Luna said with a wry smile.

As the stylist arranged my hair in loose waves down my back with white flowers woven through the strands, I caught Luna watching me in the mirror.