Page 12 of Forced to Marry the Bratva

I hate that I enjoyed claiming her so. Had we continued, I wouldn’t have been able to stop. The thought terrifies me.

My mind races with conflicting thoughts, questioning how it is possible for a simple kiss to shatter the iron walls I’ve built around what this marriage means to Genevieve.

Something like this must never happen again. This is just a business arrangement, I remind myself.

“Damien,” she murmurs against my lips, a plea mixed with desire. Her vulnerability pierces through me, and I know I should pull away, but my body doesn’t wish to obey. I force my mind to take charge, and I finally step back.

Just then, a sudden sound breaks through the haze. It’s a phone ringing right outside. We stand there, quiet. “Hello?” we hear a man pick up.

I recognize the voice belonging to a distant relative, one whose name I can’t quite recall. I simply thank God that it’s not Gerald Russo. We stand quietly as he continues to talk on the phone, telling someone he’ll meet them at the bar in the west wing.

He walks away in the direction of the reception.

In an instant, the fire that raged within us moments ago extinguishes as we both fight to regain our composure. I step further back, putting more distance between us, and watch her cheeks flush crimson with embarrassment. She looks away, her eyes avoiding mine, and I can’t help but feel a pang of guilt for having put her in this position.

I struggle to make sense of my own feelings. The intensity of my attraction to Genevieve has caught me off guard, leaving me unbalanced and unsure of how to proceed. I’ve always been in control, guiding my life like it’s nothing but a game of chess, but now... Now, I feel as if I’m standing on the edge of a precipice, one wrong move away from tumbling into the abyss.

“Damien...” Genevieve’s voice is quiet and hesitant, tugging at something deep within me. I can sense her confusion and uncertainty, mirroring my own, but I can’t bring myself to face her just yet.

A surge of frustration courses through me. I clench my fists at my sides, cursing myself for losing control. It’s unlike me to let my emotions dictate my actions, and now, more than ever, I need to maintain my composure. Genevieve deserves nothing less.

“Let’s go back to the reception,” I say instead, putting up a wall between us once more.

“Damien, what the hell was that?” she demands, her eyes flashing with fury. Her face is flushed, and her chest heaves with each breath. It‘s evident she‘s struggling to make sense of what just happened, and I know she’s not asking about why the kiss happened.

She knows why the kiss happened. She’s no fool. What she wants to know is why it happened the way it did.

And the truth is, I have no answer to give her.

“Genevieve, listen,” I start, running a hand through my hair in an attempt to regain control over my thoughts. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. It was... unexpected.”

“Unexpected?” she scoffs, crossing her arms defensively. “The way you kissed me…” she whispers. Then, her voice rises. “You can’t just brush it off as ‘unexpected’ and expect me to forget about it.”

“Look, everyone’s going to wonder where we are. Let’s go.”

When she doesn’t move, I shake my head and cast aside the screen. “Genevieve, I’m leaving. Feel free to join me if you like.”

I begin to walk off. Soon, she follows, her heels clicking on the marble as she tries to keep pace.

“What are your intentions, Damien?” she asks. “Because I get kissing for a ruse, but that didn’t seem like quite the ruse there, did it?”

The confusion in her words cuts through me like a knife, but I force myself to remain composed, knowing that any display of vulnerability would only complicate matters further.

“Let me make it clear that that was nothing,” I say, attempting to walk faster now.

“It was nothing,” she mocks me and laughs bitterly. “How could you kiss me like that, play with my emotions, and then say it was nothing? Why can’t you just be honest with me, Damien?”

We’ve reached the door for the reception. I put my hand on the knob to open it and turn to her. “Genevieve, I’m being as honest as I can. Let’s just go enjoy the party, shall we?”

She hesitates, her eyes searching mine for the answers she seeks. As much as it pains me to see her struggling to read between the lines, it’s for the best to leave it like this. Observing she’ll get nothing out of me, she nods slightly.

“Fine,” she whispers finally, her shoulders slumping in defeat. I open the door.

The music from the reception swells around us as I lead Genevieve back into the fray. I try to take her hand in mine as I observe people watching, but she slyly pulls it away when she thinks no one’s watching.

People come up to us and try to make conversation. In front of them, she’s all smiles. The minute they leave, she refuses to make eye contact with me. She’s withdrawing, pulling away from me.

“Genevieve,” I murmur, trying to catch her gaze. She stubbornly keeps her eyes trained on the dance floor ahead of us. “Are you okay?”

---