Page 14 of Forced to Marry the Bratva

“New Sis,” he says. “I know we got off the wrong foot, but that shouldn’t stop us from having a good time, should it?”

I’ve been so starved for company that, at this point, I’d happily host a stranger if I have to. “I’ll see you soon, Lev.”

“I’ll bring some wine,” he says.

“Okay, sounds good.” I keep my voice level, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Bye!”

As I hang up, I feel a sudden rush of nervousness. Meeting new people has never been my strong suit, especially since this group is connected to Damien’s world. But I push those thoughts aside and focus on getting ready for their visit.

I slip into a casual pair of jeans and a bottle-green satin shirt and apply some of the perfume Damien gifted me. I spend the next hour making sandwiches and a cheese board and cutting up some fruits. Since it’s Sunday and the housekeeper hasn’t shown up, I assume she’s on vacation and fix up the guest washroom.

Then, I head toward the living room for some final checks and realize I’m all done. I make myself a cup of coffee and make my way back by the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room, admiring the stunning view of the Philadelphia skyline, when my phone rings.

It’s my father, and I answer with a smile. I haven’t spoken to him since the wedding.

“Father!” I exclaim, my joy shining through my voice.

“Genevieve, my dear,” my father’s voice greets me, a hint of forced warmth in his tone. “I just wanted to check in and see how you’re settling into your new home.”

“Father,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m... adjusting.”

“Good, good,” he replies, brushing over my obvious discomfort. “And how are things with Damien?”

“Things are… alright,” I say, wondering how much to divulge. If I tell him how I’ve spent the whole week alone, he might worry.

“What are Damien and you up to?”

“Oh,” I bite my tongue. “Nothing, really. He’s out for some work, and I’m home alone.”

“Oh?” He doesn’t say more.

“Well, you know, he’s a busy man.”

“Right. And has he been good to you?”

I sigh and close my eyes. “When he’s around, yes,” I lie through my teeth. When is he even around?

“He’s around often?”

“Not so much. As I said, he’s a busy man.”

“Busy with what, exactly?” he inquires.

“I don’t know,” I say, with all honesty. “Work stuff, I guess.”

“And does he happen to discuss these work projects with you?”

“Not really,” I mumble, getting bored of this conversation. “Forget about all this; tell me, how are things at home?”

“Genevieve,” my father almost bellows, shocking me as he does. “I need you to focus on what I’m trying to tell you.”

Suddenly, the air feels colder. There’s a momentary silence, and then, I whisper: “What’s this call about, Father?”

“I need to speak about something serious,” he says, at last getting to the motive for his call. I feel like such a fool. I should have known he wouldn’t casually call to check in on me. When has he, ever?

“Now, listen carefully. As Damien’s wife, it is your responsibility to take a keen interest in his work.”

---