Page 19 of Forced to Marry the Bratva

“Agreed,” I chime in, my mind racing with possible strategies. “We need to explore new routes and negotiate better deals with our suppliers to minimize the impact on our bottom line.”

As we dive into a heated discussion about which routes to build and which prices to negotiate with our logistic operators, I find my mind and sight drifting back to my wife. Throughout the meeting, I end up stealing glances at Genevieve, studying her every reaction. When Ivan mentions the rising shipping costs, her eyebrows furrow, and she puts something down in a small notebook. During Lev’s playful banter, her lips twitch upward in a subtle, almost amused smile.

And when I propose negotiating better terms with our partners, her eyes flash with disapproval, though she remains silent. It’s as if there’s a hidden depth to her, a side I’ve never seen before—one that understands the stakes and complexities of our business.

As the gathering comes to a close, my mind races with questions. What has prompted Genevieve’s sudden interest in our dealings, and how much does she really know? And why, despite my best efforts to keep her at a distance, am I secretly thrilled to see her?

***

The meeting winds down, and we all prepare to disperse. After exchanging some papers with Boris, I walk over to where Genevieve still sits.

“Shall we?” I say, offering her my arm.

We walk out of the office in silence. Once outside, I call for my car. She asks where we plan to go now.

“Home,” I say, simply.

“Home?” she inquires, looking mildly irritated.

“Is that a problem?” I say. The car comes up to the curb. I open the back door for her and help her in. I close the door, walk to the other end, and get in.

“No,” she sighs. After some time, she tells me it’s getting lonely.

“Why don’t you invite some friends over sometime?” I suggest.

“Friends?” she asks in disbelief.

I nod calmly. There’s not more I can offer her, yet I don’t like the idea of spending all that time alone. The only alternative I can think of is her friends and brother.

On the drive home, we don’t speak. When we get back, I close the door to our house. She puts down her purse on the foyer table and turns to me, looking expectantly.

“Genevieve,” I begin. “What the hell were you doing in my office?”

“I told you, I was sick of being cooped up here.”

“But… my office?”

Genevieve, her posture stiff and defiant, crosses her arms over her chest. “I wanted to see for myself what goes on in these meetings,” she replies, her tone just as firm.

“Since when do you have an interest in the family business?” My gaze narrows as I scrutinize her, trying to discern her true intentions.

Genevieve hesitates, her eyes flickering with uncertainty before meeting mine again. “I’ve always been curious, Damien. I’ve got certain interests in using my brains, and wasting time at home makes me feel dull.”

“Really?” I ask skeptically. Usually, in our world, the women stay away from the business. “Well then, what did you take away from today’s meeting?”

She doesn’t say anything, just stares at her feet. I cross my arms and look at her, expecting a response.

“Just leave it, Damien,” she says, sounding disappointed in me.

I demand an answer, a defiance in my eyes. “I won’t just leave it, Genevieve. You said to me you’ve been curious. I want to know how you put your curiosity to use today. Is that so wrong of me?”

She remains silent for a moment, and then stares me in the eye, a tinge of sadness in them.

“It’s clear from the way you asked what I took away from the meeting today that you don’t actually want to know,” she says gruffly. “You’re challenging me, and honestly, I’m not keen to put up a fight for nothing.”

She turns around and is about to walk away when guilt hits me like a ton of bricks. I know she’s not wrong. My tone, my way of inquiring, was all over the place, but I just couldn’t control it. This isn’t me, I’m always a thinker before a talker, but there’s something about Genevieve that makes me lose myself …

I stride quickly to cover the space between us and reach out for her arm. Slowly, she turns, her eyelashes fluttering against her eyelids. For a millisecond, I’m stunned into oblivion as I lose myself in the green of her eyes.

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