Page 18 of Forced Bratva Bride

I have hardly spent any time with Chiara since she moved in with me. I've been trying to give her space to settle in; also, I know the real reason I married her, and I don’t really want to get caught up in the feelings I have when I am around her.

I struggle.

Because all I want to do is hold her against me and kiss her again.

That night we shared after our wedding was absolutely incredible.

I can still hear her soft moans and picture the way her lips parted slightly as I thrust into her.

I want that again.

But she asked me to leave right after, and even though it offended me, I didn’t want to push my luck with her or be where I wasn't wanted, so I left.

When she moved in here, I made sure she had her own room, set up with everything she might need and made comfortable for her. I haven't been in it, not even once, and when she goes to sleep at night, she locks the door.

It hasn't been easy, controlling my urges around her, stopping myself from pushing her against a wall as we walk past each other in the hallways.

So I have resorted to watching her on the security cameras and staying out of her way.

I switch cameras as the two girls walk out onto the patio.

As they sit together, Darya dives into a hundred questions about who Chiara is, what she loves doing, what her dreams are, where she has traveled, what she studied.

I realize that I know none of these things about my own wife.

I listen intently, and watch in wonder as Chiara starts to relax, smile, and enjoy the conversation. I wish I could speak to her like that and look so comfortable and relaxed doing it.

Darya stands up, excusing herself to use the ladies' room, and Chiara grins and nods.

I keep watching my wife as she leans back in the patio chair and looks out over the garden, wearing the soft smile on her face that I am already becoming so fond of.

“What, exactly, are you doing?” Darya’s voice makes me jump right out of my office chair, as though I have been caught red-handed with my hand in the cookie jar.

“I'm watching,” I say defensively.

“Watching?” she echoes, sounding curious as she pushes her way around my desk so that she can see my laptop screen.

“The security camera? Are you joking right now? Why?”

“I'm watching Chiara, seeing what she is doing.”

“But why? I don’t get it,” she laughs.

“So that I can get to know her.”

Darya starts laughing in earnest. “You are such an idiot. Maxim. You can’t get to know someone through a video camera. You have to talk to her, interact, have dinner with her, go for a walk, anything. Just spend time with her. This is absolutely ridiculous.” She waves her hand at the screen.

She has no idea why our brothers arranged this marriage. She doesn’t understand that I need to spy like this to see if she does anything sneaky or makes a phone call that I need to hear. It’s not just about getting to know her, although I really do want that.

“Stop this right now.” She pushes my laptop closed, grabbing my arm and pulling me away from the desk. “Come and have a drink with us.”

“Not right now, I'm busy with—"

“Don’t even try it. You were busy spying. Now come spy in real life and watch her in person," she grins. "She's gorgeous, I absolutely adore her.”

I reluctantly follow her out onto the patio, and Chiara stiffens when she sees me arriving behind Darya.

“Look who I bumped into,” Darya smiles sweetly.

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