Page 9 of Forced Bratva Bride

But I can’t.

Behind me, someone pulls my robe off, and I am pushed into the center of the room in nothing but my lacy white underwear as three women pick the dress up and carry it carefully towards me.

“Step into it, sweetheart,” one of them says, holding out her hand so that I can steady myself.

I do so, acting on autopilot at this point. Just handing myself over to the chaos.

They pull the dress up over my body and begin the process of wrapping the ribbons behind me. At the waist they pull tightly, and I huff a breath out.

It takes three people to get me into this princess-style wedding dress. My body is tugged and pulled and maneuvered until I am tucked in and laced up.

They all step away, and one of the ladies grins proudly, pointing me towards the full-length mirror against the wall of the hotel room. “You look like a goddess.”

I stare at my own reflection. I can’t even bring myself to accept that it's me standing there in the mirror. That girl is me.

She looks drop-dead gorgeous, as though she came straight out of a fairytale book, perfectly painted and primmed. I touch the dress and run my hands gently over the lace and detailing. A tight lump forms in my throat, and I swallow it down hard, refusing to let my emotions get the better of me. I will not cry. No one will have the satisfaction of seeing me cry today.

They will all think they are tears of happiness, when actually, inside, I am being torn apart.

“Please clear the room, I'd like a moment alone with my daughter.” My father’s loud voice booms around the bedroom as he pushes the door open and steps inside. Then he pauses, and I hear his breath catch in his throat. “Good heavens, sweetheart. I have never seen an angel so beautiful in my life.”

The women rush out of the room, leaving us alone. I don’t turn away from the mirror. I can’t seem to drag my eyes off my own reflection as I try to force my brain to process the reality of all of this.

My father steps behind me, staring at me in the reflection as well. “You remind me of your mother, on our wedding day. She was so beautiful, and so excited. I remember how happy we were.”

Finally, I turn away from the mirror, and away from my father, to stare out of the window.

“Happy,” I mutter.

“Sweetheart, I know this is all a bit of a surprise for you, but it's going it be wonderful,” he says in a reassuring voice.

“Okay,” I respond, politely, biting back what I really want to say.

“Also, sweetheart, I wanted to tell you that a baby from this marriage would really secure everything. It would solve all of our problems.” His voice is softer, a little tight.

I turn to face him. I am not even married yet, not even dragged away into a life I don’t want yet, and he's already talking about me becoming pregnant.

The look on my face does not go unnoticed, and my father clenches his jaw.

He has chocolate eyes, dark, just like mine, and the same thick, dark hair. It's immediately obvious we're father and daughter. I look just like him, only younger, and prettier.

“You want me to have a baby with this man? I don’t even know him yet.”

“I know, but you'll know him soon enough. You will learn to love him.”

“Dad, can I just get through today—"

“I was looking through the pre-nup. When you have a baby with this man you will be getting a very attractive amount of money. An initial upfront payment and a monthly allowance which surprised me. They seem to want an heir. A child would solve all of our financial…um, problems, because it will really secure this union.” His words catch me off guard. I blink a few times, taking them in.

“Dad, are we in debt?”

The door bursts open again and Stefano crashes in, interrupting my question.

I bite my lower lip. I am not in the mood for him.

I am never in the mood for him, actually.

“This is all such a stupid idea, Angelo. I really don’t think we should be going through with any of this. The Dubrovs are not the family we want to be tied to. What do they have that adds value to our family? We want status, something worthy.”

---