Page 8 of Forced Bratva Bride

She shrugs her slender shoulders, and my eyes graze down her neck, down the open back of her dress, over the curve of her hips. She turns to look at me, catching me admiring her.

The grin on her face is cheeky, and the cute little dimples in her cheeks immediately catch my attention.

For a moment, we just stare at each other. Her dark chocolate eyes pull me in and cause me to forget everything else for the moment. I didn’t expect her to have this type of effect on me. Regardless, this is a marriage for a purpose, and that is what I need to focus on—nothing else.

I lift my hand, as though my body subconsciously wants to reach out and touch her, but I quickly pull it back. She is alluring and enticing in her beauty, but I need to be careful with how I handle everything.

“I guess I'd better get back to the party. My father will probably be looking for me, wondering where I've run off to. And he most likely still wants to parade me around the party like some ridiculous trophy in his business plan,” Chiara sighs, rolling her eyes dramatically, and I chuckle. She grins. “It was nice to meet you, though. Pity it was under these circumstances.”

She spins around and walks away, leaving me dazed for a second. Then I quickly walk after her. I should probably tell her who I am before we get back into the party.

“Chiara?” I say, loudly, trying to get her attention as she nears the crowd of people. Several people turn around, including her. She tilts her head toward me. “Yes?”

Behind her, coming out of the crowd, I spot her father. Angelo rushes over to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “There you are sweetheart, I’ve been looking all over the place for you, where did you wander off?”

“Just to get a little air in the garden for a second.” She smiles politely, and I see a whole different side to her. Subdued, obedient, almost businesslike in front of Angelo.

He looks up at me. “And you, young man, I wanted to find you, too. I haven’t had the chance yet to congratulate you as well, but now I have you both together. The engaged couple. Your children will be beautiful.” He smiles broadly, leaning over to clap his hand on my shoulder. “Welcome to the family, son. We will throw the most magnificent wedding this city has ever seen.”

Chiara’s eyes shoot wide, her mouth dropping open, the subdued aspect flashing off her face. She stares at me in horror. She is looking at me as though I betrayed her, and her disbelief is painted so brightly in her expression that I freeze, my entire body hesitant to even move.

“How are you feeling, Maxim? Are you enjoying the celebration?” Angelo asks, oblivious to the tension in the air.

I drag my eyes away from Chiara and toward her father. “Yes, thank you, Angelo. It's wonderful.”

When I look back at Chiara her expression has changed completely. Her face is stern, her mouth is tight. She has an emotionless yet defiant look in her eyes. She has managed to hide everything she's feeling behind a very carefully constructed mask.

“Maxim Dubrov,” she says politely. “How lovely.” Her voice holds a slight trace of sarcasm. I clench my jaw tightly, needing to tell her that I was about to introduce myself to her, because she looks furious beneath that calm exterior, like an empty stretch of beach before a tidal wave crashes over it.

“Chiara, shall we get a drink and talk for a bit?” I suggest, wanting to get her away from her father so that we can have a word in private.

“Let’s all go get a drink together. Tonight is about family and celebration,” Angelo pronounces loudly, pulling his daughter toward the bar.

Shit.

She looks so angry with me. Why would she feel like I betrayed her? I didn't introduce myself right away because she seemed like she just needed to vent, and I let her, I didn’t interrupt. And once we were talking, I guess I just let the conversation flow.

I walk behind them, feeling my shoulders grow tense. We weave through the noise, the bubbling crowds, and people congratulate me along the way. I nod politely, saying thank you, telling them I'm happy about all of this, smiling, fulfilling my duty to my family. But all the while, I am looking toward Chiara, wanting to apologize for how our first meeting went. I watch her interacting with the other guests and her father’s business associates. She is almost regal, very graceful—the complete opposite of the feisty, angry girl I met in the garden who had a lot to say about what a terrible idea this all is.

Chapter 4 - Chiara

My father wastes no time at all arranging the wedding. I feel as though most of the details and arrangements were already done before he even called me and told me to come home for the family emergency. I am still so angry about it all.

This morning, the day of my marriage, I woke up with a tight knot in my stomach, feeling nauseous and angry. I've done my best to keep the bitterness off my face, but I feel it creeping up on me every now and then, and I have to focus hard to hide it from everyone around.

My father hid the truth from me, then dumped it all on me in front of everyone without giving me the chance to react in even the slightest way. Then, when I went to get some air, that snake of a man I'm marrying purposefully hid his identity from me to get me talk. I feel as though he betrayed me. He did. He could have walked right up to me and introduced himself straight away. That’s what a normal person would have done.

The wedding makeup artist touches a brush lightly across my cheek, and my eyes flutter closed in annoyance. “There you go, I think that is the last touch. You look absolutely stunning, you must be so excited,” she gushes, with a massive smile on her face.

I don’t even bother replying to her—what's the point? I've spent all morning getting my hair done in this ridiculous, elaborate style, pinned with diamonds and glittering silver flowers that were apparently custom made for me. The makeup artist took over an hour to paint my face, and I almost wish she could have painted a smile on it for me.

I stand up, stretching my legs, tired of sitting down and having people rushing around me.

“Alright, you can take off your robe. Let’s get you into this beautiful dress.”

I stare at the dress hanging on the window frame, the afternoon light shining around it like a halo. I hate the fact that I really like it. The princess neckline is hand-stitched with pearls and diamonds, and the corset waist flows out into a wide, soft skirt that looks as though it will float around me like water when I walk.

I stare at it for a second, trying to force myself to enjoy at least one tiny piece of today.

---