Page 9 of Arranged Bratva Virgin

All I actually want to do is carry her into my bedroom and rip that dress off her body and make this official.

I want to claim her in the final way.

I nod a quick goodbye to Maxim and Chiara, who seem too lost in each other to notice either way, and then I move with determination towards Darya.

“My beautiful wife.” I smile broadly as I step close to her and wrap my arm around her again. “Come with me.” I command, and then pull her along with me before she has a chance to protest.

We move through the crowd together, her hand locked in mine as I pull her to follow me.

I walk straight past everyone, towards the doors, out into the garden, to the parking lot.

“Stefano, what is going on? I didn’t say goodbye to anyone.”

“It’s not like you aren’t going to see them again,” I smile, opening the door for her.

She is about to protest again when I gently push her into the passenger seat and lift her dress's train into the car. She is fussing over the soft layers of fabric around her legs and feet, trying to organize it. “We had a driver booked to drive us later—"

“That’s alright. I am happy to drive us now instead.” I close the car door then move quickly over to my side.

When I slide into the driver’s seat, she is throwing me an angry glare.

I ignore it and fire the engine, pulling out quickly before anything happens to delay us.

She continues to glare at me, but then once we are out on the main road she gives up and sighs heavily, turning to look out the window.

I resist the urge to reach out and run my hand over her leg.

I just want to touch her, claim her, hold her, feel her.

I want to taste her.

Chapter 4 - Darya

I am fuming. I can’t believe he just dragged me out of my own wedding reception like that. He didn’t give me any warning and he wasn’t even polite about it. I didn’t even say goodbye to my brothers, who arranged the entire thing. It feels so disrespectful. I am not a rude person, and I am not used to just leaving without saying thank you or goodbye. I huff loudly and shift the layers of my wedding dress around, trying to get comfortable with all of this fabric weighing me down.

This is one of the reasons we hired a driver, so that I could sit comfortably in the back of a limo and my dress wouldn’t be a bundled mess on my lap.

Why the hell did he want to rush out of there like that? What is he in such a hurry for, anyway? Was it that terribly boring for him to have to suffer through getting married to me? I guess he just wants to get home and be done with me now that the official part is over.

Or maybe, oh my word, does he want to get home and—

My stomach knots in tension.

I have been dreading this part.

Of course, he will want sex. I mean, even if he doesn’t love me, or even like me, he is a guy. He is going to want to have sex on his wedding night. I have been actively trying to avoid thinking about it, because it is a little too much to handle.

I haven’t told him yet that I am a virgin. I mean, it’s not something you just bring up randomly in conversation, and in reality, I haven’t even had a conversation with him. I don’t know him at all. He is basically a stranger to me.

So no, I didn’t just drop that bit of information randomly. Oh, by the way, I have never had sex before and won’t be sleeping with you on our wedding night, or any night, for that matter, because I don’t even particularly like you.

I bite my bottom lip and fidget anxiously with the silk and lace fabric of my dress.

I felt so beautiful in this dress. It is such a pity that such a gorgeous gown would be wasted on a fake marriage. This is the dress I would have dreamed of wearing when I married the man I loved. I wouldn’t be sitting here anxiously worried about trying to explain why I won’t be sleeping with him. I would be happy.

But that is another life. Not this one. It wasn’t meant to be for me.

The way that he handled our exit has left me with a bitter taste in my mouth and actually makes me like him even less. If that's possible.

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