Page 14 of The Bratva King's Claimed Bride

“Stand still,” the tailor commands.

Yvonne moves to stand in front of me. “What do you want to know about him?”

“Who is he? I know nothing about him or your family.” I look at her, and I hope the frustration is showing in my eyes.

“He’s the head of the Sidorov family and has been now for going on eight years since his father died. We come from Russia, which you can obviously tell, and he has two brothers and two sisters, including me, though I’m adopted.” She smiles brightly. “Our family is very welcoming if you give it a chance.”

“Who is the guy that kidnapped me?” I ask.

“Matvey,” she says with a large sigh. “My older brother. What am I saying? All three of my brothers are older than me. Okay, there’s Igor, Matvey, then Henri. Then Yulia and I are actually a few months apart but the same age.”

I nod, paying close attention. “And your parents died?”

She nods. “When I was younger, then I was taken in by Igor’s parents. Only his mother is still alive, but she refuses to leave Russia. Henri and Yulia are there supporting her and running the family ventures there.” She clasps her hands in front of her. “You look so beautiful.”

“You are ready. It was actually a great fit.” The tailor stands up and brushes himself off. “I’ll take my leave.”

Yvonne goes to the door and takes a box from the guard standing there. “Are you a size seven? I got these in six, seven, and eight, just in case.”

She opens the box to show some white diamante-encrusted pumps. Perfect for running in.

“I’m a six,” I say. “My adopted siblings always teased me for being small.”

“Petite is beautiful. I always feel like a clumsy oaf, and besides, you’ve got all the right curves in all the right places.” She smiles, takes out the size sixes, and kneels down to help me get into them.

I look into the mirror. It’s a puffy ball gown with off-shoulder puffy sleeves—something a princess would wear, really. There’s a big white bow at the back, and the bodice is encrusted with…

“Diamonds, real diamonds,” Yvonne says. “Same as the shoes”

“I’m sorry?” I ask. “I thought they were…”

“Fake? I wouldn’t do that to you. You may have to go through this against your will, but at the very least, you can have some opulence.”

I run my hand over the gown. “It is beautiful, thank you. I think this is a mistake, though.”

“Igor would have thought it out,” Yvonne says confidently. “He wouldn’t make a decision like this lightly. Come on, let’s get your hair done.”

The woman guides me to the dresser and helps me sit on the stool. It doesn’t take her long to dry my hair and then style it into curls. She has a talent. She clips more diamonds into my hair before applying a hint of makeup. I blink at the image in the mirror.

“You’re stunning.” Yvonne claps her hands. “Come, let me take you to the ballroom.”

“How am I not surprised there is a ballroom?” I comment as I follow her out of the room. I consider making a run for it then, but the guards stick with us, and I don’t think I’ll make it out the front door. There must be another way out.

I walk slowly, taking in the layout of the house. Yvonne doesn’t seem rushed. She is a nice woman, unlike her demanding brother. Or is it her cousin? I guess if she’s adopted, it's her brother.

This family is all kinds of confusing.

We walk into the ballroom where Igor and Matvey stand with a tanned man. He’s definitely not Russian.

Igor smiles at me. “You look beautiful.”

“You’re making a mistake,” I say, trying to plead with him. “This won’t affect my brothers the way you think it will.”

“You just don’t know the effect you have. Don’t be so humble,” he comments. “Come, there’s no arguing. We’re getting married.”

He takes my arm, and we stand in front of the tanned man. When he speaks, he speaks with a Mediterranean accent, like Portuguese.

I barely listen to what he says because this surely can’t be real. He’s giving an actual speech about love, acceptance, and a lifetime together.

---