Page 34 of Captured By the Bratva

I chuckle softly, the sound almost mocking in the confined space of the car. “You’re my bride, Violet. That’s what everyone thinks. Of course we will share the same room.”

Her eyes widen in shock, and I can see the panic rising in them. “Isn’t it enough that we’re married on paper? Why do we have to pretend like this?”

I turn to her, my expression serious. “I don’t want my staff or anyone else to get suspicious. Separate bedrooms would raise questions, and questions are the last thing we need. We need everyone to believe this marriage is real.”

She bites her lip, looking down at her hands. “I don’t know if I can do this, Kirill. It’s too much.”

I reach over, placing a hand on hers. The contact is brief, but it’s enough to make her look up at me. “Six months is hardly forever. Find a way to deal with it.”

She nods again, though the fear in her eyes is still there. “Alright,” she whispers. “I’ll try.”

The rest of the drive is silent, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I can sense her anxiety, her fear, but there’s also a steely determination beneath it. She’s resolved to see this through, and I respect that.

When we finally arrive at my penthouse, I step out first, offering her my hand. She takes it hesitantly, her grip firm despite her nervousness. We walk inside together, greeted by the staff who have gathered to welcome us.

“Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. Sharov,” the head housekeeper says with a warm smile. “Your room is ready.”

I nod in acknowledgment, leading Violet upstairs. The penthouse is grand, its opulence a stark contrast to the tension between us. When we reach the master bedroom, I push the door open and step inside, gesturing for her to follow.

She steps into the room, her eyes widening as she takes in the luxurious surroundings. The bed is large and ornate, dominating the room with its presence. She glances at it, then at me, her apprehension clear.

“This is where we’ll be staying,” I say, my tone matter-of-fact. “It’s important that we keep up appearances, even here. If anyone suspects anything, it could jeopardize everything.”

She nods slowly, her expression one of resignation. “I understand,” she says softly.

“Trust me.”

She looks up at me, her eyes searching mine. “I’m trying,” she admits. “It’s just… a lot to take in.”

I hum in agreement. Does she think this is easy for me?

She nods again, taking a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll try my best.”

“That’s all I ask,” I reply, stepping back to give her some space. “We’ll figure this out as we go.”

As she perches on the end of the bed, I watch her from the corner of my eye. There’s a vulnerability about her, but also a strength that I can’t help but admire. This marriage may be fake, but the challenges we face are very real.

I watch as Violet hesitantly sits there, still in her wedding dress. The weight of the day has clearly taken its toll on her, and I can see the tension in her every movement.

“You should take a shower,” I suggest, my tone more matter-of-fact than gentle. “It’s been a long day.”

She turns to me, her eyes flashing with offense. “Are you coming on to me?” she snaps, her voice filled with indignation.

I laugh, a deep, genuine sound that fills the room. “No, Malyshka. I’m not coming on to you. You look exhausted, and a shower might help you relax.”

She narrows her eyes at me, suspicion still evident. “I don’t need your suggestions.”

I shrug, unfazed by her anger. “Suit yourself. I have spare clothes in the laundry cupboard until you move your own stuff in. You can use them if you want.”

I walk over to the bed and sit down, unbuttoning my suit jacket. As I do, my thoughts wander. I can’t deny the attraction I feel for her, the way my mind fills with steamy thoughts every time I look at her. The wedding dress clings to her curves, and the idea of her undressing in the next room is enough to make my blood boil.

I’m not going to take advantage of her. Not now, and not ever.

She hesitates for a moment, then sighs, clearly deciding that a shower is a good idea after all. “Fine. Where’s the bathroom?”

“Through that door,” I say, pointing to an adjoining room. “Towels are in the cupboard. You’ll find everything you need.”

She gives me a wary look before heading to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. The sound of running water soon fills the room, and I can’t help but imagine her undressing, the dress falling to the floor, her body exposed to the steam and warmth.

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