Page 16 of The Bratva King's Kidnapped Bride

I’d been walking on a cloud since the booking, but now my client was none other than Aleksandr Fokin.

And I just made out with him in the supply room. Lost my mind as soon as he touched me.

The full realization hit me just as one of my friends from the restaurant generously helping me out that night hurried to my side to heave a big pot of water onto a burner.

“Do you know who that is out there?” she asked, her face bursting from wanting to share a piece of juicy gossip.

I tried to remember who else had been sitting at the table, but once I saw Aleks at the head of it, I sort of went into shock. It could have been full of Oscar winners for all I knew.

“Who?” I asked, feigning curiosity so she wouldn’t get suspicious.

I’d only disappeared for a couple minutes, and everyone was busy, but the fact I was dragged away to make out with the host was something I didn’t want anyone ever knowing.

Once we had the pot on the burner, I turned it on high and walked over to where the thinly cut flank steaks were being plated and drizzled in their sauce.

“Aleksandr Fokin,” my friend followed me and squealed.

I stopped and turned to her. What did she know about Aleks? He was rich and probably owned a good chunk of the city, but wealthy people were a dime a dozen in these parts.

“Yeah, I knew that,” I said, clamping my lips around the need to ask what she thought was so special about him, because she was practically bobbing on her toes.

She gripped my arm and lowered her voice. “He’s—”

My phone rang shrilly from my chef coat pocket. Normally, I’d have it on silent while working. However, my aunt still dodged my calls and answered only with the shortest possible text messages. I had told her if I didn’t hear from her by today, I was going to assume she was kidnapped and I was texting with her abductor, then book a flight out to Tampa and file a missing persons report.

I yanked my phone out and sighed with relief to see it was Aunt Marjorie calling.

“Sorry,” I said, stepping away from the bustle. “I have to take this. Please add the pasta when the water’s at a full boil.”

She nodded, disappointed she didn’t get to share her news about Aleks, but by the time I answered, my mind was fully on whatever was keeping Aunt Marjorie from our regular talks.

“Oh, Katie, you shouldn’t be such a worrier,” she said after my harried greeting. “Are you at work? I can call back.”

I stepped further away from the noise of dishes clanking and told her no way. “I’m on a break right now. Why have you been dodging me?” I asked. “Jenna says you haven’t called her in over a week, too.”

“I’ve been busy,” she said. “Someone was out sick at work, so I filled in, and we had a big going away party for someone in my book club who’s moving away and…”

I listened to her babble and give me excuses, and just the fact she was trying so hard was off. Was her voice a bit more breathless than normal? Or more scratchy, as if she’d been crying?

“So, what’s up with you?” she asked. Yes, that was definitely forced brightness in her tone.

“Cut the crap,” I said.

“Katie!” she gasped, uncharacteristically prudish. Now I was sure she was hiding something, and not something good like she’d recently started dating.

“Just tell me,” I said, fully fearing the worst. “Is it back? Don’t treat me like a child. Just tell me what’s going on.”

She sighed. “Yes, it looks like it’s back. I’m sorry to worry you.”

“I’m more worried about being kept in the dark,” I said.

“I know. It was wrong to keep it from you. I’d still rather not tell Jenna, though. Not yet, anyway.”

Tears began to prick at my eyes, and my throat tightened so that I could barely get the next words out.

“What do you mean, not yet? Is it worse than last time?”

Neither of us could say the dreaded word. I hated that disease with all my might and feared it was going to take Aunt Marjorie from us much too soon. “What kind of treatment are they prescribing this time?”

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