Page 43 of Arranged to Marry the Bratva

We had a lot of clothes to shed.

Fedor appears beside Dima, a mischievous glint in his eye, and shoves his hand in front of Dima’s face. Dima groans and extracts his arm off mine before pulling out a few hundred dollar bills and handing them over to Fedor.

“What the hell’s going on?” Nikolai asks out of curiosity.

“Dima bet you two lovebirds would miss tonight or come super late just as the party is winding down,” Fedor explains.

“Looks like I won,” Fedor smirks, pocketing the money and winking at me.

Dima rolls his eyes, but a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “Fine, fine, you won. But don’t get used to it. I was drunk when we made that bet.”

“Now, at last, the truth is revealed,” Artyom roars with laughter. “Because no sane man would make that bet. Nikolai’s never missed a family event so far.”

“Yeah, except dinner the day before,” Fedor grumps.

“Takeout and drinks in the office with half your bodyguards hardly count as a family event,” I pitch in, and get a generous nod of approval from Dima.

“Okay, y’all,” Artyom gets distracted as Natalia rushes over with some hot gossip about a girl who chucked an arch nemesis in the pool outside. “Got to gooo!” he sings, and Natalia and he rush off, barely registering anything except all the college drama going on.

“Ah, to be that young,” Dima whistles behind them.

“You were born old,” I hear Sofia’s laugh from behind and see she saw me and is coming toward us. “I saw you empty-handed,” she kisses me on the cheek and hands me a glass of champagne.

I take a sip, but something feels off. I feel tired and a little sick. Deciding that maybe it’s because I haven’t eaten, I just hold the glass for celebratory reasons.

As the siblings continue their banter and gossip, I chuckle, feeling surprisingly at ease. It’s strange seeing them dressed so casually, their usual sharp suits replaced by simple shirts and jeans.

There’s a carefree warmth in their eyes that I haven’t seen before—a side of them that only comes out when they’re among family, I suppose.

Halfway through, Nikolai is pulled away by someone he knows. I stand with the siblings, focusing in and out of the conversation as they talk about how fast Artyom’s grown up and how things were when they were kids.

"Ah yes, the good old days," Fedor echoes with a wistful smile. "When we were young and carefree, getting into all sorts of trouble. Do you remember that summer at the family dacha when Dima convinced us to sneak out at midnight to go skinny dipping in the lake?"

I laugh in sheer disbelief. “Dima?” I exclaim. “No way!”

“Yes, way!” Sofia chimes in, gently getting my attention by touching my hand. "And we stumbled upon those poachers in the middle of the night! We ran all the way back to the dacha, barely remembering to put our clothes on."

"The look on Mother's face when we burst through the front door, dripping wet and out of breath!" Fedor chuckles. "I thought she would skin us alive. But Father just laughed and ruffled our hair, telling us not to do it again."

"He always indulged us, even when we were being little hellions," Dima says fondly. It feels good to know these little stories. It makes the Orlovs seem so much less intimidating and so much more like the family I’m used to. Mine.

"We certainly gave them their fair share of headaches over the years," Fedor agrees. "But they loved us all the same. And now look at us—all grown up and causing trouble in more sophisticated ways!" He raises his glass in a toast.

"To family, through all of life's adventures," I say, clinking my glass against his. The champagne bubbles up, like the warmth and affection I feel for the Orlovs.

I close my eyes after taking a sip, wondering why I’m feeling mildly dizzy and hot.

When I open them again, Nikolai is watching us from across the room, his gaze intense. Heat rises to my cheeks as I remember our encounter in the study this morning. The memory of his hands on my body and his whispered words of longing makes my pulse quicken.

Nikolai excuses himself from his conversation and makes his way over to me. He takes the champagne flute from my hand, setting it aside before pulling me to him. My heart pounds at his proximity as he pulls me away, telling his siblings there’s someone he wants me to meet.

But, to my surprise, he pulls me into a quiet corner.

“Who do we have to meet?” I exclaim in surprise, looking around.

"Shhh,” his lips brush the shell of my ear. “I can't stop thinking about you," he murmurs. A shiver runs down my spine. "The feel of your skin under my hands, the taste of your mouth, the sounds you make when I touch you… "

His words ignite a fire within me. I cling to him, desire clouding my senses. All I want is to be alone with him again.

---