Page 10 of Arranged to Marry the Bratva

I say nothing as fear and anxiety gnaw within me. I don’t know what I thought, but I had hoped that even though what Nikolai and I might share is just a business arrangement, his family would see beyond that to get to know me. As a friend, if nothing more.

The master of ceremonies announces our first dance, and a quiet lull falls across the room as people gather around the floor. Soft melodies of a violin fill the reception hall as Nikolai leads me onto the dance floor with my hand in his. His hand is soft in how it holds me but calloused. I tremble, and he notices, for he gives me a gentle squeeze. I glance around, noticing our guests' eyes on us, and my heart races in response. But I can't let their scrutiny affect me. This is part of the deal—an arranged marriage to consolidate power and maintain peace between our families. This dance is just routine.

"Relax," Nikolai murmurs into my ear as his hand settles at the small of my back, pulling me closer. "You look like you're about to run for the hills."

"Can you blame me?" I retort quietly.

"Perhaps not," he concedes with a wry smile, guiding me effortlessly across the floor. Our bodies move in sync as we glide along to the music, and I find myself unwillingly captivated by how he leads me across the floor. There’s a grace to him, a sense of such purpose in his footing that I realize I don’t even know what I’m doing. I follow without a doubt.

Remember, I remind myself silently, focus on the business aspect of this marriage.

"I must say, you're quite the dancer, Anoushka," Nikolai murmurs as we twirl around the dance floor, his gaze never leaving mine. "You move with such grace."

I try to ignore the compliment, aware of the dangerous territory his words tread. "It's just a dance," I reply coolly, keeping my tone detached.

"But it's more than that, isn't it?" he presses on, his voice low and intimate as he pulls me closer with a fierceness that almost makes me stumble. "It's our first dance as husband and wife. That holds significance."

I stiffen at his words, reminding myself once more that this is a business arrangement—an alliance between our families. But Nikolai's proximity, his unwavering gaze, makes it hard to focus on anything else.

As we dance, I force my gaze to remain steady, giving nothing away. But it's difficult when I can feel the heat of his body through the thin layers of fabric separating us. I can smell him— mahogany wood and clean citrus. I find myself taking a deep breath to soak it in and then biting down on my inner lip to not get swayed by how good he smells. The intimacy of the moment unnerves me, and I'm grateful when the song ends, signaling that it's time for dinner.

Nikolai escorts me to our table, his hand possessively lingering on my waist. As we sit down, he sits so close that our thighs brush against each other. A thrill shoots up my leg, and I look away, making eye contact with one of the many people milling around, waiting to congratulate us.

Throughout the reception, we receive numerous table visitors and well-wishers. I maintain a composed and polite demeanor as we exchange pleasantries and accept congratulations. Nikolai introduces me to some of his cousins and siblings, but there are so many new names that they all merge into one.

I notice Sofia doesn’t come up to us even once.

"Congratulations, you two make a stunning couple," gushes a beautiful young woman with Nikolai’s hair and eyes. "I can see the love between you already."

Nikolai gives her a glowering look and then turns to me. “My sister, Natalia.”

“If he gives you trouble, you call me, alright?” she winks at me.

I laugh and nod, grateful she’s making an effort. “Will he give me trouble?” I ask.

“Have you met him?” she pretends to shudder. I burst into laughter, and she kisses me on my cheek before walking away.

Two men walk up to us next to us. One, the taller and older with a scar across his cheek, barely smiles. The other clinks his glass with mine.

“Congratulations,” says the older man. “I’m Dmitry, Nikolai’s brother.”

"Thank you," I reply to the older with a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes. He quietly places an envelope loaded with cash on the table in front of us. “For you both,” he gives a small nod.

“Oh gosh, Dima,” the younger laughs. “It’s a wedding, not a funeral! He’s always this serious,” he leans down and whispers conspiratorially about his brother.

The more I meet Nikolai’s family, the more I see myself getting along with the younger ones. I smile and ask. “And you are?”

“Artyom. The only Orlov worth knowing.”

My eyes widen with surprise at his boldness and then I begin to laugh, as Artyom does an elaborate bow.

“Well, we’ll leave you to it now,” says Dima. He lugs his brother away.

Alone at last, Nikolai now places an arm around my shoulder and asks if I’d like more champagne.

I pull away, surprised at the unexpected touch. “There’s no one here,” I tell him.

“So?” he inquires, looking at me with confusion.

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