Page 14 of Arranged to Marry the Bratva

My curiosity is genuine, but I also need a distraction from the overwhelming emotions stirred up by our recent encounter.

Nikolai's jaw tightens, and I can sense his reluctance to share the information. But he knows I won't let it go easily. "It was my younger brother, Fedor, and a married clan ally, Yelena," he finally admits, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Your brother?" I whisper in disbelief, trying to process this unexpected revelation. "And the woman… she's married? To someone else?"

Nikolai nods, clearly uncomfortable discussing his family's secrets. "Yes, it's a complicated situation. But that's not something we need to concern ourselves with right now.”

“Wow,” I break out into a grin. “That’s some hot gossip right there,” I tease, even though I’d never tell a soul.

Nikolai looks shocked and grips my arm, forcing me to focus on what he wishes to convey. "I expect discretion from you about this," he says sternly. “I trusted you with names.”

I bristle at his commanding tone. "You need not worry about me revealing your brother's indiscretions. My lips are sealed."

"Good." His eyes soften slightly. "This is not how I envisioned our wedding day unfolding."

"Nor I," I admit with a wry smile. "Though I daresay you've had more experience with drama given the kind of hobbies Fedor likes to indulge in."

The corner of his mouth quirks up. "You have no idea." He sobers quickly, gazing at me intently. "I can tell you all about it when we retire to our room tonight… "

My cheeks flame as I catch his meaning. Desire wars with apprehension, but I stand firm in my resolve. "There will be no 'retiring' tonight. I meant what I said earlier—we shall be sleeping in separate rooms. And now, I must go. People at the reception are waiting for us! For tonight, I bid you goodnight."

With that, I slip away from him and make a beeline for the path back to the mansion. My heart pounds as I ascend to my room, wondering if Nikolai will respect my wishes—or if he has other plans in mind for our wedding night.

Chapter 7 - Nikolai

I sigh, pushing my plate away. The pasta, meatballs, and salad on my plate lie mostly untouched, my appetite gone. Anoushka's seat across from me remains empty, the embroidered napkin folded neatly beside it.

The butler informed me she was eating in her room tonight since she was feeling exhausted after the day she had.

Again.

This is the fourth night in a row she's requested dinner in her room. Five nights ago, she joined in for dinner because she’d invited Pippa and Lev over, too. I scrub a hand over my face, irritation simmering in my veins. I'm trying here, damn it. Offers for movie nights, dinners, gifts… but she continues to avoid me like I'm the fucking plague.

She barely acknowledges my presence, her eyes avoiding mine as she slips out the door every morning. I can't help but feel frustrated by the distance between us. We're married, but it's like we're strangers living under the same roof.

It’s been two weeks, and I hardly ever see her. She still insists on keeping separate bedrooms, and hasn’t even ventured into seeing mine yet, though I offered to give her a tour of my wing and wanted to make her feel comfortable to enter any part of the home. I introduced her to an interior decorator to see if she’d like to spruce up the place or create a new room for herself or us even, but she never followed up.

Unacceptable. This isn't what I signed up for when I agreed to marry the little minx. I wanted a wife, not a ghost.

I shove away from the table and stalk to the kitchen, dumping the remains of dinner in the trash. The ceramic plate shatters against the bin, shards skittering across the tiled floor. I breathe through my nose, struggling for control.

I need to talk to her. Tomorrow, hell or high water, we are going to have a conversation. I head to my room alone, the weight of loneliness heavy in my chest.

***

The next morning, I wake up early and get dressed. On the way down, I stop outside Anoushka’s room.

“Anoushka?” I knock on the door. “Open up!”

Just then, one of my men patrolling the hallways overhears me.

“Boss,” he tells me. “She left for the day already.”

I frown and nod in acknowledgment. When I go downstairs, the housekeeper rushes to bring out the breakfast.

“Leave it, Maria,” I tell her. “I’m heading out straight away.”

***

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