Page 45 of Hating the Bratva

I don’t wait for him. I move my hips, rubbing my clit against his body. It doesn’t take long for him to get the hint, and he starts to thrust. We’re like rabbits trying to get each other off as fast as possible. His breathing comes out short and labored in my ear. Goosebumps rise over my skin, and then I explode. Stars fill my vision, and when Alek clamps a hand over my mouth, I realize I’d been about to scream.

“Quiet, Bunny,” he whispers.

My moan is muffled, but the orgasm isn’t any less powerful. His fingers dig into my skin before he groans. He pulls out and comes on my inner thighs. We both take a minute to catch our breaths. My head is spinning.

“I see you brought a date,” I say to Alek as he grabs a paper towel from the counter and wets it.

“I obviously would rather have you on my arm, but you’re taken…for now.”

He drags the wet paper towel between my legs to clean up the mess he made.

“For now?” I ask.

He tucks himself back into his suit pants and kisses me. “I’ll see you out there.”

Then he leaves out the door like nothing ever happened.

*****

The next week seems to fly by before I can even really grasp it. I should have been living it up since my freedom will soon be stripped from me. But instead, I’ve spent every moment I can wrapped around Alek. We’ve had sex more because we both know it won’t be long before we’ll have to say goodbye. I stopped talking to Robin. I don’t answer my mom’s phone calls. I’ve spent the last week acting like the outside world doesn’t exist.

But today, my wedding day, I can’t pretend any longer. My parents sent a car to pick me up, and from my mom’s text message, everything I need to get ready will be at the house. Alek isn’t home, and I don’t even bother changing out of my pajamas before getting in the town car. It takes a while to get to Ivan’s grandfather’s home. I can’t deny how beautiful the mansion is. It’s not hidden like Alek’s house, but it doesn’t look like there are any neighbors close by either. The brick house sits on acres and acres of perfectly manicured lawns. The driver opens the door for me, and my mom comes out of the house. Her fake smile is in place, and she’s already dressed as if the wedding isn’t five hours from now.

“Oh, honey, you look beautiful already,” she says, her heels clicking against the cobblestone as she comes to the car. She’s lying. I look like shit, and we both know it. My eyes are puffy. My hair looks like a rat’s nest. I’m pretty sure Alek could hear me crying last night, but he didn’t say anything. He just kept me tightly wrapped in his arms.

“Come on. The hairdresser will be here soon, but I want to show you the setup first.”

I don’t give a damn about the setup, but I let her lead me through the home anyway. It’s full of people rushing to prepare food and carrying chairs.

“It’s not completely together yet, but you get the idea,” Mom says as she holds the back door open for me. There’s a white altar decorated with flowers and vines directly across from me. Rows and rows of white chairs fill the space between the back door and the altar. I’m standing in the aisle. I haven’t even picked my own bridesmaid. I wonder who will walk before me?

“They should be laying down a white carpet right here.”

We walk back inside and to the bedroom where I’ll be getting ready.

Hours pass where I sit in a chair and allow people to pick at me. The most awkward moment was when the esthetician came in with a table to wax me. She tried to make small talk as she placed the hot wax between my legs.

“So are you excited for your wedding night?” she’d asked me. It was an innocent question, and I’m sure most brides would gush about how excited they were, but her question reminded me of what was expected tonight. There’s no way I’m sleeping with Ivan. If he thought marrying me would be easy, he has another thing coming. I will make him regret forcing me into this marriage. When I didn’t answer the esthetician, she cleared her throat and didn’t say much else the rest of the session. I lay there like a corpse the whole time, willing all this to be over.

High-ranking members of the Bratva come periodically to wish me congratulations. I tell them “thank you,” but I refuse to put on the fake smile I’m expected to. I can hear voices downstairs, so I assume all the guests are here waiting for me. Once my hair and makeup are done, I ask for the room so I can put on my wedding dress in private. My mom tries to argue, but there must be something in my voice that tells her I need this minute, and I do.

I take off the silk robe that I’d been instructed to wear before grabbing the dress. The fabric is too stiff against my now sensitive skin. I manage to zip it halfway up before taking a deep breath and turning to look at myself in the full-length mirror. The makeup artist, hairdresser, and esthetician did an amazing job. They almost hid the sadness I feel inside.

The door behind me closes. I don’t need to turn around because Alek is reflected in the mirror. He looks handsome in the black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows so I can see his tattoos. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his slacks and leans against the door.

The clock on the wall seems to tick louder as the silence between us stretches on. What do I say to a person who is letting me go? For some reason, I’ve pretended like this day wouldn’t come. I’d wished that something would happen at the last minute and I’d find out this was all a joke.

“I shouldn’t be in here,” he rasps.

A single tear glides down my cheek, and I look to the floor, hoping he didn’t see it.

“Bunny—”

“You should go.” I don’t want him to leave, but every moment he lingers makes it that much harder. I want him to tell me that this is all a dream and we can go back to his house and stay in bed for the rest of the day. Another tear slides down my cheek, ruining the makeup that took an hour for the artist to put on. My heart feels like it’s breaking in two, like an elephant is stomping all over my chest. I never knew a person could feel as empty as I do right now. My wedding day feels more like a funeral.

His footsteps come closer before a cool hand touches my waist. I flinch away from his touch.

“Look at me,” he whispers.

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