Page 19 of Arranged Mafia Marriage

She nods. “Dinner sounds nice right about now. All of that crazy stuff at the shop made me hungry.”

I guide her to a nearby upscale restaurant, where I know we’ll have privacy. The host recognizes me immediately, ushering us to a secluded booth in the back. I tug her down to sit beside me.

Once we’re seated and have placed our orders, an awkward silence falls between us. Felicity fidgets with her napkin as she glances rapidly around the room.

“Felicity?” I say, drawing her attention back to me as I put an arm around her shoulders. “We should talk about what happened earlier.”

She swallows hard. “Okay. What do you want to say about it?”

I ease forward, keeping my voice low. “I want to make sure you’re comfortable with what happened. That I didn’t push you too far.”

Her pupils dilate slightly. “Oh. No, you didn’t. I wanted it. I just wasn’t expecting it to happen like that, in such a public place, but I’ve been thinking about you a lot since the first time.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Good. I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything. Our situation is complicated enough without adding that layer to it. It’s nice that we can just enjoy each other a little, giving into the guilty pleasures from time to time.”

She gives me a small smile. “I appreciate that, and I enjoyed it. A lot.”

The waiter arrives with our drinks, interrupting the moment. As he sets them down, she eyes my glass of vodka curiously.

“Would you like to try it?” I offer, sliding the glass toward her.

She hesitates, then nods. “I’ve never actually had vodka before. Just wine.”

“Take only a small sip. It’s strong.”

She lifts the glass to her lips, taking a tentative taste. Her face scrunches up adorably as the alcohol burns its way down her throat. She coughs slightly, pushing the glass back to me.

“That’s intense,” she says, reaching for her water.

I chuckle. “It’s an acquired taste. Perhaps we’ll start you with something milder next time.”

While we wait for our order, I put my hand on her thigh under the table, brushing my thumb against her skin. She’s so soft thatI want her again, but now isn’t the time. I need to pace myself before I become lost in her, and that’s not going to be easy.

We fall into a more comfortable conversation as we eat, though we’re both aware of where my hand remains. I’m feeling particularly possessive of her right now, like everyone else wants her. Realistically, they don’t even know she exists, and those that do only want her dead.

Felicity tells me about her dance background, passion infusing her as she describes her favorite performances. “I miss it,” she says, pushing her food around her plate. “Dancing, I mean. It was such a big part of my life, and now it’s gone.”

I consider her words carefully. “Perhaps we could find a way for you to continue dancing. Obviously, public performances are out of the question for now, but we could set up a studio in the penthouse.”

Her face brightens. “Really? You’d do that?”

I nod. “Of course. It’s important to you, and therefore, it’s important to me.” I stroke her leg.

She squirms slightly. “I appreciate that.”

As we finish our meal, Felicity stifles a yawn. The events of the day have clearly taken their toll, but not so much that she’s going to fall asleep in the restaurant. She’ll want to be back home for that.

“I think we should go home and get more comfortable,” I suggest, knocking back the rest of my vodka.

She nods gratefully. “That sounds wonderful. It’s been quite a day.”

We leave the restaurant, Viktor falling into step behind us once more. As we walk to the car, Felicity presses against me, her warmth seeping through my jacket.

She slumps against my shoulder to recover as we ride home in the limo, snoring almost instantly. It’s cute that she feels so comfortable around me now, and I revel in her peacefulness as we drive. It’s not often I get to experience such a thing in the Bratva.

When we arrive at the penthouse, I gently wake her. “We’re home,” I whisper.

She blinks sleepily, looking around. “Already?”

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