Page 76 of Plus-Sized Bratva Prisoner

“Hey,” I laugh, pulling it back down. He raises his eyebrows at me, his eyes full of mischief.

“I can’t help it you look so good in this dress.” He lifts his chin towards me.

“Well, let’s keep the dress on while we’re in public, okay?”

“Fine. If we must. Do you need another drink, baby girl?”

“Not yet. I’m still enjoying this one.”

He leans back in his chair. Still stroking his hand over my leg, he closes his eyes and lets the sun warm his skin.

My heart tugs and constricts.

I’m in so much trouble.

What am I going to do when he tells me it’s time to sign divorce papers?

I stare at my legs, resting on his lap.

Suddenly, I want to protect myself. I want to pull my legs up to my chest, to cover my heart. I want to wrap a thick blanket around me, to hide my emotions. But none of these things will help. It’s too late for all of that.

“Guys, lunch is ready,” Oleg calls out from inside the house.

“I guess I’d better change into some dry clothes,” Yefim says, leaning forward. He turns towards me before he stands up, takes my face in his hands and pulls me close to kiss me. “You really do look beautiful today.” Then, with a sexy smile, he lifts my legs off his lap and stands to go inside and change.

***

I sit at the lunch table, surrounded by his family, and feel so alone it makes me want to cry.

I’ve never had a family like this. I’ve never experienced this kind of closeness to a group of people. It’s always just been me. Me taking care of me.

I can’t allow myself to get used to this.

Sasha, Leon’s wife, leans over my chair to put a fresh drink in front of me. “Why do you look like you’re a million miles away in your mind somewhere?”

She smiles warmly.

“I guess I am, I’m just thinking.”

“Well, I hope it’s good thoughts. Come on, don’t be shy, grab a plate and dish up. These guys will have this table cleared in a matter of moments if you give them half a chance.”

She hands me a plate and gently squeezes my shoulder in a reassuring manner. I guess my face looked more lost or sad than I thought; I should be more careful.

Yefim arrives at the lunch table and walks towards me with a gorgeous smile. He picks up a plate and then sits down next to me. “Can I dish up for you?”

“Sure,” I say as he picks up my plate.

He dishes up some chicken pieces, salad and potato bake, but not the lentil and pea salad. He remembers I don’t like peas. I only mentioned it once at one of our dinners at home. But he remembers.

Why does that break my heart even more?

He places my food in front of me and then starts dishing up for himself.

When he sits down, his hand immediately goes to my thigh, and he eats with just one hand, using his fork, not wanting to move the other. Do I just relax and appreciate these moments, or do I need to start hardening my heart now already?

I reach beneath the table and thread my fingers through his. Without looking at him, I can feel his eyes on me, and a smile shines on my face.

I can enjoy these moments—for now.

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