Page 47 of Trapping His Darling

“How about you go first,” she suggested.

After laying down sliced fruit on the table, I went about making her toast. “I think you already know my darkest secret.”

“That you are in the mafia?”

“Bratva,” I corrected.

“Tomato, tomahto,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand.

“No, it’s not,” I grumbled, slightly irritated.

But she plowed on, seemingly unfazed. “Why did you tell me? Won’t you have to kill me now?” Her eyes widened in mock alarm. “Is that what this is? I’m way too pretty to die.”

I could tell she was fucking with me, but I was not in the mood. “No. Now I have to marry you.”

The atmosphere in the kitchen instantly changed.

“We’re really going to do that?” she asked quietly.

“This afternoon. Someone will be here shortly to fit you for clothes.”

“Then I would like to skip breakfast.”

“No.”

The rebellion in her dark eyes glared as bright as a supernova. “I guess we’re not getting married today.”

“We are,” I countered. “I have arranged everything. We cannot delay this.”

She rose to her feet. “I said–”

I hit the table with my palm. “You no longer get a say,milyy.You will eat, then we’re getting married. And so helpme God, Tiffany, if you make this difficult, I will be your worst nightmare.”

She narrowed her gaze and twisted her vintage ring. “Are you threatening me, Viktor?”

“I am.” The quiet declaration was punctuated by the ding of the toaster. “And if you think what you’ve endured the last twenty-four hours was painful, then imagine what I can do when I’m really angry.”

I spun and stalked over to the toaster before adding, “Even if you force my hand as you like to do, note that we will still be married when it’s all said and done. So spare yourself my wrath and just fucking behave.” I returned to the table and practically threw the plate on the table. “Now sit your ass down and eat.”

I couldn’t tell if Tiffany was going to burst into tears, or attempt to murder me with the butter knife. She kept eyeing where it laid on the butter dish. Then, to my utter surprise, she actually did what I told her. With a heavy sigh, she sat down.

This woman really made me ride the emotional rollercoaster with her. Considering that neither of us were emotional types, I pondered the meaning of such a thing.

I should have just shot her.

“She’s good for you,”my mom piped up.

Tiffany picked up a piece of toast and nibbled on it. So I snatched it out of her hand, practically put half a container of Nutella on it, added sliced apples and strawberries, then held it in her face.

“Open your mouth,” I ordered.

She looked up at me with watery eyes, and my heart hurt for her. I knew many women had terrible relationships with food, but I would not allow my woman to be one of them.

“You will never have to diet for me, Tiffany. You’re beautiful. You could go up four dress sizes or more, and I’d still feel the same way.”

Two tears spilled over her bottom lashes and rolled down her cheeks. “Promise?”

“I swear it on the life of our future son, the heir that you will soon bear for me.”

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