Page 42 of The Bratva's Forced Innocent Bride

“I’m thinking about opening up a second branch of the diner down here,” he said.

“Oh,” I said, not sure why this next thing out of his mouth was so disappointing. “I mean, I’m sure it’ll be successful. That place is so much fun.”

He kept looking at me intently. “How would you like to learn how to run it?”

My mouth dropped open at this wholly unexpected gift. His diner was like his child, and he’d only want people with the utmost level of excellence in charge of a new branch. It meant he believed in me to rise to that level, and my chest swelled with pride that I’d been doing a good job as his replacement assistant that week.

I enjoyed shadowing him and learned a lot, putting my all into the job he probably gave me to appease me and keep me in a good mood. My hard work paid off since he was making this offer, giving me the chance of a lifetime.

Except, I’d never been keen on cooking, growing flustered when I had to have scrambled eggs and bacon done at the same time and never quite succeeding. The thought of being a charming hostess to the crowds that would flock to such a place was overwhelming. Managing all the waitstaff, cooks, valets, andall the other employees I didn’t even know it would take to run a restaurant and bar of that size had me sinking into myself.

Before I could form an answer, he seemed to sense my trepidation and reached for my hand.

“Don’t worry if it’s not what you want. We’ll figure out a career path for you.”

He wasn’t the least bit offended I hadn’t jumped at his offer, and my heart soared at his reassuring words. It meant he was going to let me have a career.

Getting handed one with no experience or background education had just about filled me with terror. Squeezing his hand and remembering how well we’d been getting along, I decided to just let it all out.

“I want to earn my place on the rungs of success,” I said slowly, watching his reaction.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” he said.

That was nice and all, but just empty compliments in the grand scheme of things. “Don’t you understand?” I asked. “That means I still need to get back to Berkeley and register for classes. I need to buy books while they’re still available, and then hopefully…” I paused, shaking my head, knowing this was all futile. “Go to those classes.”

There. This was the end of the truce. He still hadn’t said anything about me going anywhere that he wasn’t, but he was about to.

His lips tightened as his eyes searched my face. “What if we fly to San Francisco tomorrow?”

I was stunned, instantly agreeing, before he took it back. He had a look on his face I couldn’t decipher, and it dampened what should have been the biggest surge of happiness I’d felt inour six weeks together. He went up to pay for our meal and I followed him to the car, still too shocked to speak much on the way home.

Why wasn’t I brimming with joy, or at least more excited about this turn of events? Tomorrow! Just like that, Max had agreed. Did that mean he was tired of me and was finally letting me go? It made no sense and I was trying to figure out his sudden change of mind. What did it matter, though? Wasn’t that exactly what I wanted?

I could hardly sleep that night, lying in bed trying not to toss and turn while Max fell asleep like a rock at my side. This was my shot, and I had to take it, no matter if my feelings were all jumbled up.

I could make my move as soon as we got to the airport. Max couldn’t keep me from going to the restroom, and even if Olivia was back to go with us and be my shadow, I’d find a way to ask for help. Slip a note under the stall to the woman on the other side if that’s what it took. Fake a sickness so we missed the plane if I needed to buy more time. The key was being surrounded by strangers, and I’d never been to an airport that wasn’t packed.

It had to be the thrill of knowing I was about to be free that kept me awake, but it wasn’t elation that sat in my stomach like a cold lump of oatmeal. Turning over, I stared at the slight shadows under the window, listening for the soothing sound of the ocean outside to help me sleep.

This had to be my plan. I wasn’t going to blow this one shot, even if things were going so well between us, and even if I’d felt more engaged and mentally stimulated in a week following Max than I had my whole first year of college.

With only a few hours of sleep under my belt, we headed out bright and early the next day. It was just us, with no driver or guard tagging along, which should have been great for my plan. That was what I had to concentrate on, not keep glancing at Max’s rugged profile and counting down how many times until the last I’d be able to see it. Ditching the plan wasn’t an option. It was going to be sweet, finally being able to spill everything I knew to the police once I was free.

If only he’d stop being so sweet himself, pulling through my favorite fast food place for a greasy breakfast. With my nerves rising and falling like a storm in my belly, I could only pick at it to keep him from becoming suspicious.

“Nervous flier?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered, grateful to have a cover for what I was really nervous about.

So, what if he was acting concerned and remembered my favorite breakfast? I was sticking to the plan. This was happening.

Except, it wasn’t. Instead of going to the airport, we turned onto a small airfield where a sleek private jet waited for us on the tarmac. About four people were milling around, and I suspected they all worked for Max in some capacity.

Of course. Of course, my flashy, forced husband had to have his own plane. How could I have expected anything less? I scowled at it as we got out of the car, taking its existence personally, as if it too was against me. I had put myself through a hellish, sleepless night and had been coiled tighter than a spring, ready to put my plan into action. And now I was just supposed to climb that staircase onto another prison.

When Max smiled at me, I was convinced he somehow knew about my escape, and this was his way of foiling it. Butthe smile was laced with concern because I was now shaking. He thought it was my nonexistent fear of flying, but it wasn’t.

The anger was back, with the force of a blow, along with something else. Something else that felt way too much like relief. What the hell was that about?

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