Page 5 of The Bratva's Forced Innocent Bride

“Please,” Katie said. “I’ll give you all the lunches you want for the rest of the year.”

“What is my wife begging you for, and why are you making her beg?” Aleks grumbled, coming into the kitchen with a sour expression.

It slid off his face as he lifted Alina from her chair and held her up, making her squeal with delight. Katie gave me one last look, and then their butler announced that their guests had arrived and were pulling up the drive.

With Aleks looking at me like I’d be getting the beating he really wanted to give to Lev and Katie promising me all the gourmet lunches I could eat, there was nothing I could do but agree. After all, I didn’t want a poor, innocent stranger to have to watch my brothers possibly come to blows. Outsiders didn’t understand that we mostly thrived off that shit, gaining life from doling out a good punch to the face as well as getting one—if it was deserved.

“Thank you,” Katie said as she shoved me toward the door to whisk Brooke away before she even got in the house.

I kept pretending that I was being coerced to do it until I stepped out onto the front porch and saw her again. The attraction dancing around the edges of my subconsciousness for the last few months wasn’t just back; it was stronger than ever.

She was the first to get out of the chauffeured car, and Katie hurried to her side to whisper the plan to her. Brooke seemed to have a glow about her, bathed in the bright afternoon sunshine so that the golden strands stood out in her glossy chestnut hair. It was up in a high ponytail that I itched to wrap around my hand to tug her head back and kiss my way down her smooth throat. Her lush pink lips parted in a confused smile as she tried to take in Katie, offering me up to give her a tour of Hollywood, like it was all a fun plan and not an attempt to shield her from the violence that followed us everywhere, even in our own homes.

There was just something about her that told me she could handle it. As beautiful as any rose, Brooke was no delicate flower. I had a gut feeling about that, which only added to my intrigue. I had to know every last detail about her. There was no way I was letting her slip away this time. If that meant showing her around town while my stubborn brothers bashed things out, I was more than happy to oblige.

I was never more glad that I decided to take the Maserati from my custom car collection this morning. Brooke was going to look amazing with the wind whipping through all that silky hair. I stepped past her after shaking her hand, wanting nothing more than to keep a hold of those delicate fingers, and opened the door of my favorite convertible for her.

She seemed a bit flustered but pleased when I asked her if she was ready for this. My family disappeared into the house, leaving us alone at last. With blushing cheeks, she looked me straight in the eye and nodded.

“I think so,” she said, almost a question.

I wonder how much Jenna filled her in to get her to agree to come out with me, or if she was as excited for this second chance as I was. “My family can be a bit much at times,” I said as we headed out.

“Oh, I know all about crazy families,” she said, shaking out her ponytail as we picked up speed. Here I was, trying to impress her again.

“Oh yeah?” I asked. “You’ll have to tell me all about yours.”

“Which one?” she asked, laughing grimly.

Not quite sure how to take that, and not wanting to pry, I only smiled over at her as she smoothly changed the subject to Hollywood landmarks. I promised to take her to my diner, but it was too early for that, so I asked her what she wanted to see.

She reeled off a list of LA's most tourist-worthy, tacky places, and I headed toward Grauman’s Chinese Theater, which was first on her list. She was dying to get out and look at the hands and footprints, and for once, the idea of being surroundedby selfie-taking crowds didn’t annoy me. I only wanted to keep making her smile.

Surprisingly, she didn’t take a single selfie, only snapping a few pictures of the area with her phone. She shyly asked if I’d take one with her, and we got one of the actors hanging around to take one of us in front of the theater columns.

“Are you really having fun?” I asked.

She bit her lip. “You’re not,” she said. “You hate this.”

I shook my head. Any other person would have been spot on, but her happiness and exuberance were infectious for some reason. “Come on, back in the car. There’s so much more to see.”

I drove her around, fascinated by her excitement. Since it was still early and my diner didn’t really get hopping until after dark, we ended up at the Santa Monica pier.

“This place is amazing,” she said. “You know, I’ve never been to a carnival.”

“What the hell?” I asked, making her laugh in that somewhat dark way she had.

“Never, not once.”

“Well, we better make up for that, then,” I said. “What do you want to do first?”

“All of it, I can’t decide,” she breathed, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the line for the Ferris wheel.

She squealed as innocently and adorably as baby Alina as we went to the top and grew silent with awe as we took in the vast ocean and the beach skyline up and down the coast. Next, we ran around like kids, playing every game and getting a bit competitive.

“You really like to win, don’t you?” I asked, amazed at her tenacity to get a specific, giant pink bear.

“It’s not so much that,” she said, then burst out laughing at herself. “I just really hate losing.”

---