Page 36 of The Bratva's Knocked-Up Bride

She’s one of us now, whether she knows it or not.

Chapter 13 - Gwen

The air was crisp with a hint of excitement as Anya and I stepped out into the bustling street, the chaos of the city swirling around us. The bright lights of the shops beckoned, and I felt a nervous flutter in my stomach. Shopping was a foreign concept to me—much less the kind Anya had in mind. Growing up, I never really was the kind to buy a whole new closet for every school semester, and I am a chronic (and proud) outfit repeater. Yet, the idea of going shopping was still very exciting. It helped that Anya seemed overjoyed, maybe to spend time with me even more so than buying anything. She was practically vibrating with enthusiasm beside me, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Today is about fun, Gwen!” Anya declared, looping her arm through mine as we navigated the crowd. “Roman tells me you’ve been too serious and on edge lately. I’m here to help fix that. Let’s find you something that makes you feel alive!”

I chuckled softly, unsure of what “alive” looked like in a wardrobe. The Bratva lifestyle has taught me practicality and caution. So far, I have a small collection of mostly tops, jeans, and a couple of dresses that I honestly couldn’t see myself in—nothing extravagant, nothing that screamed attention.

“Just promise me we won’t buy anything too… out there,” I said, glancing at the neon signs advertising glamorous outfits in the windows that looked like it would cost me six months of rent a piece. “I don’t want to draw more attention to myself than I already do.”

Anya’s laughter filled the air, a sweet sound that cut through my worries. The best part about Anya is that nothing seemed fake or forced about her. Everything was genuine about her—her smile, laughter, and words.

“You underestimate yourself, my dear,” She says, reaching forward to playfully pinch my cheek in an almost motherly gesture. “You are a stunning woman, and you deserve to wear something that reflects that.” Her enthusiasm was contagious, and despite my reservations, I found myself smiling.

“Thank you,” I reply gratefully. If Anya’s around more, maybe this whole Bratva lifestyle won’t be as bad as I deemed it to be.

As we entered the first boutique, I was greeted by racks of colorful clothes and vibrant accessories. Heels of different sizes and color variations lined one side of the wall, and I narrowly dodged a long glass case of sparkling jewelry.

Anya wasted no time as she began diving into a pile of fabrics like a kid in a candy store. I lingered back, my fingers brushing the soft materials, hesitant but intrigued. I never put too much thought into my outfits, and only recently started dressing to better fit in with the girls my age. As I look through different options, I’m having a hard time picturing what suits me and what does not.

“So, tell me more about life in the U.S.,” Anya said, pulling me into a fitting room as she tossed a bright red dress over my head. The fabric felt smooth against my skin. “It must be so different from Russia.”

I took a moment to gather my thoughts, the dress clinging to my body in a way that felt both strange and exciting. “It is,” I admitted. She leads me into the open, and I soak in my reflection, smirking at the way the sexy dress hugs my body so flawlessly. “They’re right on what they say about college football, I’ll tell you. And school is pretty fun, for the most part. I miss my roommate, though. We were inseparable, and I feel guilty forleaving her behind. Sometimes, it feels like I’ve traded one life for another without fully understanding what that means.”

Anya’s expression softened. I didn’t mean to turn the conversation a bit gloomy. “It’s natural to feel that way,” she says. “But you’re here now, and you’re surrounded by people who care for you. You have me, and you have Roman. We are your family now. We’ll protect you. And we’re already working hard to get your roommate back.” Her words settled over me like a warm blanket, wrapping me in comfort.

“Family,” I echoed, the word tasting different on my tongue. I had never expected to find such a bond in a world filled with danger and uncertainty. Still, I felt terribly out of place, like a dove in a field of crows.

Anya rummaged through more clothes, pulling out a sleek black outfit that seemed to shimmer under the lights. “This is perfect! It screams confidence.”

I took the piece from her, glancing at it skeptically. “That’s a bit too… tight, don’t you think?” It was even tighter than the red dress, but on the bright side, it didn’t appear to put my boobs on full display.

She waved a hand dismissively. “Trust me, you will look amazing! Besides, it’s time to explore a different side of yourself.” She hums to herself as she walks down the aisle towards the back of the store while I try to follow close behind. She gazes upon a row of different premium wigs, gasping as she stops in front of one. “What about this wig?” She held up a long, black wig, the hair cascading in soft waves. “We can play with looks, change your style completely. You might even surprise Roman!”

The idea struck a chord, and I found myself chuckling. The thought of donning this extravagant wig and outfit,transforming into someone new, sparked a flicker of excitement. “I could use it for some roleplay,” I mused, my mind racing with possibilities. I immediately widen my eyes—I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. I didn’t even mean to think it. “I mean, in the sense that…”

Anya raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on her lips. “Ah, I see what you’re thinking. Use it to seduce him, huh? You naughty girl!”

I felt heat rise to my cheeks. “It’s just an idea,” I defended, but the notion lingered, tempting me. What would it be like to tease Roman in a way he didn’t expect?

We continued our shopping spree, Anya encouraging me to try different outfits, each pushing me further out of my comfort zone. With each new piece, I felt a shift within me—a growing confidence that began to replace the unease I’d felt about my new life. Anya was doing a spectacular job at making me feel like I belonged, so much so that our entire shopping experience thus far made me forget how I ended up here in the first place. It was relaxing, to say the least.

After a few hours of laughter and exploration, I emerged from the store carrying bags filled with clothes that felt undeniably different. Anya mostly selected my outfits, but I also had a say in a couple of these choices. Anya was positively glowing, her excitement infectious.

“You’re going to love these,” she insisted, nudging me playfully. “Now, we just need to add some accessories, and you’ll be all set.”

But as we walked back toward the car, I felt a restlessness in my chest. Tomorrow night, we were supposed to meet the Vultures—the bastards who had taken Riley. The thought sent a jolt of anxiety through me, the reality of the situation crashingover me like icy waves—anxiety that, seconds later, shifted into anger for my friend.

I hadn’t seen Roman much in the past few days, and the absence of his presence weighed heavily on my heart. Suddenly, as I look down at the many bags turning my fingers blue, I feel guilty for letting myself get swept up in shopping when my friend was in danger. While I’m out here laughing and enjoying myself, Riley is out there somewhere unknown, probably tied up and hurt. The guilt eats at me.

Pacing the small confines of our apartment later that evening, I tried to quell the rising tide of anxiety.

The minutes dragged on, each tick of the clock amplifying my unease. What if the meeting went wrong? What if we didn’t get Riley back? What if she wasn’t even alive? What if she was so hurt and traumatized that she’s a shell of who she used to be? My mind spirals into a whirlpool of worst-case scenarios, each more frightening than the last.

Just as I began to feel suffocated by my thoughts, the front door swung open, and Roman stepped inside, his presence filling the room. He looked good—better than good, in fact. His sharp jawline and dark hair were tousled in a way that made my heart race.

“Roman!” Anya approaches her brother and envelops him in a suffocating hug.

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