Page 60 of Married to the Bratva

42

SOPHIE

Two days later…

Istand in front of the mirror, frowning at the dress Maxim picked out for dinner with Andrei.

It’s sleek, black, and way too expensive for someone who used to thrift her way through life.

It hugs my curves a little too perfectly, and the plunging neckline feels more like a dare than a fashion choice.

“Is this really necessary?” I mutter, smoothing the fabric over my hips.

Maxim leans against the doorway, arms crossed, watching me like he’s sizing up a weapon before using it.

“Andrei doesn’t trust people who look like they don’t belong. You’re not polished enough to fake being old money, but this—” he gestures at me, his gaze lingering just a moment too long, “—this will work.”

I roll my eyes. “So I’m an unpolished slut. Got it.”

He smirks, that infuriating little tilt of his lips that says he knows he’s winning. “You look like you used your body to ensnare me.”

“That’s what happened, isn’t it?” I glance at him in the mirror, raising an eyebrow.

His smirk deepens. “Close enough. Andrei respects authenticity, but he’s also a predator. He’ll test you, see how far he can push. Don’t break.”

“Great pep talk, coach. Anything else I should know?” I turn to face him, crossing my arms. “Maybe a secret handshake or a magic phrase to win him over?”

He steps closer, his presence filling the room like it always does—commanding, overwhelming, infuriating. “Don’t say anything stupid,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “That’s an order.”

I blink, caught off guard by the darkness in his tone. “That’s more a threat.”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “You’ll be fine, Sophie. Just remember—Andrei can smell fear.”

“Oh, perfect,” I say, slipping on the heels and giving him a withering look. “Because I’m totally not terrified.”

He steps closer, his hand brushing against my arm as he straightens the necklace he picked out for me. His fingers linger for a second too long, and when his eyes meet mine, there’s something there I can’t name.

“You’ll be fine,” he says again, softer this time. “Your tits will distract him while I empty his pockets.”

My breath catches, but I recover quickly, forcing a smile. “You could write for Hallmark with romantic phrases like that.”

43

SOPHIE

The restaurant is all warm mahogany and glittering chandeliers, the kind of place that screams wealth. Andrei is already seated, an intimidating figure in a tailored gray suit.

Maxim leads me over, his hand firm on the small of my back. The touch isn’t necessary—pure theater for Andrei—but it sends a shiver up my spine anyway. I mentally scold myself for that.

He whispers in my ear as we approach the table. “Remember. Show your enemies no fear.”

Andrei rises, a grin splitting his weathered face. “Maxim,” he booms, extending a hand. “And this is your wife. So good to see you again, my dear girl.”

Maxim takes Andrei’s hand, gripping it in that way men do when they’re sizing each other up. “Andrei,” he says smoothly. “We’ve been looking forward to this, haven’t we dear?”

I blink at that blatant lie but recover quickly, extending a polite smile. “It’s an honor to see you again.”

His sharp eyes sweep over me, lingering on the dress Maxim insisted on. “Maxim didn’t tell me you could be so polite.”

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