Page 35 of Pregnant Bratva Virgin

“A gala event. Are there going to be a lot of people at the event?”

Olga shrugs. “I assume so. Are you not excited? This will be your first event together. What a great thing. I never expected Ryurik to get to this place,” she remarks wistfully, touching the dress.

Curious more than I should be, I ask more questions. “Why?”

“He’s ah, an interesting character. Very devoted to the Bratva brotherhood. Never giving himself enough time to entertain a nice woman. He was born into a family that is strictwith its rules, and he’s upheld them. I think he has a soft spot for you. It’s here.” Olga touches her heart as I throw her words out the window, wanting to deny it. Sure, we’ve got serious heat in the bedroom together, but outside of that, then what?

“Maybe. He’s Mafia and I’m a cop.” As much as I’m reminding her out loud, I’m reminding myself.

“That doesn’t matter when it comes to love. It can transcend things. Ryurik might be fooling you, but he’s not fooling me.” I take the dress from her, looking at the sequins on it, knowing there wouldn’t be any other time I’d wear this. Her words are sinking in as much as I want to block them out. I’m married to the guy, and I’ve made the ultimate sacrifice to save Laura’s life, so at some point, I’ll have to come to terms with what that means, living day-to-day with him.

“Right.” I spread the dress out on the bed, contemplating what shoes might be right for it.

“You should try more,” Olga adds, capturing my attention, her pushiness is grating on my nerves a little, but I’m willing to hear her out.

“Try what more?”

“Try to communicate with him. Spend time.”

Is this old woman gaslighting me? I’m under no illusions that she works for Ryurik and might even be reporting back to him what I’m saying. But there’s a small flip-flop in my stomach.

Am I in high school? Caring about if a man who kidnapped and forced me into marriage likes me? Shit. Things are worse than predicted.

Wanting to appease Olga, I reluctantly agree. “Okay. I guess it’s worth something.” A satisfied smile creeps up on her face.

“That’s all you can do, and then you can take it from there.” She leaves as I sigh, letting out a groan, staring at the dress, but finding a nice emerald, green pump. I don’t think I’ll ever have to worry about shoes again. This time, I pick a shoe with a round toe, not pointy. I learned my lesson from the charity event.

God. Even then he was hunting me,I think, slipping into the dress, happy that Ryurik pays attention to details, knowing my size and what might look best on me. I study myself in the mirror, impressed, giving myself the seal of approval.

The shoes elevate the look as I twirl around, feeling like the belle of the ball we haven’t gone to yet. I slide my feet into the pumps, complete my makeup, and smack my lips together to seal the lipstick. After splashing on a puff of perfume, I head into the living room, finding Ryurik in a charcoal suit, sexy and handsome with his hair slicked back again.

God those are eyes to swim in. And why am I nervous around him?

Ryurik grins, his face lighting up. “Let’s go.”

No compliments whatsoever. Just a “let’s go”?Irritated and a little disappointed about his lack of appreciation, even though I see it on his face, I clutch onto my small purse, tilting my head high. Maybe Olga made me believe a little in Ryurik a little too much, too quickly.

Olga doesn’t realize, I’m not the one who needs to brush up on their communication skills.

Chapter Twenty - Ryurik

The words are stuck at the back of my throat, and I want to tell Emily how stunning she is, but those words don’t find their way out of my mouth. I can tell she’s upset about it somehow, even if she doesn’t say it. The hint of a side eye as we head to the car gave it away, but it’s her fault I can’t find the words to tell her.

I took my time finding the right dress, but this one caught my eye when I spotted it hanging in a store window during my lunch break on Magnificent Mile. It stopped me in my tracks.Perfect for my wife.I wanted it to accentuate every curve I’ve already test-driven, and it more than does her justice when I see her wearing it.

She’s a woman who deserves only the best. “Are you cold?” I ask her, making light conversation as we head to one of Chicago’s premier events in the city to battle heart and lung disease called Heart to Breathe Ball. Every year, I select a new charity venture to support, and this is one of them. Not as big as the Golden Heart Foundation work, but big enough for me to take an interest.

“No. I’ve got my shawl for the night, thank you,” she replies, her cheekbones highlighted with bronze, the lights from the outside catching it. I knew she had her shawl but wanted to get the bug out of my throat.

“Good.”

“Where are we going by the way? You didn’t tell me.”

“No. I didn’t. Sometimes I’m invited to these events at the last minute, but an associate of mine is going to be there, so it’s a good opportunity to connect with him. I’m bringing you into my world.”

Our fingers sit in the middle of the car seat, close to touching. I want to grab one of her fingers and squeeze it, but don’t. Her eyes skirt away from me, a flicker of disapproval glimmering in them. Confused, I wonder if I said something wrong. Verbal communication might not be my strong suit, but I show my appreciation in different ways.

“Your world, huh? We’re supposed to be married, so how come it’s just your world?” Emily adds huffily, shifting her body away from me.

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