Page 54 of The Bratva's Sold Bride

“I already told you I was staying longer,” I snapped. “I told Olivia the threat hasn’t been settled yet, so just chill out for another day or two.”

I hung up on him, not caring about his argument when I had a surf lesson to get to. I turned to find Olivia standing in the doorway and froze. The look on her face told me instantly that she had overheard enough of my conversation with Ivan to know I had lied to her. And she was pissed about it.

“We were having such a nice time,” I said, trying to cajole my way out of a fight. More than anything, I wanted peace with Olivia. I wanted to continue this fantastic honeymoon we were finally having. Just like a normal couple, just like she wanted. “Tell me you’re not having a good time,” I said.

She shook her head, refusing to admit any such thing. “It’s just one more thing you have control over. Where I go, how long I have to stay there. If you wanted to go to Russia or the North Pole, I’d have no choice in the matter.”

“Olivia,” I said calmly, still not giving up hope. “You’re mine. Of course, we stay together when there’s trouble. But you do have a choice. What do you want to do? Stay or go?”

Her eyes narrowed, and she looked around as if she wanted to find something to throw at me. Then, she turned and stormed out of the room. I found her in our bedroom, throwing her things into her bag.

I guess that was my answer. The honeymoon was over.

Chapter 31 - Olivia

A week went by after we returned, and it felt like time was dragging its ancient ass through waist-high mud. Dima and I were in a stony truce. I was slowly driving him up a wall by reverting to my long-practiced professionalism and acting completely polite if I bothered to talk to him at all.

It was so clear he hated it, but if he picked a fight, he lost the battle because I’d only smile and nod. He’d look like a beast for going off on me for no reason. It was perverse, and I also hated it, because he’s the first man who made me feel like I didn’t have to be perfect to avoid a fight, but if I faltered, I might end up liking him again, like I did at the resort.

Or worse, trusting him.

If only we didn’t have so much in common or laughed at all the same things. Our chemistry was off the charts, and I already knew if I ever did manage to get away, I’d die alone because no man could compare to him. Certainly not any of the so-called normal guys I imagined when I dreamed about getting away from the Bratva. Whenever Dima touched me, or even looked at me in that way he had, it was like fireworks went off in every one of my senses.

But even if we didn’t steam up every room we were in, would the imaginary guy lie to me? Wasn’t trust more important than fireworks?

At that point, I wasn’t sure. And I wasn’t sure he was suffering worse than I was, because he was busy with whatever he was doing to secure his new territory, while I was stuck at home with nothing to do but get lost in my thoughts.

For some reason he was home well after our quietly polite breakfast ended, and just knowing he was in the house wasworking me into a frenzy. I didn’t think about what kind of mood I was in too closely. It didn’t matter, I was wound up and ready for something to happen.

I headed out to the makeshift shooting range that Ivan and Dima still used when they happened to be around for long enough. I was wearing a pair of very short shorts and a clingy top while practicing with a variety of Dima’s arsenal. Was I hoping he’d come out and see me and admire my excellent aim? In truth, I was dying for our stalemate to come to an end, even if it meant a screaming match.

But what if it ended a different way?

No, I absolutely could not think about him dragging me close to his big body and kissing me until I was hanging onto him to keep from melting into the ground. If I kept giving up and losing my senses whenever he touched me, I might as well give up and accept my fate.

I didn’t give up, ever. For once, I was going to get what I wanted, not what my father or my forced husband willed for me.

I shot off an entire clip, sending cans flying and a bottle shattering into a thousand pieces. That was going to be a pain in the ass to clean up, and decided to set a rule about not using glass bottles out at the range. Maybe I’d even make a sign since I had little else to occupy my time.

I turned to rummage through the ammo bag I brought with me and realized my ill-fated wish had come true. Dima stood at the tree line of the clearing, watching me with the kind of interest that had me tingling. Forcing myself to ignore him, I reloaded the gun. In a second, he was at my side, taking it from me and shooting off every round. I was mesmerized by the calm, sure movements of his arm as it rose, his hand as it ever so gently squeezed the trigger.

As the final shot still echoed off the mountains, he turned and gave me a long, slow once over in my barely there outfit, making me shiver in anticipation.

“Do you want to go into town?” he asked.

Disappointment and relief flooded me at the same time. It was a minor miracle I remained upright. “Yes, that sounds fine,” I said, hurrying past him to change into something that wouldn’t get me arrested. And to keep from grabbing him and pulling him into the dirt with me.

The only reason the trip into town wasn’t completely silent was because Andre drove us in and Dima kept up a low conversation with him in the front seat. I sat in the back alone, and had no idea why this would somehow hurt my feelings. I was a mess.

Dima dropped me off with Andre in tow at the coffee shop, where Zoey was at work at a corner table, her head down in concentration over her laptop. When the little bell on the door tinkled as we entered, she glanced up, then smiled with delight when she saw it was me.

“Oh my God, I was so worried,” she said, hurrying to pull me to her table. “I didn’t know if you were ever coming back.”

Andre drifted off to his own table and snapped open a tattered paperback book, pretending to ignore my presence.

I sat down as Zoey continued to express relief that I was still around, clearly searching for visible bruises after I was dragged away by my brute of a husband over a week ago. I shoved down my guilt that I led her to think I might actually have any bruises, and felt like the devil himself for wishing I’d thought ahead and slammed my arm in a door or something.

I was at my breaking point. It was now or never.

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