Page 34 of The Bratva's Sold Bride

I could still practice my Spanish, though, and work on getting at least one local resident on my side when the time was right, so I hurried upstairs to change. I’d been bidding my time this long, but I could go another day.

In town, we went to a cute coffee shop I’d been wanting to check out, a little way off the main street and tucked next to a fruit stall, with a park on the other side. I loved a good coffee, but I especially wanted to scope it out and see if a back exit might lead into the trees beyond the park.

Inside, they offered breakfast options as well as coffee and tea, so we decided to stay there and eat. Right after we ordered, but before we could settle in, a local man that I recognized as one of the guys Dima was doing business with, came in and insisted that Dima go check something out.

Dima took him aside for a huddled conversation while Ivan gestured toward a table, rolling his eyes at me.

“He can’t help himself, can he?” he asked.

“You know him better than I do,” I said.

“When he wants something,” Ivan started, but trailed off with a grimace.

“Hmph,” I answered with a scowl.

Clearly, Dima wanted to take care of whatever needed his attention, and Ivan finally waved him away. “Go on, I’ll keep an eye on your little prisoner.”

I couldn’t help but laugh while silently celebrating, because that was exactly how I wanted Dima’s brother to see me, as the prisoner I was. Not that he’d ever help me escape, but at least he wasn’t under any illusion that what Dima and I had was real. However, the look of worry and disappointment on Dima’s face sure looked real, and I turned to the coffee the barista put on the table in front of me to keep from starting to soften towards him.

The last thing I needed was for any pesky feelings to get in the way of my freedom.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised, then glared at Ivan and told him to keep me in his sights at all times.

I would have died of embarrassment if he wasn’t feeding into my plan with his overprotectiveness coming off as controlling.

“So, is all this because your father’s fallen off the map?” Ivan asked once Dima was gone and we both had our chilaquiles in front of us.

I paused with my fork halfway to my lips. “That’s actually news to me,” I said. The last I heard, Papa was dodging Dima’s calls, but had no idea he had gone missing completely. “It’s not like he can use me as a bargaining chip anymore, even if he did rack up a bunch of new debts.”

I let all my true bitterness come out in my voice, and usually, I would have balked at Ivan’s look of pity, but I needed him to understand that I was only there because I’d been sold to Dima. Before he could say anything else, his phone rang, and he apologized, sliding his chair back a few feet to take it.

While I was still in view, he was giving the call his full attention, and for a few glorious moments, I felt close to free. Since we left the guard at home, no prying eyes were boringa hole into me and I dug into my meal with gusto. A woman was seated at the table next to me, and my ears perked up as she struggled to place her order with a very obvious American accent.

Jumping in to help show off my fledgling Spanish, she smiled at me gratefully.

“Thanks,” she said. “I’m Zoey, and believe it or not, I’ve been taking Spanish lessons at home for three months.”

“It’s really hard in the real world, though,” I said, introducing myself.

She was about my age, with long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, and a splash of freckles across her nose. She had a closed laptop next to her but ignored it and started up a conversation with me. It was clear she was glad to be able to speak without stumbling, and I had no idea how hungry I was to talk with another woman, since I had been surrounded by men for the last few weeks.

It turned out Zoey was a free-spirited writer who took a leave of absence from her teaching job to try to finish her first novel. She randomly chose our little town and hoped the peace and quiet would help her focus.

“I’ve been dying to talk to someone for more than a couple words at a time,” she admitted, glancing at Ivan as he continued his phone conversation. “Is that your boyfriend?”

“Brother-in-law,” I said begrudgingly.

Of course, she’d be interested in him; he was as gorgeous as any of the Fokin men. Maybe not as beautiful as Dima, not that I was comparing them. Her curiosity grew when she learned he wasn’t mine, and seemed thrilled to draw him intothe conversation when he got off the phone. Ever the flirt like his siblings, Ivan basked in the attention like a cat in the sun.

We hung out the whole morning and when Ivan went up to the counter to get us refills, or slipped off to the restroom, I tried to play the part of someone who was anxious about something. It wasn’t hard, since Dima could show up at any time and who knew when I might see Zoey again. Should I take a chance and risk telling her I needed help?

It was too soon, too much was at stake, so I just rolled with the casual conversation. When Dima met up with us close to lunch time, he helped my cause by looking at Zoey like she wore a vest of explosives and was threatening to blow the place up.

“Let’s go,” he said, barely smiling when I introduced him.

“I guess I have to leave,” I said quietly.

“Do you want to meet up here again tomorrow?” Zoey asked.

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