Page 77 of An Arranged Virgin for the Bratva

The crystal chandelier casts a warm glow over the ballroom as I take another sip of my whiskey, nodding along to Peter's animated retelling of his latest business venture. From the corner of my eye, I scan the room. Over a dozen beautiful waitresses serve, smile, pour and fetch. And I have eyes for just one.

I wonder what disguise she’d be in tonight.

"…and that's how we managed to secure the contract," he finishes with a self-satisfied grin.

I force a polite smile. "Impressive work, Peter. The profits should be substantial."

As he launches into another story, I can't help but marvel at how different this feels from just a year ago. Back then, I would have been skulking in the shadows, avoiding small talk like the plague. But now…

My eyes scan the room instinctively, searching for a glimpse of golden hair. Sofia. The woman who turned my world upside down. The one who got me to where I am today.

Just then, I notice a petite woman weaving her way through the crowd. As she moves through the room in that blouse and tight skirt, a cast of admirers follows in her wake like leaves caught in a spring breeze. Men turn to watch her, their gazes lingering on her slender form and the subtle curve of her lips as she flashes them a coy smile.

But, she pays them no further mind when one of them waves a hundred dollar bill in her direction. That coy smile turnscold and she walks right past them to approach a distinguished elderly gentleman seated at a corner table.

The man’s eyes brighten as the waitress pours him a drink. She speaks sweetly, listens attentively to his words, nods at all the right moments and leaves when someone joins him.

I admire her kindness. But realize soon enough that I’m distracted again. Now, where the hell is Sofia?

"To be honest, though, I never thought I'd see the day when Vlad Zolotov willingly attended a social gathering," Peter chuckles, pulling me from my reverie.

I shrug. "Times change. People change."

"And what brought about this miraculous transformation?" he probes, eyebrows raised.

Before I can answer, a commotion erupts beside us. That same petite waitress with chestnut curls stumbles, nearly spilling her tray of champagne flutes. I frown, in disbelief. I had just witnessed her grace. How could that same woman be so accident prone all of a sudden?

I watch her with narrowed eyes, taking a step back from Peter.

"Oh! I'm so terribly sorry," she gushes, her cheeks flushing as she rights herself. Her eyes, a startling shade of green, lock onto Peter. "How clumsy of me. I hope I didn't get anything on your lovely suit, Sir."

Peter's usual composure crumbles as he stammers, "N-no harm done, Miss. These things happen."

I watch, fascinated, as the waitress bats her eyelashes over deep blue eyes and giggles. She sets down the tray on the table beside us and turns her back to us. She takes a moment longer than needed before turning back to face us with a handfulof paper napkins, far more than are needed. Her fingers brush against Peter's coat to help him get clean.

“It’s alright, Miss.” Peter blushes. “I can do it.” He tries, reaching for her hand.

“No, Sir. Please. A handsome man like you in a handsome suit like that. I really must insist.”

I watch her hands while Peter watches her face, his eyes trailing down her neckbone. There, between the napkins, I see a flash of something small and black.

Sofia?

I hold back a chuckle as I watch Peter blush, letting her finish dabbing the coat. Only except, I know she’s doing a lot more than helping him clean up. Once done, she bats her lashes at him and passes him a fresh glass of champagne. The typically unflappable man is practically tripping over his words. “Th…thank you, Miss.”

"You're welcome," she purrs. "I do hope you're enjoying the party. Is there anything else I can get for you?"

As Peter fumbles for a response, I hide my smirk behind my glass. Who would have thought the fearsome Bratva Pakhan could be reduced to a blushing schoolboy by a pretty face and a coy smile?

She hands Peter a glass of champagne and picks up her tray. She walks right up to me and looks up at me. I watch, enthralled, as she bites her lower lip and slowly slides her gaze up from my chest to my eyes. “And you, Sir? Anything I can get you?”

I bend lower, and mutter under my breath. “Oh, trust me. You can give me a lot, but none of that would be appropriate around here.”

I see her lips part slightly and her eyes flash with a challenging thrill. “You shouldn’t go talking like that, Sir. Some might consider it harassment.”

And then, to my surprise, she winks and turns around, walking away from me.

I give her a few seconds in a head start. All this time, she’s been serving right beneath my nose, while I’ve been wondering where Sofia is? I swear, my wife gets better and better with each passing day.

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