Page 28 of The Bratva's Prisoner Bride

"And writing?"

Feeling as my embarrassment deepened at him pointing the lies out, I shook my head, looking down at my plate. "I couldn't write a book to save my life."

A sound somewhere between a huff and a muted chuckle escaped him at that, and he nodded, pushing the meat around his plate for a moment. "I figured as much."

"All of it was made up for his sake," I continued quietly, strangely feeling more willing to talk about it then, almost like I was approaching a moment of catharsis.

Something shifted faintly in Ivan's gaze then, and his tone reached me with less harshness. "Then what wasn't made up?"

Pulling in a breath, I gathered my thoughts, aware of how loaded that question was. "Everything had been mostly normal before the explosion, but after the fact, Rurik used it to his advantage and hid me away, giving me different identities depending on what served his goals. I was stuck with him and didn't have much of a choice but to follow his orders."

"It must not have been too bad if you were complying," he stated almost cautiously, gauging my reaction.

I couldn't help the bitter scoff that slipped past my lips. "My compliance didn't make things any better. It didn't make it worse, necessarily, but nothing about my situation was ideal. I might be his sister, but he never let that mean much of anything to him."

For a moment, I wondered if I was imagining things. Ivan's expression softened slightly, almost like he felt bad forme, and part of me wished I could see what was unraveling in his mind.

"His own sister was treated no better than a pawn?"

While he was on the mark with that assessment, it sent a prickle of shame through me, and I nodded. "Pretty much, yeah."

"And was this always his MO?" He asked, maintaining that vague interest.

Without needing to think about it, I nodded. "Yes...I never really had anything of my own. From the moment he could, he controlled me. From who I pretended to be down to what I wore."

I didn't know why I felt the need to explain myself at that moment. Why the opportunity to clear the air and absolve my involvement was one I didn't want to pass on. Regardless of what he thought, I didn’t owe Ivan anything, yet a part of me didn’t want him to still think the worst of me.

Looking across the table at him reminded me of the version of him I met in Mexico, and in a way, it was disarming enough for me to drop some of my walls.

I let go of another breath. “Rurik was the only reason why I went by Zoey, and why I lied to you and your family…if I had the choice, I never would’ve done it.”

Holding his gaze then, facing the whole thing head-on, I felt vulnerable to a point that almost ached. But I couldn’t take it back. I could only silently hope for the best, regardless of it not changing anything.

To my surprise, Ivan seemed to truly take in my words, processing them as if they were actually getting through to him. Before, he had seemed so resistant and uninterested in any kind of explanation I tried to give him.

But in that moment, he seemed receptive.

For some reason, that felt like something of a victory.

As if remembering himself, Ivan schooled his emotions again and leaned back slightly in his seat. As suddenly as that more genuine expression appeared, it disappeared even faster. The return of that indifference felt more normal, yet made me miss his sincerity.

“And what did you do when he wasn’t dictating your every move?”

My brows furrowed slightly at the question, not expecting to hear it. “What do you mean?”

“Your downtime…how did you spend it?”

A bit thrown off by it, I took a moment to consider my words. “I didn’t have much choice in how I spent my time, but while I was waiting for new orders, I’d normally spend my time reading or watching movies I missed out on. If I could, I’d try to make connections elsewhere…meeting new people and talking to someone other than my brother, or whoever he wanted me to manipulate.”

Ivan nodded to himself, taking in what he could of the information I was willingly offering him. “I imagine being away from him was a relief whenever it happened.”

“That’s an understatement…”

Despite myself, I found the conversation flowing more naturally than I anticipated while we worked through our meal, heading towards the end. But with an absence of his arrogance and smugness, I felt more willing to share.

It seemed like we were genuinely connecting in some way.

After a pocket of brief silence, I glanced up at him. “How many siblings do you have?”

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