Page 29 of Forced Prisoner By the Bratva

She stole a glance in my direction. “Tortilla de Patatas. It's basically a Spanish omelet.”

Right. I almost forgot that she was part Spanish from her mother's side.

Once she was done cooking, she turned to me, her eyes squinting ever so slightly like she was weighing her options. Perhaps she was a bit skeptical about her next words. There was a glint of reluctance in her voice when she asked, “Would you like some?”

I held her gaze, my signature smirk perched on my lips. “I would.”

She broke eye contact and slid a perfectly portioned slice of Spanish omelet onto a plate. The aroma of caramelized onions, potatoes, and eggs wafted up, invading my senses.

The golden brown edges of the slice glistened in the kitchen light as she added a sprinkle of chopped fresh parsley on top. A dollop of creamy aioli and a few slices of crusty bread accompanied the omelet, accentuating the pleasing sight.

She strolled over to me and served the dish, placing it on the countertop.

The rich and savory aroma with a hint of smokiness from the cooked potatoes made my stomach growl in anticipation.

I met her gaze for a fleeting moment, her eyes daring me to try the omelet. And I did; I lifted it to my lips, and the moment I took a bite, the flavors exploded on my tongue. The taste was rich and satisfying, with a subtle hint of sweetness from the caramelized onions.

As I chewed, all the flavors blended together, coating my tongue with a rich, savory goodness. “Not bad,” I commented, my voice calm and composed, contrasting with the intense rush of sweetness and satisfaction I experienced.

Her lips curved into a faint smile, her expression softening in a way I hadn't seen in a long time. This was the first decent conversation we'd had since we got married, and it felt really good— as good as theTortilla de Patatasin my mouth.

For the next few seconds, it was silent between us, and mild tension hovered in the air. She held my gaze, a glimmer of passion sparkling in the depths of her dark eyes. She looked relaxed and maybe even…comfortable.

We weren't fighting or arguing about anything despite the heavy malice and anger we'd carried with us for weeks. In this moment, it was just the two of us; nothing else mattered, and no one else mattered. It was as though the world around us was melting away, and personally, all I saw was her.

I watched her lips retain that charming smile, however faint. Her skin simmered under the kitchen’s warm light; her eyes shone brighter than I'd ever seen, revealing her soft and endearing side.

The woman looking at me across the counter was a stark contrast to the icy and resistant woman I'd married for an alliance.

Loose strands of her tied-up hair framed her face, highlighting her beauty. She was captivating, so hot and sexy that I felt myself drawn to her—literally.

Nevertheless, I quickly snapped out of my trance, keeping my usual composure. “Why?” I asked, shattering the silence that had endured for far too long.

Her eyes narrowed, brows furrowing slightly to mirror the puzzled look on her face.

My question was a little vague, so I elaborated on that without taking my eyes off her. “Why were you against this marriage?”

She blinked a few times like the question had caught her off guard—clearly, she hadn’t been expecting that. Her hesitation was palpable, but in the end, she indulged me. She rubbed her eyes and heaved a sigh. “I'm a human being, too, Erik,” she began, her tone soft, polite, and respectful. “I have dreams and aspirations.”

I saw a scoff escape her lips, accompanied by a smile that concealed the pain simmering beneath the surface.

“I had plans on how I wanted my life to turn out,” she continued, raising her head to meet my gaze, her shoulders shrugging. “I wanna own a business—a fashion one, to be precise—and I had it all mapped out. But can you guess what happened?” She paused, letting the words sink in for a minute.

Her question was rhetorical and laced with mild sarcasm, but I chose to answer anyway. “I came along.”

“Exactly,” she concurred. “You came along, and my family sold me off to a man I knew nothing about. But hey, that's just a small price to pay, am I right?” Again, she was sarcastic, her subtle smile unwavering. “Now, I'm stuck in this house, and I can't pursue my dreams because I'm married to you.”

I leaned forward, holding her gaze, my voice low and husky. “Okay, first, your family didn't sell you off. You're not some piece of property. And second, who says you can't chase your dreams because you're married to me?” I asked, my tone dripping with both curiosity and a hint of challenge.

Her brows arched in disbelief, and she reflexively leaned forward, her elbows on the countertop. “Wait, what're you saying?” she questioned, her chest heaving with anticipation, probably hoping that I wasn't just teasing her.

“I'm saying that you can be my wife and still be a business owner,” I said, my lips curling into a smile.

Her face lit up in a way I'd never seen before, and her eyes, crinkling at the corners, shone with mirth. She pulled her head back, squinting with a skeptical expression. “Are you messing with me right now? Is this some kind of joke, 'cause it's funny,” she blurted out, a faint frown flashing across her face.

“You really think so lowly of me, huh?” I said, amused by her perception of the kind of man I was.

Her smile broadened, and her eyes widened at the realization that this wasn't some elaborate joke. I was dead serious. Seeing that much joy overwhelming her melted my heart, and I couldn’t help but grin.

---