Page 61 of Used Bratva Bride

Julie’s head turns slightly, eyes narrowing, but I don’t look at her.

Denis’s smug expression falters, and the hush that falls over the group is almost palpable. The weight of Julie’s words settles like a challenge in the air, daring him to say something—anything—to regain control of the conversation.

For the first time since this ridiculous wedding arrangement began, I feel something I hadn’t expected—pride.

Not in myself. Not in the way I’ve played my cards. In her.

Julie doesn’t shrink under Denis’s stare. She doesn’t look away, doesn’t fidget or try to take her words back. If anything, she looks almost bored, like dealing with him is just another inconvenience in a long list of things she has to tolerate.

Denis mutters something under his breath, but it’s lost in the low murmur of voices around us.

He knows he’s lost this one.

Without another word, he steps back, his lips pressed into a thin line as he disappears into the crowd.

I watch him go, but my focus shifts back almost immediately.

Julie.

She stands tall, her expression unreadable, but I catch the way her shoulders lift just slightly—like she’s bracing for something.

I tilt my head, watching her closely.

Then, slowly, my lips curve into a grin. Maybe there was more to her than I had anticipated.

I take a slow sip of my drink, letting my gaze drag over her. She stands there, still composed, though I don’t miss the way her breath is just the slightest bit uneven.

“Didn’t know you had that in you,” I murmur, stepping closer.

Julie’s eyes flick up to mine, guarded but alert. “You didn’t expect me to just stand there and take it, did you?”

I smirk. “I half expected you to wilt. Maybe even run.”

She lifts her chin, her lips parting slightly as if she’s considering her next words carefully. “I’m not afraid of men who hide behind their words.”

My amusement deepens. “That so?”

She tilts her head, eyes searching mine. “Is that why you keep talking instead of doing something?”

The challenge in her voice sends a sharp jolt of desire straight through me.

Bold little thing.

I reach for her without warning, my fingers slipping under her chin, tilting her face up toward mine. Her breathhitches, but she doesn’t pull away. Her skin is warm beneath my touch, soft, delicate.

“You want me to do something, Julie?” I murmur.

She swallows, her throat bobbing against my thumb. “I want you to stop acting like you can intimidate me.”

I chuckle, low and dark, because it’s amusing she thinks that’s what this is. Intimidation. As if I need to use fear when I can have her in so many other ways.

I lean in, my mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “I’m not trying to intimidate you, printsessa.”

She tenses at the closeness, but she doesn’t move.

I kiss her then.

Rough, claiming, a firm press of my mouth against hers.

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