Page 54 of Plus-Size Bratva Bride

As I strode across the casino floor, my eyes scanned the crowd automatically. And then, like a mirage in the desert, I saw her.

Pippa stood near the high-stakes tables, her light brown curls cascading over her shoulders. She wore one of those pencil skirts that hugged her curves in all the right ways, paired with a crisp blouse. Even from a distance, I could see the familiar flash of red on her lips.

My heart rate kicked up a notch. She was here. She came in to work. I could still talk to her. A wave of relief passed through my nerves.

I cut through the sea of gamblers and cocktail waitresses, my eyes locked on Pippa like a heat-seeking missile. She hadn't spotted me yet, thank god. I know if she had, she would be walking away right about now.

As I closed in, I saw her smile at something a colleague said. That smile—the one that lit up her whole face and made her eyes sparkle—was like a knife twisting in my gut. Because I knew, deep down, that I might never see it directed at me again.

But I had to try. I had to make this right.

"Pippa," I called out, my voice carrying over the din of slot machines and excited chatter.

She turned, those bottle-green eyes widening as they met mine.

Her smile faltered for a split second before she regained her composure. She straightened her spine and stared at me, that smile no longer on her pretty face.

"Mr. Ustinov," she said, her voice cool and professional. "Is there something I can help you with?"

The formality stung, but I wasn't about to let her see how much. "Cut the crap, Pippa. We need to talk."

Her eyes darted around, probably looking for an escape route. "I'm working, Abe. This isn't the time or place."

I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "Then when is? You've been dodging my calls all night and morning."

A flicker of guilt crossed her face, quickly replaced by determination. "I've been busy."

"Busy moving apartments without telling me?" I couldn't keep the accusation out of my voice.

Pippa's eyes flashed. "I wasn't aware I needed your permission to make personal decisions."

My frustration boiled over. "Dammit, Pippa. That's not what this is about and you know it.”

She took a deep breath, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her blouse. "I'm not running, Abe. I'm… prioritizing."

"Prioritizing what?"

"My safety. My independence." Her voice was steady, but I caught the slight tremor in her hands. "I’m taking it into myown hands. I thought it was better to find a new address, you know, just in case someone’s still looking.”

The words hit me like a sucker punch. Did I really not deserve to know that? "I thought… I thought you would have said something about that, Pippa. I would have helped you do that."

Her expression softened for a moment, and I saw a glimpse of the vulnerability she usually kept hidden. "I’m staying with a friend for now. She’ll help me find a new place.”

I wanted to argue, to tell her that I could be simple for her. But the words caught in my throat.

Pippa glanced at her watch, her green eyes widening in mock surprise. "Oh, would you look at the time? I've got a meeting in five minutes." She took a step back, already half-turning away.

I clenched my jaw, seeing right through her flimsy excuse. But what could I do? Drag her back? Force her to talk to me? That wasn't my style, no matter how much I wanted answers.

"Sure," I growled, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. "Wouldn't want to keep whoever it is waiting."

She nodded and I watched her walk away, her curvy figure accentuated by that damn pencil skirt she loved so much. My fists clenched at my sides, a cocktail of anger and helplessness churning in my gut. How had I, Abrahim fucking Ustinov, become this pathetic? Pining after a woman who couldn't get away from me fast enough?

The next few weeks were torture. Pippa was everywhere and nowhere at once. I'd catch glimpses of her across the casino floor. But the moment I'd try to approach, she'd vanish like smoke.

One day, I cornered her by the elevators. "Pippa, we need to talk."

"Sorry, Abe," she said, not meeting my eyes. "I'm swamped with paperwork." The doors dinged open and she slipped inside.

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