Page 25 of The Bratva's Virgin Bride

I bury myself in my pillows. I can feel I'm blushing. I can’t go to dinner now. I can’t face him. When Rachel comes upstairs to knock on my door, I pretend to be asleep and listen to her receding footsteps. I lie there in silence trying to figure out what I'm going to do. Eventually, I get up and have a hot shower to wash away the embarrassment. Then, I switch on the cold water to cool down. I brush my teeth and get into bed.

I toss and turn through most of the night and when I check my clock beside my bed. I see it's just past midnight. My stomach rumbles and I regret not going to dinner. I get up and put a dressing robe on over my pajamas. I sneak out of my bedroom and downstairs. The kitchen light is on and I can hear noises coming from in there. I peek in and see Viktor rummaging inside the fridge. I turn to leave, but he looks up and calls my name.

“Riley? What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” I say, crossing my arms over myself.

“I was hungry,” he says simply. “I wanted to make something to eat.”

“I was also hungry,” I admit. “Do you have snacks?”

“Snacks won't do,” Viktor chuckles. “Let me make you something to eat.”

“What are you going to make?” I ask.

Viktor looks back in the fridge. “Pasta with some sauce,” he finally says.

“I'll help,” I say. “Just tell me what to do.”

“Well, you can dice up some tomatoes.” He reaches into the fridge and pulls some out. When he passes them to me, his hand brushes against mine, and I involuntarily blush. He's shirtless and very muscular. He has intricate tattoos all over the top half of his body, and I briefly wonder how far down they extend.

He takes out some herbs and points to the sink. “There's a chopping board under there. I'll get you a knife.

I give myself a mental shake and try to get my mind out of the gutter. I walk over to the sink, get two chopping boards out, and set them on the counter with the tomatoes next to the herbs. He comes with two knives and holds one out to me. “Be careful. Don't cut yourself.”

Our hands brush again as he passes the knife and I can't help the small smile that crosses my face. He's so gentle and caring. It's a side to him that doesn't normally show. He comes across as a bit ruthless, but this last week I've been seeing a different side to him—when he isn't annoying me.

I start to dice up the tomatoes while he rummages around and puts some pots on the stove. He fills the one with water and turns on the plate so the water can boil. He adds some salt and oil to the pot before he moves over to stand next to me. Our arms touch as I dice tomatoes and he starts to chop herbs. “I have some minced meat that will make a nice Bolognese.”

“Sounds yummy,” I say.

We finish our cutting and he checks the water is boiling before he adds some spaghetti to the pot. He turns the other plate on and puts in some olive oil. Once it's heated, he puts in some mince and starts to chop it up with a masher. He makes sure it's small and browned before he throws in the herbs. Hegets some spices from the cupboard and seasons the mince, smiling at me.

“My mother liked Italian cuisine,” he explains. “She taught us how to make some basic dishes.”

“That's nice,” I say, coming to look at what he's doing. I lean over and our bodies touch. I pull back and blush. “Sorry.”

“No, it's fine. Do you want to taste to see if it's seasoned enough?”

“Sure,” I say as he pulls out a spoon and picks up some mince. He blows on it gently and then holds it to my lips.

“Don't burn yourself now,” he says quietly.

I blow on the mince and taste it. “That's good.”

“Great, pass the tomatoes.” I pass him the chopping board and he scrapes the tomatoes into the mince and starts to stir.

The kitchen suddenly feels very warm, and I realize that we've been close to one another, moving around in each other's personal space for a few minutes now. He smiles to himself and scoops out a piece of spaghetti to taste. He blows on it and shoves it into his mouth unceremoniously.

He nods and gets a strainer out. “Can you hold this for me? I'll be careful not to burn you.”

“Sure,” I say, taking the strainer to the sink and holding it over there. He turns off the stove and brings the pot over. He carefully pours the spaghetti and water through the strainer. Once done, he sets the pot down and takes the strainer from me, balancing it on the pot. “Great, that's one thing done.”

I turn to walk back to the other side of the kitchen and bump into him. He looks down at me with heavy eyes and I let out a soft sigh.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, but he makes no move to get out of the way.

I nod and pull away slightly. He turns and goes back to the stove. He leaves to fetch a bottle of sauce from the pantry. He comes back and pours it into the mince, stirring diligently.

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