Page 10 of Plus-Size Curves for the Bratva

"Enough," I decide, knocking gently.

“Natalia?” I ask.

No response.

“Nat. I know you’re in there.”

Footsteps. I hear footsteps. The door swings open and Natalia stands before me, her brows turned inward. “Don’t call me that,” she says, crossing her arms in front of her.

I try not to notice how low her top is cut. I keep my eyes on her face, afraid of the heat simmering down my neck.

“Don’t call you what?” I ask, confused.

“Nat,” she says. “It’s Natalia to you.”

I shrug. “Okay,Natalia,” I grin, knowing it’s probably annoying her. “I made us dinner and seeing the state the kitchen was in, I’m guessing you haven’t eaten.”

“I’m fine,” she says, though her eyes linger on the wine.

Disappointment crushes me. What the hell was I expecting, though?

“Well, take the wine, at least,” I force the glass into her hands. She sips it, slowly, waiting for me to leave.

“There’s food downstairs if you want,” I say in a parting note and turn around when I hear… her stomach rumble.

I turn, eyebrow raised, only to see her blushing.

“Fine,” she says, avoiding my gaze as she walks past me. “I might as well eat now.”

“As you wish,” I say softly, trying not to scare her, but my smile speaks volumes.

***

The dining room glows with soft candlelight, casting flickering shadows across the meticulously set table. I adjust the silverware one last time, my fingers twitching with nervous energy. Across from me, Natalia sits rigidly in her chair, her chocolate brown eyes darting everywhere but my face.

"How’s the Pirozhki?" I ask, desperate to break the suffocating silence.

Natalia's fork scrapes against her plate. "It's fine."

I suppress a sigh. "I remembered you mentioned liking rosemary. I hope I didn't overdo it."

Her gaze finally meets mine, a flicker of surprise in those expressive eyes. "You… remembered that?"

I nod, encouraged by this tiny victory. "Of course. I want to learn your likes and dislikes, Natalia. We're married now, after all."

The moment shatters. Natalia's face hardens, her jaw clenching. "Right. Married. Because I had so much choice in the matter."

"Natalia, please," I begin, but she cuts me off.

"No, Denis. You don't get to play the caring husband now." Her voice rises, fierce and defiant. "You're just like my brothers, thinking you can control every aspect of my life!"

I feel my own temper flaring, but I force it down. "That's not true. I'm trying to—"

"To what?" Natalia interrupts, pushing her chair back with a screech. "You agreed to an arranged marriage, only because you knew you could control your future wife. Why else would one sign up for this? You knew my family would be involved and that you don’t have to put in any work because they’ll make sure this marriage lives on."

Her words sting, but I can see the hurt and frustration burning in her eyes. This isn't just about me—it's years of pent-up resentment spilling over.

"I'm not your jailer, Natalia," I say, keeping my voice low and steady. "I want to be your partner. As for agreeing to the marriage, it was the right thing to do."

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