Page 14 of Plus-Size Curves for the Bratva

Denis shrugs, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "You pick up a few things in my line of work."

I shake my head, torn between amazement and a grudging sense of gratitude. "I don't know whether to thank you or be terrified of you right now."

He laughs, the sound rich and warm. "How about we settle for a little of both?"

As we weave through the bustling market, I notice how he makes way for me. It's… oddly considerate, the way he shields me from jostling elbows and wayward carts.

"I never pegged you for a fashionista," I tease, when he stops at a stall to look at some sequences.

He chuckles, deep and resonant. "I appreciate beauty in all its forms."

I nod, taking in this new side of him. "Well, um, thank you. For your help today. I honestly didn't expect…"

"That I could be useful?" There's a hint of amusement in his tone.

I bite my lip, feeling a twinge of guilt. "That you'd care enough to try."

We reach the market's edge, the morning sun now fully risen. Denis pauses, his expression thoughtful.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Natalia," he says softly.

I meet his gaze, surprised by the vulnerability I see there. "I'm starting to realize that."

As we leave the market behind, I'm struck by how different this morning has turned out from what I'd feared. The Denis walking beside me isn't just the cold, obsessive figure I'd imagined. He's… complex. Intriguing, even.

"So," I venture, "any other hidden talents I should know about?"

His laugh is genuine this time. "Now, where would the fun be in revealing all my secrets at once?"

I roll my eyes, but can't help smiling.

Chapter 6 - Denis

My hand hovers over the doorknob, wondering if I’m crossing a line. I shouldn’t be here without asking her first, should I? But the memory from that morning in the market still lingers on my mind—it was the first time I saw such a spark in Natalia’s eyes, such brightness in her smile, such jump in her step.

She was truly happy. And when I had this room converted into her own workspace, her face lit up like a million-watt bulb.

How I long to see her that way again—in her element, excited for what’s to come. And to make her happy, this is the only way I know how.

All I need is one sneak peek without being caught. I need to head in, take a quick look around, assess what it is that might still be missing, and stock up her workshop.

I’m willing to doanythingto see her smile. To see that joy directed at me.

"You're being pathetic, Zolotov," I mutter to myself, shaking my head. But it doesn't stop me from turning the knob, easing the door open with practiced stealth.

The sight that greets me steals my breath away. I thought I’d be alone, but clearly, I was wrong. Natalia stands before a mannequin, her brow furrowed in concentration as her hands dance over the shimmering fabric. She's in her element, lost in a world of color and texture.

I lean against the doorframe, mesmerized. Her fingers move with grace, pinning and adjusting with confident precision. The tip of her tongue peeks out between her lips as she works, and I'm struck by an overwhelming urge to taste it.

Beautiful,I think to myself, unable to tear my gaze away from her focused movements. It's like watching an artist paint a masterpiece.

Natalia steps back, tilting her head as she surveys her work. A loose strand of dark blonde hair falls across her face, and I ache to brush it aside, to feel the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips.

She reaches for a sketchpad, scribbling furiously, and I find myself leaning forward, desperate for a glimpse of her creative process. It's utterly captivating.

Natalia remains oblivious to my presence. Her curvy figure sways slightly as she works, and I find myself mesmerized by the gentle rhythm.

I'm torn between two equally powerful desires. Part of me—the obsessive part that craves her attention—wants to announce myself, to have those eyes turn to me. But another part, the one that's learning to be thoughtful, wants to preserve this moment of pure creativity.

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