Page 20 of Plus-Size Curves for the Bratva

“Not today,” I growl, and gently grab her arm.

“What the hell?” she protests, as I guide her to the table and help her into a chair.

I sit across from her, my gaze unwavering. Natalia fidgets under my stare, clearly uncomfortable with this ambush.

“I’m done with this game, Natalia,” I say firmly. “You can’t keep avoiding me forever. We need to talk.”

Her eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape route that she won’t find. With a defeated sigh, she finally meets my gaze head-on. “Fine, then talk,” she challenges.

I take a moment to gather my thoughts, choosing my words carefully. “I know you’re scared of me, of this life I lead,” I start, watching as her guard goes up instantly. “But you can’t keep running away without giving me the chance to prove myself.”

Natalia’s brows knit in confusion. “A chance for what, Denis? For you to pretend to be someone you’re not? To put on a show?”

"You’ve discovered a new side of me, yes. But, I'm still the same man you know, Natalia," I say softly. "The one who cares about his family, who listens to your dreams. That part of me isn't a lie. A man can be more than one thing, have facets to him.”

Her eyes soften for a moment, but then she shakes her head. "How can I trust that? How can I know which version of you is real?"

I reach out, my fingers brushing hers on the table. She doesn't pull away, and I count that as a small victory. "Let me show you," I say, my voice urgent. "Give me a chance to prove that there's more to me than what you saw that day."

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. She frowns, tilting her head as though trying to understand.

“Come with me to see my operations, please. Support me, and I’ll support you. That’s how we should function—as a partnership, a team.”

I try to remind her of the fact that we’re married after all, without stating the obvious.

“A team?” she inquires, her voice quivering.

"Your designs," I begin, my tone shifting to one of sincere interest. "I know how much this means to you. I want to help you make it everything you've dreamed of."

Natalia's eyebrows shoot up, her eyes widening with surprise. "My designs? What do you mean?"

I lean in, my voice low and earnest. "I have connections, resources. I can help you showcase them to people, and get someone to model your clothes where they’ll be noticed. Whatever you need to make your vision a reality."

As I speak, I can see the wheels turning in Natalia's mind. Her eyes narrow, skepticism clear in her expression. She bites her lower lip, a habit I've come to recognize when she's deep in thought.

"Why would you do that?" she asks, her voice a mix of suspicion and curiosity.

I can almost hear her internal struggle. Is this a trick? What's the catch? But beneath that, I sense a flicker of hope, a yearning for the dream she's held close for so long.

"Because I care about you," I say simply, allowing my guard to drop just a fraction. "Your dreams matter to me, Natalia. I want to see you succeed, to be part of that journey if you'll let me. And in return, I want you to be a part of my journey. To see what I have to offer to the world, apart from the darkness you witnessed.”

I remain still, letting her see the sincerity in my eyes. After a long moment, she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I knew it sounded too good to be true," she doesn’t mince her words, her fingers fidgeting with the napkin on the table. "You’re only offering to help so I do what you want. So you can control me!”

I feel a twinge of frustration, but I push it down. Her caution is understandable, even if it pains me. "I'm offering support, not control," I explain patiently. "The clothing business would be yours, every decision would be yours. I'm just providing the means to make it happen faster.”

I lean back in my chair, a smirk playing at the corners of my mouth. "Besides, I've seen how you work. If I tried to control your creativity, we'd be out of business in a week."

Natalia's eyes widen, and for a moment, I worry I've overstepped. Then, a snort of laughter escapes her. "As if you could even operate a glue gun and sequins, Zolotov," she retorts, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I'll have you know I'm quite skilled with… heating things up," I counter, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

She rolls her eyes, but I catch the faint blush creeping up her cheeks. "Stick to your day job, big guy. Leave the stitching to the professionals."

With each exchange, I feel the tension between us softening. It's intoxicating, this push and pull between us.

Finally, Natalia lets out a long sigh, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Okay," she says softly, meeting my gaze. "I'll… take you up on your offer. But on one condition?”

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