Page 21 of Plus-Size Curves for the Bratva

“Name it,” I ask immediately, relief flooding through my veins.

“We’ll get around to seeing your operations when I truly feel I’m ready for it.”

I want to protest, to have her go now. But, with Natalia, I’m learning it’s best for her to take the reins sometimes. Or else, she’ll go back into her shell. However uncomfortable it is for me to give up control in this situation, I do just that, because of the promises I’ve made her.

“Done,” I say, and extend my hand.

She takes it, shaking it firm, and a warm tingle spreads up my hand, as it itches for more. But for now, I must be patient.

Chapter 9 - Natalia

My hands tremble with excitement as I smooth out the raw silk on my work table. The sunlight streaming through the studio windows catches on the sheen, sending tiny slivers of light dancing across the walls. I can't help but grin, imagining how stunning this gown will look on my new model.

"This is it," I whisper to myself, running my fingers along the delicate beadwork. "My big break."

I've poured my soul into this collection, and with the right model, I just know it'll be my ticket to the fashion world's inner circle. If I do this well, it will only be a matter of time before word-of-mouth spreads and the orders roll in. My mind races with visions of runway shows and magazine spreads as I make a few last-minute adjustments to the dress form.

The clock on the wall ticks steadily, each second bringing me closer to more news on my mystery model. Denis said I was to begin working on the new outfit today! I keep shaking my legs, too keyed up to sit still.

As if summoned by my impatience, I hear footsteps approaching. My heart leaps into my throat. Finally! More news on who I’m designing for!

The door swings open, and I take in the tall, muscular figure filling the doorway. Those piercing gray eyes meet mine, and I jump out of my chair.

“Have we found her?” I ask, running over to him. “I have so many designs ready to showcase and pray she likes them. Who is she?”

Denis's lips quirk up in a half-smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Found her? Natalia, you're looking at your model."

The joy that had filled me moments ago vanishes in an instant. I take a step back, trying to make sense of this situation. "You?" I splutter, my voice rising in disbelief. "You're my model? But you… you can't be serious. This is not how this is supposed to work! I design dresses, Denis."

Denis shrugs, the movement making his tailored shirt stretch enticingly across his broad shoulders. I hate that I notice. "There’s no reason why you can’t design suits," he says simply. "It’s simple, really. You make my outfit for a star-studded event next week, and you attend it with me."

I blink rapidly, trying to process this new development. Attend an event with Denis Zolotov? The very idea makes my stomach twist with nerves.

"Absolutely not," I snap, planting my hands on my hips. "I refuse to be part of whatever Bratva scheme you're cooking up. Find yourself another designer for your illegal activities."

Denis's eyebrows rise slightly, a flicker of surprise breaking through his composed facade. "Bratva scheme? Natalia, you misunderstand. This is for a charity event."

I scoff, rolling my eyes. "Right. And I'm the Queen of England. I wasn't born yesterday, Denis."

He takes a step closer, and I instinctively back up, my lower back hitting my worktable. Denis stops, his gray eyes softening. "I give you my word. This is a legitimate fundraiser for children's hospitals. No Bratva involvement whatsoever."

I search his face for any sign of deception but find only sincerity. Still, I can't shake my suspicion. "Why you, then? Surely there are actual models available."

Denis's lips quirk into a small smile. "Perhaps I wanted to give you a chance to explore your capabilities. To design out of your comfort level."

My chest now pounds with heady nervousness, and I silently curse my body's reaction to him. "That's… that's not a good enough reason," I stammer, hating how flustered I sound.

"No?" Denis asks, his voice low and intimate. "Then consider this: by modeling for you, I ensure your designs get the attention they deserve. My presence at the event guarantees media coverage."

I bite my lip, considering his words. The practical part of me can't deny the potential benefits, but my stubbornness isn't ready to give in just yet.

"I…" I start, then falter, torn between opportunity and my desire to keep Denis at arm's length.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. "Fine," I finally concede, my voice barely above a whisper. "But this doesn't change anything between us, Denis. It's strictly professional."

He nods, a glimmer of what seems to be disappointment flashing in his eyes. "Of course, Natalia. Shall we begin?"

Gritting my teeth, I grab my measuring tape and gesture for him to stand in the center of the room. As I approach, the air seems to thicken, making it harder to breathe. Denis towers over me.

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