Page 23 of Plus-Size Curves for the Bratva

A pretty pink blush colors her cheeks. "Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself, you know."

"I try." I smooth my tuxedo lapel with my spare hand, hyper-aware of her curves pressed against my side. My mind wanders to dangerous territory, imagining those curves beneath my hands. I quickly shake off the thought.

The warmth of her skin, the subtle notes of her perfume—it's intoxicating. I've always known she was attractive, but tonight… tonight feels different somehow. It’s the first time I’ve seen her all dressed up since our wedding, and have to admit it’s a good look on her.

After the pictures are done, I guide Natalia toward the grand ballroom entrance. As we step inside, I hear her soft gasp of wonder and smile. The opulence of the room is truly stunning.

Massive crystal chandeliers hang from the vaulted ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the space. Elegant floral arrangements adorn every table, their delicate, crisp scent permeating through the air. The live band in the corner plays a soft jazz melody, providing the perfect backdrop to the lively chatter of the guests.

"It's like something out of a fairytale," Natalia breathes, her eyes wide as she takes it all in.

I lean in close, unable to resist teasing her a little. "Does that make me your Prince Charming?"

She laughs, the sound light and carefree. "I don't know, Denis. Can you slay dragons?"

"For you?" I find myself saying, surprising even myself with the sincerity in my voice. "I'd face an entire army of them."

The moment the words leave my mouth, there’s a brief moment suspended in time, when the world around us fades away. Natalia sucks in a gasp of air at my declaration, the meaning not lost in the delivery.

And in true Natalia fashion to shift focus from this charged energy between us, she leans in close. "Let's hope this dress holds up through dessert. I'd hate to burst out of it like an overstuffed sausage."

Instead of chuckling at her self-deprecating humor, I find myself seething inside. The mere thought of Natalia comparing herself to an overstuffedanythingannoys the hell out of me. How could she not see her own allure?

Sliding my gaze over her delicate features, my mind races with the need to make her understand. She's not just beautiful; she's captivating. In every sense of the word.

I stop in my tracks and she pauses beside me, her gaze flickering over my face with curiosity as though to ask, all ok?

“Natalia,” I murmur, turning to her and reeling her attention in with my gaze. “Stop right there. You are not, nor will you ever bean overstuffed sausage." My voice carries a weight of seriousness mixed with a hint of playfulness.

She blinks at me in surprise, her eyes wide and nervous. "I-I was just joking, Denis. You know that."

"I do," I reply, stepping closer to her. "But sometimes even jokes have a way of shaping what you believe to be true. And in this case, the joke isn't funny to me."

Natalia's brows furrow and she tilts her head slightly, clearly puzzled by my sudden intensity.

I take a deep breath, trying to find the right words to convey what I see when I look at her. "I mean that you are absolutely stunning, Natalia. Your curves are not something to hide or be shy of. In fact, you’re even more beautiful for it. Can’t you see that? Tonight, and every other night, your curves make you utterly mesmerizing."

She lowers her eyes, blushing as she bites her lower lip. It breaks my heart to think she doesn't see herself the way I do. But I'm determined to change that.

"So, from now on," I continue, my voice unwavering, "I don't want to hear you put yourself down like that again. You are perfect just as you are."

I watch as surprise flickers across her face, followed by a shy smile that makes my heart race. "Thank you, Denis," she murmurs, her cheeks flushing a delightful pink.

A surge of satisfaction swells in my chest, knowing that my words have reached her, even if just a little.

“Now,” I take her arm and lead her through the crowd. “Let’s get some more drinks, shall we?”

As we make our way through the crowd, I notice heads turning in our direction. Natalia's dress is drawing attention, and for good reason. It's a masterpiece accentuating the femininity of her form in all the right ways, the deep red fabric glimmering under the chandeliers' glow.

A woman in her fifties approaches us, her eyes fixed on Natalia's gown. "Excuse me," she says, "I simply must know where you got that dress from. It's absolutely stunning!"

I feel a surge of pride as I place my hand on the small of Natalia's back. "Actually, you're speaking to the designer herself," I say smoothly. "Natalia here is not only beautiful but incredibly talented."

Natalia blushes, but I can see the sparkle of excitement in her eyes. "Oh, it's just something I put together," she says modestly.

"Don't be so humble, Darling," I interject, unable to stop myself from showing her off. "My wife here has a keen eye for fashion and a unique talent for flattering all body types. And she’s starting to take commissions now.”

“Are you really?” the woman gushes and proceeds to ask Natalia for her contact details.

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