Page 48 of Plus-Size Curves for the Bratva

Chapter 19 - Natalia

The colors swirl around me like a kaleidoscope as I step into the bustling event space. My heart races with excitement, and the widest smile breaks out as I take in the vibrant chaos of the fashion show. The air thrums with energy, filled with the chatter of attendees and the click-clack of designer heels on the polished floor.

My eyes widen as I spot the host, resplendent in the very outfit I designed—the one Denis modeled. A mischievous thought pops into my head, and I fish out my phone, giggling to myself.

"Oh, Denis is going to love this," I murmur, hitting record. "Hey, Mr. Broody! Look who's wearing your outfit!" I pan the camera across the room, zooming in on the host. "Bet you wish you were here to see it in person, huh?"

I end the recording, my fingers flying over the screen as I attach it to a message. Just as I'm about to hit send, I hesitate. The memories of our previous argument about the external investor come to mind. It’s been a week since though, and he hasn’t said a word about it again. I shake my head, pushing away the doubts. No, Denis loves to cheer me on. That was just a one-off thing, and clearly, the fact that he hasn’t brought it up again means he trusts me to make my own decisions. Besides, I can't resist sharing this moment with him since he’s the one who supported me and got me here.

The message whooshes away, and I tuck my phone back into my clutch, ready to mingle. But before I can take two steps, it buzzes insistently. Surprised, I fish it out again, my eyebrows shooting up as I see Denis's name on the screen.

"That was fast," I mutter, swiping to read his response. My jaw drops as I process his words. "No way!"

I read the message again, my heart doing a little flip. Denis is coming here? To the event? I thought he was working late tonight! A giddy laugh escapes me, earning a few curious glances from nearby attendees. I don't care—I'm too excited by this unexpected turn of events.

"Oh, this is going to be fun," I say to myself, a new spark of mischief lighting up my eyes. I scan the crowd, wondering how long it will take him to arrive. Knowing Denis, he'll find a way to get here quickly.

Giddy with joy at how perfect this evening is turning out, I find us two seats. I’m not sure if Denis will arrive on time, but I save him one anyway. The show begins, and I’m literally at the edge of my seat, watching the models strut down in clothes so gorgeous, I can only dream of creating something like that.

***

The show ends and Denis still isn’t here. Disappointment courses over me, but I head to the bar in search of a drink. I take my champagne and turn around to survey the scene.

Suddenly, the crowd parts like the Red Sea, and there he is. Denis's tall, muscled frame cuts through the throng with effortless grace, his presence commanding attention. My heart skips a beat as our eyes lock, and I can't help the wide grin that spreads across my face.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite model," I call out teasingly as he approaches. "Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Zolotov. You missed the show."

Denis's lips quirk up in that enigmatic half-smile of his. "I couldn't resist the invitation, Miss Orlov. Especially not when delivered with such… enthusiasm. Besides, I’m not here for the show."

The way he looks at me, intentions clear, makes a blush creep up my cheeks, but I push past it. "Oh, you thought that was an invitation, did you?” I tease with a wink. “And here I thought you were just dying to see your outfit on someone else."

He leans in close, his voice low and playful. "Trust me, it looks far better on me…or off.”

My breath catches, and I struggle to come up with a witty response. He just muddles my thoughts all over the place. Instead, I grab his hand, tugging him toward the center of the event. "Come on, you smooth talker. Let me give you the grand tour."

As we weave through the crowd, I can't help but notice how Denis's eyes never stray far from me. It's thrilling, unnerving, and perfect—like being caught in the gaze of a particularly attentive predator. But there's a softness there too, hidden beneath the intensity.

"Oh, you have to try these!" I exclaim, snagging a pair of colorful cocktails from a passing waiter. I hand one to Denis, our fingers brushing. "They're called 'Sunset Dreams.' Fitting for a night like this, don't you think?"

Denis takes a sip, his brow furrowing slightly. "Interesting," he says diplomatically.

I laugh, the sound bright and carefree. "That bad, huh? Here, I'll finish yours too."

As I reach for his glass, Denis's hand gently catches my wrist. "Careful, Sweetheart. The night is young."

I stick my tongue out at him. "Party pooper.”

But he’s right. I don’t want to get too drunk. I put one glass aside.

We continue our circuit of the event, making conversation with strangers and acquaintances who have dropped by my store. Denis listens attentively, occasionally offering a wry comment or asking a thoughtful question. It's strange how comfortable I feel around him. Tonight, he’s a silent supporter, wanting me to take the limelight and talk about my work as much as possible.

"You know," I say, pausing to admire a particularly striking gown, "Jokes aside, I never would have pegged you for a fashion enthusiast. What made you decide to come tonight?"

For a moment, I swear I see something vulnerable flicker in those gray-green eyes. But then it's gone, replaced by that familiar enigmatic expression. "Let's just say I had a very compelling reason," he murmurs, his gaze fixed firmly on me.

My heart races in my chest at Denis's words, but before I can respond, I notice his demeanor shift abruptly. His jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow dangerously as he scans the crowd. The change is so sudden it's like watching storm clouds roll in over a clear sky.

"Denis?" I ask, tugging gently on his sleeve. "What's wrong?"

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