Page 5 of Plus-Size Curves for the Bratva

"I wouldn’t say so," Sofia says, her smile widening. "Let's just say she's not your typical Orlov bride. That girl's got fire in her veins."

I lean forward, intrigued despite myself. "What do you mean?"

Sofia's eyes dance with amusement. "Oh, you'll see. Just don't expect some meek little mouse. Natalia's got a rebellious streak a mile wide. I once caught her dancing on tables at a club when she was supposed to be home in bed."

The image is so at odds with what I'd imagined that I can't help but chuckle. "Sounds like she'll keep me on my toes."

"That she will," Sofia agrees, patting my arm. "Just be prepared for mischief. And maybe invest in a good security system when you get your own place, which by the way, your sister is already decorating for you both.”

As she sashays out of the room, I find myself smiling. Perhaps this arranged marriage won't be as predictable as I'd thought. The spark of curiosity in my chest grows, and I realize I'm actually looking forward to meeting this intriguing young woman who's about to become my wife.

***

I stand before the full-length mirror, adjusting my tie for what feels like the hundredth time. The black silk slides smoothly between my fingers as I perfect the Windsor knot.

"You look fine, Brother," Vladimir says, appearing behind me in the reflection. "Stop fussing."

I turn to face him, running a hand through my black hair. "It's not every day a man gets married, Vlad. I want to make a good impression."

He chuckles, clapping me on the shoulder. "On your bride or the Orlovs?"

"Both," I admit, smoothing down my jacket. The tailored suit fits perfectly, emphasizing my tall, muscular frame. "But more than that, I want to make us Zolotovs proud. This union is important for our family."

Vladimir's expression softens. "Denis, relax. You're not going into battle."

I nod, though my nerves say otherwise.

As I take my place at the altar, I scan the gathered crowd. Vanya and my sister Lara are finally taking their seats after giving off last-minute instructions to the choir. On the left, the Orlovs sit right up front. The youngest, Artyom, gives me a thumbs-up while Dima watches me like a hawk. On the right, my cousins Ivan and Boris sit up front with their wives, Audrey and Robin. Their younger brothers and partners are scattered all around. Everywhere I look, I see a familiar face, most beaming up at me with pride.

My brothers Abram, Vladimir and Mark stand behind me, a silent pillar of support.

I shift my weight, trying to quell the unexpected nervousness in my stomach. This is just business, I remind myself. A strategic move for the family. Yet, Sofia's words from the other day echo in my mind, hinting at a bride far from ordinary.

"What do you think she'll be like?" I murmur to Abram, who stands closest to me.

He shrugs. "I’ve heard she’s the kindest of the lot."

I nod, but a part of me hopes for… more. The minutes tick by, each second stretching into eternity as I wait for my bride to appear.

"Stop fidgeting," Mark hisses, and I realize I've been toying with my cufflinks.

I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders.

The first notes of the wedding march swell through the air, and my head snaps up toward the entrance. My breath catches in my throat as Natalia appears on her brother Nikolai’s arm, and suddenly, the world narrows to just her.

She's… radiant. Breathtaking. Nothing like I imagined.

Her dark blonde hair cascades in soft waves, adorned with delicate flowers. The white dress hugs her curvy figure, accentuating every lush line. But it's her face that captivates me—heart-shaped, with full lips and wide, chocolate-brown eyes that seem to hold a universe of emotions. She looks in my direction, and when my gaze meets her, I see her lips part in a small gasp, and she looks down, averting her gaze.

I can't look away. "Holy hell," I whisper, barely aware I've spoken aloud.

"Turning into putty, are we?" Abram mutters under his breath, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I ignore him, transfixed as Natalia begins her slow procession down the aisle. Her head is bowed, long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. She doesn’t look up even once.

Her walk is slower than the pace of the music. Something's… off. Her fingers are white-knuckled around Nikolai’s arm. Is she trembling? A protective instinct I didn't know I possessed surges within me.

"She looks terrified," I murmur to myself, forgetting I’m surrounded by my groomsmen.

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