Page 47 of Plus-Size Curves for the Bratva

And then, I pull her down to the floor of the dressing room, not wanting this moment to end. I cradle her against my chest, our backs to the wall, our legs stretched out between us.

I’m so terribly tired, and so goddamn happy. She looks up at me with sleepy brown eyes, while tracing circles on my chest.

“Denis,” she says, softly.

“Mm-hmm?” I kiss her on her forehead.

“There’s something else that happened today. I wasn’t planning on telling you until I was certain it’s a sure thing, but it’s hard to keep a good thing secret.”

My heart feels fuzzy. This, to me, is the hallmark of us being strong. To be able to share the good, and the bad, is what makes us strong.

“Tell me, Firecracker,” I urge.

“You know the huge sales I made today?”

I nod.

“Well, a majority was from one customer. I was initially surprised and taken aback. He was showing extraordinary, near-insane interest in my designs. But after he placed the order, he gave me a card.”

I sit up straighter now, frowning. Something about this is already making me nervous. “A card?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says, extracting herself from my hands to reach for her coat. She produces a shiny business card from her pocket and hands it to me. I inspect it carefully. It's made of shimmering metal with engraved text that reads: Sergei Petrov—Investor.

My chest constricts, the anxiety pooling inside me. "This is problematic," I mutter, my hand shaking slightly as I give the card back to her.

"Why?" she asks, frowning. "I thought you wanted me to be successful on my own."

Her words sting me. She misunderstands. “I do,” I say softly, reaching out to cup her cheek in my hand. "But Natalia, you have no idea what this family has been through. The amount of betrayal we've faced over generations is overwhelming. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to bring in an investor from outside the family."

She suddenly looks deflated, her eyes dimming as she stares at the floor. "You don't trust me," she says softly, pulling away from my touch.

It hurts to see her like this, but I know it had to be said. With a heavy heart, I nod. "I trust you more than anything, Natalia. But this is about more than just about this business.”

Her eyes flash with anger. “No!” she says, defiantly. “You’re saying I’m not good enough to garner the interest of an outside investor. Because, Denis, god forbid someone offers me money for my skills! If there’s an investor knocking, it must be only because they want something to do with our family. Tell me I’m wrong, Denis.”

I can't help but feel a surge of protectiveness and I curse myself for hurting her feelings. The truth is, I get so damn worried about keeping her safe, that sometimes it interferes with her happiness. "I'm not saying that. I just want to make sure everything's above board. Maybe I could look into them for you, run a background check—"

"Absolutely not," Natalia cuts me off, her voice sharp. She sits up, pulling the sheet around her curves. "I don't need you to vet my business associates."

I prop myself up on an elbow, surprised by her vehemence. "Natalia, I'm just trying to help. There are a lot of sharks out there—"

"And you think I can't spot them?" Her eyes flash with anger and something else—hurt? "Do you really have so little faith in me?"

"That's not what I meant," I backpedal, realizing I've hit a nerve. "I know you're capable. I just worry—"

"Well, don't," she snaps, swinging her legs away from mine and jumping to her feet. "I've been taking care of myself long before you came along, Denis. I don't need a protector."

I watch as she starts gathering her clothes, her movements jerky with frustration. The fierce, independent woman I fell for is on full display, and while part of me admires her spirit, another part aches to shield her from the world's dangers.

"Natalia," I say softly, reaching for her hand. "I didn't mean to upset you. I care about you, that's all."

She pauses, her shoulders sagging slightly. "I know," she whispers, not meeting my eyes. "But you have to trust me, Denis. I'm not some fragile doll that needs constant guarding."

I swallow hard, recognizing that there’s nothing I can say right now to convince her otherwise.

She doesn’t say more. She simply shoves her clothes at me and mutters. “Get dressed. We should head back. It’s getting late.”

And she walks out, slamming the door of the dressing room shut behind her.

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