Page 64 of Plus-Size Curves for the Bratva

"You're still here," he rasps, his voice rough from disuse.

God. It’s good to be by his side again.

I quirk an eyebrow, fighting to keep my tone light despite the butterflies in my stomach. "Where else would I be? Someone's got to make sure you don't try to sneak out and run an empire when you should be recovering."

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Oh really?" I lean forward, unable to resist teasing him a little. "Because I seem to recall a certain someone trying to conduct a conference call while hooked up to an IV drip yesterday."

Denis has the grace to look slightly abashed, though the effect is somewhat ruined by the twinkle in his eyes. "You caught me. What can I say? Old habits die hard."

I roll my eyes, but can't quite suppress my grin. "Well, consider me your new habit, Mr. Zolotov. And this habit says you need to rest."

"Is that an order, Mrs. Zolotov?" he asks, his tone teasing but with an undercurrent of something deeper.

The use of this permanent title sends a shiver down my spine. "You bet your perfectly sculpted ass it is," I retort, hoping my blush isn't too obvious. "Now close those pretty eyes of yours before I'm forced to take drastic measures."

"And what might those be?" Denis challenges, his eyebrow arching in a way that makes my heart skip a beat.

I lean in close, my lips barely brushing his ear as I whisper, "I'll sing. And trust me, no one wants that."

His laughter, rich and genuine, fills the room, and I find myself joining in. As our eyes meet again, I'm struck by how far we’ve come. How strong we’ve become.

As though reading my thoughts, he takes my hand and kisses the back of it. “When you were gone,” he says hoarsely, “I didn’t know what to do with myself. I forgot what life was like before you ever came into it.”

I look into his eyes, the sadness from those days still lingering in my heart. “I know,” I whisper. “I…missed you too.”

“Nat,” he says, trying to sit up. I immediately place my hand on his chest and keep him still.

“Your back, it’s still—”

He listens, but continues speaking, as though this urgent matter of the heart must be said now. “I don’t know how I could ever explain what those men were capable of. When I saw Sidorov had you captive, my mind just shut off. I’ve seen them do things I could never tell you. They killed a man’s wife once, and the way they did it, Nat… the Mafia, the Bratva, none of us could believe it. They have slaves, Nat. Slaves. My mind just shut off. I had to… I had to…”

His voice fades away, his eyes lingering with pain.

I bend down and gently kiss his forehead. “I know,” I whisper softly, before sitting down on the chair by his side. “It’s still difficult sometimes to understand, but I know you did it for me.”

***

"Time for your exercises, tough guy," I announce, gently helping Denis into a sitting position. "Ready to show me what you've got?"

Denis sits up with determination, but there’s a hesitance in his eyes. "I'm not sure I'll be much of a show today, Natalia."

"Nonsense," I counter, positioning myself to support him. "You're Denis Zolotov. Everything you do is a show."

He chuckles softly, then grimaces as we begin the first stretch. I guide his arm through the motion, hyper-aware of every point where our bodies connect.

"You're doing great," I murmur encouragingly, helping him through another rep. "How does it feel?"

"Like I'm being torn apart by wild horses," Denis grunts, but there's no real bite to his words. "But… better with you here."

My heart swells at his admission, and I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning like an idiot. We continue in companionable silence, broken only by my quiet instructions and Denis's occasional grunts of exertion.

As we finish the last exercise, I ease him back against the pillows, noting the sheen of sweat on his brow. Without thinking, I reach out to brush a stray lock of black hair from his forehead. Denis catches my wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle.

"Thank you, Nat," he says softly, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that steals my breath.

I manage a smile, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. "Anytime, big guy. That's what wives are for, right?"

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